I woke up and dragged myself to the kitchen, where my dad was making scrambled eggs and bacon for us. I could hear sizzling from the stove and smell the aroma of freshly made bacon. My mom sat at the table, scrolling through her phone feed. We sat in silence and started eating our breakfast.

"You two better be careful today," my mom said.

"Don't worry about it, Madeline. Why are you so paranoid all the sudden? We did this all the time in the summer, and you never said a word," my dad said.

"Are you kidding? I always told you guys to be careful!" my mom snapped.

"Mom, chill out. You just woke up, and you're already yelling at both of us," I said.

"Wear a helmet, and don't do anythin' stupid!" My mom stomped away from the kitchen and slammed the bathroom door shut.

My dad paused; his eyes bulged as he watched her leave. I thought he was about to blow a gasket, but he took a deep breath.

After my dad and I finished our breakfast, we went to the shed and dragged out two dirt bikes. We tossed them into the bed of the truck and drove out to our favorite trail.

My dad and I drove an hour outside town until we made it to Grady Oaks ORV park. I was dressed in my dirt biking gear and my helmet. We had a blast driving over slopes, getting rushes of adrenaline as we flew through the air on two wheels. The time flew by, and before I knew it, it was already 3 p.m. We had been going on jumps non-stop, but I saw my dad with his bike stopped and his helmet off. He parked at the top of a steep slope with a view of the park below. I pulled up next to him.

"Y'alright, Dad?"

"Yeah, just needed a break. We've been riding for about 3 hours!"

"You're getting too old." I chuckled.

"I oughta smack ya upside the head." My dad snickered. "But you're not wrong. I'm getting a little tired."

There was something I wanted to ask my dad, but it didn't feel like the right moment. My stomach grumbled so loud that my dad heard it. "I'm ready to leave whenever."

My dad raised an eyebrow. "You sure? I could wait a little longer if ya wanted to stick around."

"No, that's all right. I'm down to go back home. Or maybe go to Bobby's Drive Inn if you're not too tired?" I joked.

"Oooh. I could always go for some Bobby's. Good thinking, sonny! Yeah, let's head out."

We took our bikes back to the pickup truck, where we loaded them up.

On the way home, we drove for 30 minutes until we reached the turquoise sign with a diamond shape and white font: Bobby's Drive Inn. With the caption: The Best Burger Joint in the Midwest!"

My dad parked the truck underneath the pastel blue awning with a menu to his side.

"Know what you want?" My dad asked.

"Uh, yeah, I'll take two chili dogs, a large fry, 5 piece chicken nuggets, and a Bobby Burger. Oh, and can I get a milkshake with that?" I said.

My dad scowled at me as if I had just offended his prized nephew. "Are you kidding? Dang, son, you're gonna bleed me out. Do you remember when you used to just get chicken nuggets and fries?"

"That was before I became the varsity starting quarterback." I grinned.

"Well, just because you hit your growth spurt, kid, I can't be indulging in your gluttony."

I scoffed. ”Gluttony? What are you talking about? I play football, and I burn a ton of calories. I have a large appetite, so sue me.”

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"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm not made of money, ya know? I couldn't care less how much you ate, but once it starts hurting my wallet, we have to look at what we need. We just spent a decent amount of cash at the ORV Park, and I still have to buy a meal for myself and get Mom something."

I sighed. "Fine, just get me a Bobby Burger with fries and, uh, a Sprite, I guess."

"Much better, thank you." My dad gave the order to the receiver on the menu.

Five minutes later, a girl I recognized from high school came rolling by on skates with our meals on a pink plastic tray, Celia. She was a junior who sat at my table in environmental science class. A popular kid who probably was at the football game on Friday.

"Order for Lenny?" she said, looking into our car. She made eye contact with me and politely smiled.

"Yep, that's us," my dad said, and he gave her $25 in cash. "Thank you very much, uh." My dad glanced at her name tag. "Celia, Have a good day."

Celia skated away from the window and waved.

The heavenly aroma of freshly cooked burgers, grilled onions, ketchup, and mustard filled the car.

"You down to eat in the car?" my dad asked.

"I was planning on it even if you drive," I said.

"Okay, we'll just eat right here then." He unpacked his burger, I unpacked mine, and we began chowing on our late lunch, and my dad put on a Ramones CD. "So, Rollie, what'd you think of that girl who gave us our food? She was pretty cute, eh? And she smiled at you."

In between bites of my burger, I said, "Yeah, I actually know her."

My dad paused and was confused. "You know her? Why didn't you say hello?"

"I don't even think she knows my name. We're in the same class at school."

My dad stared at me, still as a photograph. I felt like he was trying to form the right words in his head without escalating into an argument. "You know something, Rollie, I really worry about you. I feel like you don't hang out with kids your age and you don't talk with anyone in your classes. You might need to get your head examined, kiddo. A gorgeous gal is in your class and skates on by, and you can't even say hello. Making friends can be tough sometimes, but you gotta put yourself out there, man."

Perfect. This is an excellent segue for what I wanted to ask him earlier. "Yeah, I'm down to put myself out there. Tonight there is a show at Exchange. Can you give me money to go?"

He took a bite of his burger and his nose flared. "How much money is it, and who are you seeing?"

"Like you care who's playing."

"I want to see if I know them. Don't be a sourpuss," my dad said, focused on his meal.

"Your music taste is stuck in the '70s and '80s. It's good stuff, and I'm not judging, but I'd bet my life on it that you've never heard of Cerebral Vortex."

My dad gave me a side eye and a grin. "You bet your life on it. Turns out, I'm very familiar with the band."

I gave him a sarcastic smile. "Name any one of their songs or albums."

My dad kept chewing away at his meal. "Don't quiz people like that about music. It's rude. So again, I ask, how much is the show?"

"Tickets are $10."

My dad bounced the idea around in his head. "All right, if your mom asks how you paid for the ticket, you found the money in the ground, got it?"

"Sure thing."

Reaching into his pocket, my dad pulled out a $10 bill and gave it to me.

"Thank you." I shoved the money in my pocket and zoned out at the window. I was thinking about the night before, Howie's injury, and the future.

My dad kept glancing at me. "How you been, son? You look a little down, and I can't figure out why. We went to Bobby's Drive Inn, dirt biking, and you're going to a concert later. Why the long face?"

"Dad, do you think if I keep playing well, I might be able to play for Ohio State?"

My dad cracked up. "Absolutely not. You're good but not that good. These kids that are getting scouted are already phenoms. Besides, you have to at least bump up those grades. You're on the verge of failing out."

"Thanks, Dad." I could feel tears circulating in the back of my eyes. "You know, you didn't have to be such a jerk about it."

He rolled his eyes. "You play football, Rollie! The toughest sport in the world! You gotta be able to handle your dad yellin' at ya! My dad hollered all the time, and I turned out fine. So get used to it. Especially if you're dreamin' about playing football for a college that people actually watch. You can be a tough kid, too; I can't believe a dose of reality makes you go and cry like that."

The rest of the car ride was silent. I was worried it would create more tension and arguing when we returned home, but my mom was delighted to receive a burger from Bobby's Drive Inn.

As 5:00 rolled around, I went into the bathroom, grabbed my hair gel, and stared at myself in the mirror for a moment. Squirting a blob of gel in my hand, I put it in my hair to create a 3-inch blonde mohawk (even though the rest of the fuzz on my head was dark). It was chilly outside, a crisp fall day, so I put on my leather jacket. I wore a white graphic tee of the Rolling Stones tongue underneath my coat, put on a studded belt, and jeans with holes at the knees. Once I was done getting ready, I jogged out the door and said, "See you later, ma! I'll text you!"

"Wait! Where are you––“

The door shut behind me. I knew if I told her where I was going, she'd probably panic, and I didn't have the time or patience to deal with it.

Going outside onto the porch, my dad sat at a table, smoking a cigarette and drinking a cheap beer. "Taking off now?"

"Yeah, thanks again for the money."

"You bet. If you give me a song name, I might even check that band out."

"And then they wouldn't be cool anymore." I smirked at my dad and kept going down the path until I made it out of the trailer park.