My father looked at me angrily, then looked at Ahmed doubtingly, and told me that we had to go. The heaviness of guilt and anticipation subdued me as I followed my dad to the car. I was more concerned with my image in front of my friend; I felt humiliated for no good cause. The frown on my dad's forehead grew deeper creating future wrinkles but he was silent. We arrived home and my mother noticed the tension. She asked what went wrong but he was still silent. I told my mom what happened and my fury took over. Dad walked back into the room and the "good girl" lesson began.