That night, Shiloh sits at the dinner table, and for once there is everyone present. Her father on her left, Ezra just beside her and her mother on the far right and Shiloh can't help but feel a little happy.

You see, Shiloh's family never have dinner together. Not never, actually. But mostly they don't. It is not like they can help it, you know.

Mrs. Daniels is always too busy feeding Ezra, he is quite a fussy eater. And Mr. Daniels is a really fast eater.

So at dinner time, her mother is mostly having her dinner alongside Ezra on the sofa, and her father and Shiloh sit on the dining table. But by the time she sits down to eat her dinner, Mr. Daniels has already had his.

As it turns out, Shiloh is usually left alone, in the company of nothing but food. Not that it is a bad thing, because it isn't, there is nothing more comforting to have food in peace, but sometimes Shiloh finds herself craving for some, what do they call it? Family time.

Today, she can't help but giggle uncontrollably (to herself, of course) as she sees her mother admonishing Ezra to eat faster, her father bickering about how the food is too oily and why are there potatoes in the casserole when everyone knows he hates potatoes and Ezra just doing the usual, sometimes-nudge-sometimes-kick under the table which he does whenever Shiloh is sitting beside him.

Family time.

But like every good moments, it doesn't last long, does it?

Her mother clears her throat.

"So, Shiloh, how's school?" she says.

"Pretty good, actually, mumma". Shiloh finds herself saying. It is an automated response, and Shiloh isn't lying, exactly.

"So, you got any marks today, huh? You know, of that English unit test you had last week?" Her mother says, a little calmly. A little too calmly.

Warning bells go off inside Shiloh's 12-year old brain.

Suddenly, she has lost interest in the chicken casserole her mother has made tonight and finds the psychedelic print of the table cloth more interesting. It is green and blue and yellow with splotches of dried up gravy in some places punctuated with red wine stains. It is giving her a headache.

"Uh, n-yes, yes mumma." Shiloh says. She could have lied, but she has never lied to her parents. And the two-sheet English paper lying in her back pack this moment would burn a heart-sized hole right through her if she did so.

"How much you got?" Her mother says, this time not too calmly. Not at all calmly, in fact. Shiloh doesn't miss the snappy undertone in her voice.

She knows, Shiloh thinks.

"Not good, mumma."

"I am asking, how much you got?" Her mother raises her voice a decibel or two higher.

The dinner table goes silent.

"F-fiff-fifteen, m-mumma." Shiloh stutters. She braces herself for what is to come.

It is her father who reacts first.

"Fifteen? Like fifteen out of twenty? That is horrible." He spits.

Shiloh finds something wedged in her throat. She can feel it, finds herself unable to swallow it.

"What do you think of yourself, young lady, huh? That is why we spend our hard-earned money on your education? So that you get disgustingly low marks like these, that too in a frivolous subject like English? Shameful." Her mother adds.

"I-I am sorry." Shiloh finds herself saying. And this time the response isn't automated. She really is, you know, sorry. More for herself than her parents.

"Sorry won't get you good grades." Her mother retorts.

Shiloh finds that feeling returning. It is pooling inside her intestines. Again. Her heart is dancing to the tunes of some trance music. Again. She can't think straight.

As she suddenly pulls back her chair and stands up, it screeches on the marble flooring. Shiloh knows her mother hates it. She doesn't care.

She runs to her room and shuts the door.

As fat tears roll down her round cheeks, soiling her favorite grey tee, Shiloh finds herself laughing. A laugh that leaves a bitter after-taste in her mouth.

So today was different.

Different because this is the first time she has got bad grades, ever. In English, too. She loves English.

She was expecting her parents would react negatively, they take studies very very seriously, but not this negatively.

She had no idea dinner would end like this.

Different number two.

Shiloh sobs.

But soon enough, Shiloh finds the tears replaced by something hot, something which bubbles up in her head and she can feel it rushing through her face to the tips of her ears, to every part of her body. Anger.

Anger at herself, for performing so badly in the test. Anger at her parents for their reaction, for not understanding her.

Anger at herself again, for doubting herself. 

She shouldn't.

She can't expect herself to score good every time. Her parents shouldn't expect her to score good every time.

Why can't her parents be like the ones they show in movies? Or like how her friends' parents are?

Why can't they be satisfied with her performance, with a eighteen out of twenty, or fifteen, in this case?

Why must they expect her to be at the top of the class, always?

She loves her parents, she really does.

But times like these, she is not quite sure.

A/N What do you think of the story so far?

Vote and comment, it means a lot. :)

Much love, Sarah.