It was a stupid argument. I wound up my little sister (13, she's not that little) when she was tired, and as often happens, she let herself get wound up and whacked me around the head, then stormed into the kitchen.
Lets be honest, that's normal morning fare for me and my sister. She's usually over it by the time I get home. But today, I'm assuming my Dad was pretty tired too. So he had a bit of a shout. And that's okay, you can tell he's just on a rare little ego trip, but he hardly ever shouts so when he does its a bit...shocking, I guess. Even I cry when my Dad gets angry with me, because it means you've actually done something wrong.
And I'm sitting here on the floor in the hall, packing my bag with tears streaming down my face, hearing these heart-rending sobs from my sister in the kitchen. And I'm trying to think calculator, pencil case, keys, and my Dad is standing by the door ready to go, and I'm fumbling my stuff and taking ages to pack it and all I can hear is sob, sob, sob.
And then I got up and went to school. And on the way out, even though we've argued, she remembers I've got my first GCSE today and I hear a little "good luck."
We'd all forgotten about it by the time we got home that night, and I guess that's why I love my family. It was still a shitty moment, though.
It was okay. In the end.