Circa 2010

"I told you what happened!" My legs are spread wide apart and my foot hits against the helmet sitting on the side of the hard metal chair. My arms flail in front of me. I look up at the blinding yellow light and don't blink. It is only when I slam my back against the chair that I grimace.

A charged energy bolts through me. My frustration kindles a hot and coiled rage that rushes through my blood.

Then I remember where I am and try to lower my voice and my hot tempered attitude, "Officer Gonzalez, sir," I say in the most kiss ass voice I can muster. I remember to smile and put my hands on my knees to stop the shaking. Unlike Haze I'm good at apologizing. God knows I've had to do it enough times.

I let out a deep sigh.

My boy Dev snorts a laugh in my direction and Officer Gonzalez responds with a hard stare...also in my direction. According to testing I got poor impulse control but I think my impulse control is fucking perfect because my fist hasn't made contact with Dev's shit hole face.

I narrow my eyes and glare at Dev, "Officer Gonzalez, sir" he whispers and puckers his lips. In spite of myself I shrug and let out a half chuckle. It is kinda funny. I have this bad habit; I make jokes and laugh even when I know I shouldn't. But shit, I like making people laugh, even at my own expense.

Officer Gonzalez isn't a fan of comedy. But judging from the muscles he's got, he's a fan of steroids.

I can hear my Dad in the hallway. I'm glad he's picking me up and not Mom, she'd probably have a break down. As in break down my ass. But honestly I don't think I'd be able to face her, if she started to cry my guilt would eat me up. I can't stand to see her cry.

"Thank you so much ma'am, excuse me, officer." I hear him say in his thick drawl to the nameless female officer at the front desk. I can hear his polite smile even though I can't see him yet.

I see my dad's face.

Fuck.

He ain't smiling.

Dad rushes towards me and I wonder how the hell it's Uncle Pony who use to run track and Uncle Darry who use to play football when Dad is charging after me like he's the bull and I'm the freakin' China shop.

I stand up.

He comes to a halt in front of me. I'm an inch shorter than my Dad but right now I feel about an inch tall.

All the times I got pulled down to the principal office for beating up the assholes who made fun of Cash, or cause I wasn't behaving crash through me. Except this is a whole hell of a lot worse. This is the big enchilada. With extra sour cream.

"What the hell Hawk? Arrested for fuckin' grand fuckin' theft?! What the fuck is wrong with you?" Now you see where I got my mouth from. Actually I get my mouth from both of my parents, if you think my dad curses, he's got nothin' on Mom.

He's right up in my face. The ceiling light burns down and it feels like a furnace in here but ain't nothing like the heat in Dad's eyes. They look like a wolf's eyes right before he pounces on his unsuspecting prey. My dad is a pretty chill guy, least he is with my siblings, me? Well, like I said, I get in trouble a lot. When I was younger I use to go to Cash's house all the time and when we goofed off, usually my idea, Patrick would threaten to take away Cash's Sega and then he'd look at me and try to sound hard (which he ain't) and threaten to call Dad. It was only then that I remembered that Patrick wasn't just my friend's dad, but my brother and we had the same dad. You better believed I behaved after that. Or least for a while.

But I've never seen him this angry at me.

Right now I'd rather take my chances with Officer Gonzalez. Even that gang banger they had in the holding cell with a huge Hoover Crips tat looked like a teddy bear compared to him. Hell, right now I'm thinking that jail seems promising. You get free food.

Shit, I hope Oz wasn't a documentary I think dryly as I picture myself in an orange jumpsuit behind bars.

My Dad doesn't say a thing, but he doesn't need to, his eyes do all of his screaming for him.

Worse, he's disappointed. I've never seen him this disappointed in me. I don't think I've ever seen him disappointed in me.

I wince, desperate for his forgiveness for a crime I didn't commit. Anything for him to stop looking at me with that burned expression.

Reality hits me like a lead pipe to the head. This shit is real. I try to keep it together but all I want to do is fall on the floor and bawl like a baby. In spite of my best efforts my face falls and I do my best to keep the tears out of my eyes.

Dad's eyes instantly softens and return to normal, "Hey, hey, hey," he says in a steady voice, placing his hand on my quaking shoulder.

"Grand theft?!" I point to Dev, who suddenly is looking deathly pale and slouched over in his seat, one hand on his Buddha belly. I explain the whole situation to Dad, how it's just a misunderstanding Dev and I had with our buddy Layne. Through my super manly sobs I try to tell my story. "Layne said we could take his motorcycle! How the hell is that grand theft?!" I don't know whether to laugh or cry or punch a wall or do all three.

"He's telling the truth," Dev pipes up. I wonder when his parents are going to get here.

All I know is that I'm scared and the whole room is spinning, and everything is going to shit. I feel like I'm on the Gravitron, my whole world is spinning of it's axis. I don't know why I do it, old habit I guess, but like I did when I was a kid, I look to Dad to steady me and keep me from vomiting my cotton candy all over the damn place.

Dad looks me in the eyes, "I believe you." Three words have never met so much. And it's strange because even though my legs are still shaky and I gotta piss, another habit of mine when I'm nervous, I feel a tiny bit better.

Dad turns to face Officer Gonzalez. "Officer, I think there's been a misunderstanding."

Officer Gonzalez is looking at Dad and me with a smug expression. Dad is wearing his Bridges to Babylon World Tour t-shirt, the lettering is old and faded. He hasn't shaved this weekend so he's got an uneven grey stubble on his chin. Officer Gonzalez is dressed in a crisp dark blue uniform.

"Mr. Curtis, do you believe you're the first parent who insisted that their child is innocent?" He then goes on to list all of the evidence against us, which I gotta admit, is sort of convincing.

I feel my shoulders droop and it's only the grip of his hand that steadies me.

Dad doesn't bat an eye.

"No. But I'm this kid's dad and I believe him, Officer." Although Dad's words are polite and his tone almost soft, there's an edge to his voice. If you know what to listen for, a barely controlled snarl. My Dad, for all his faults, always comes through for me. For all of us.

"Bail is $1,000.00," Gonzalez says. He doesn't need to say anything else. He holds all the power and he whips it over us with his bored expression. This don't mean nothing to him, it's just a day in the life. But us? We don't have $1,000.00 laying around. My stomach gives a violent jerk and I don't give a shit if I look like a pussy I want my Dad to fix everything. I need him to fix everything.

Dad can see I'm fucking losing it because he grips my wrists tight and presses his forehead against mine. "Everything's gonna be okay, Hot rod, we'll get the money, I'm not letting you spend an hour in jail. Especially when," his voice picks up, "you did nothing wrong."

I believe my Dad, but I sure as hell wish he wouldn't call me by his old nickname for me when I just got arrested for stealing a vehicle.

"Hey Devin," Devin looks up at Dad, half startled, "I'm not leaving until you're outta this mess too. Okay?" He gives Dev a hard pat on the back.

"Thanks Mr. Curtis." Devin gives an appreciative nod.

As Dad fumbles with his cellphone, calling Mom? Uncle Darry? A lawyer? the female officer from the front desk pulls aside Officer Gonzalez. His mouth twitches slightly. "It seems we got a hold of Mr. Wilkins and it appears that it was a misunderstanding on the part of a good Samaritan who thought the boys stole the vehicle in question."

It takes me a few seconds to realize that Mr. Wilkins is Layne. There is a slight apologetic air in his voice as he lets out a cough, but I can't resist from muttering 'told ya.'

Told you I have poor impulse control.

Dad gives me a quick one on the back of the head, "don't be an ass," his voice is harsh.

But I think I earned that right.

Dad and me don't leave until Dev's parents show up. Even after Dad and even Officer Gonzalez try to explain the whole situation they're still pissed off at Dev. I give Dev an apologetic raised eyebrow. Mrs. Garza catches my look and shoots me this nasty side eye, like it's all my fault.

I can still here them yelling at Dev as the leave the building.

As we leave Officer Gonzalez shakes Dad's hand. What surprises me, he sticks out his hand for me too. "I apologize for the inconvenience." I blink. I'm not use to police officers apologizing. He doesn't seem the type of guy who'd be sorry for anything and I'm too dumbfounded to say anything, but Dad brings me back. "Hawk," he says in a stern voice.

I snap outta my daydream state and shake his hand. "Um, thanks Officer." His handshake is exactly like you'd expect, feels like a boulder landed on my fingers.

I think everything's gonna be fine once we get in the truck, but Dad starts in on his lecture. "You gotta be more careful Hawk." I can't tell you how many times I've heard that in my life.

All I can say as I kick off my shoes and put my feet up on the dash is "who the hell calls the police in this neighborhood?"

I don't intend it as a joke, but Dad starts laughing wildly. "That's what Steve said when we were around your age. Believe me, wasn't true then, ain't true now. Plenty of people call the cops in this neighborhood, just not when the should."

"You know," he bites his lip like he's trying to stop laughing. "I was arrested and brought to that exact same station when I wasn't much younger than you."

This gets my attention. I know my parents were drug addicts and Dad served in Vietnam but most of their past is just that-the past. I've never been interested in it anyways. But to know that Dad got arrested and sent to the same police station is different.

"What for? Grand Theft?" Everyone always mentions how much I'm like Dad, though I think I'm more like Mom, and now I'm wondering just how much alike we really are.

"Nah," he shakes his head, "me and Two… Keith got arrested for doing handstands in public."

"Shit! They arrested you for that?! I knew things were different back in the 1950s but…"

"1960s," Dad says dryly, "I ain't that old." He gives me a smirk and from the passenger seat I can see the aged lines deeply carved along his eyes. He's sixty-one. My sister thinks Dad aged overnight and that he looks a lot older than sixty-one. I always thought the whole conversation was morbid and kinda rude if you wanna know the truth, besides, who gives a shit? Right? But now I can see what she's talking about.

I blink. "How the hell did they arrest you guys for doing handstands?"

"Public nuisance, disturbing the public, blocking the sidewalk," Dad rattles off the charges like it happened yesterday. "Uncle Pony wrote about it."

I nod. Dad isn't big on reading, but my Uncle is a writer and he devours everything he writes.

"We're your parents pissed?" I try to imagine Grandpa Curtis storming the police station like Dad did. But I can't. But again, despite the pictures and stories, I can't imagine Grandpa Curtis.

"It happened after the wreck, and believe me Uncle Darry was fuckin' pissed." He chuckles to himself. Sometimes I forget Dad was an orphan when he was even younger than me.

I have a hard time swallowing his claim that Uncle Darry was ever a hard ass. I've seen all of those grand kids of his using his body as jungle gym. Hell, he once even allowed Katie to give him a 'make over' complete with magic maker blush.

"Man, that was not a fun time," Dad shakes his head and grins.

Something in me shifts. I remember the way he got right in my face and yelled. I'm getting pissed, ain't like he was an angel. "how come you were so angry when you first got to the station? Not like you never got busted, and you were actually guilty." I know Dev's parents would clobber him if he back talks them, but Dad doesn't seem mad or offended.

Dad with one hand on the steering wheel gives me a pat on the arm, "Kiddo, I'm a parent, I'm supposed to be a hypocrite it's in the rule book." Then he turns serious. "It scared the shit out of me to see you in there. When you're a parent you never want to see your kids make the same mistakes you did. Heck, honey, it fuckin' hurts. You never want them to suffer like you did. And Hawk, I'd made a shit ton of mistakes in my life." There's a deep sadness in his voice as he takes a breath and gives me a half-hearted smile. I want to say something to make it better, I'm a whole lot better at comforting others than myself, but I can't find anything to say.

His last line weighs on me.

The air is heavy in the truck and all of these images of me doing flips off the furniture, talking up a storm at family dinners and interrupting everyone, climbing the roof when I was nine, even running buck naked across our front yard when I was a toddler, though I don't remember that one, punch through me. "It's amazing how much he's like you." I can still see Uncle Pony's unbelieving grin and shake of his head.

Of all his kids, I'm probably the most like him, and for the first time, I wonder if he secretly regrets that.

I have ADHD. My parents refused to have me medicated for a long time cause they were worried that I'd end up an addict. They didn't tell me that directly, but not like it was hard to figure it out. I got the 'R' rated 'don't do drugs' talk from my parents back in elementary school. Complete with personal anecdotes. But somehow I got the feeling I don't know the half of it. I'm medicated now and I notice a big difference, both good and bad. When I first got diagnosed Dad told me all about the trouble he had in school: trouble paying attention, mind wondering, how he could never sit still and I remember how relieved I was that finally someone understood what I was going through. That he got me.

I tap my fingers against the window, imitating the drops of rain we were supposed to get today.

Dad glances over at me and gives me a smile.

"Hey, how about we get a quick bite at Brownie's before heading home? You must be starving."

On cue my stomach rumbles.

The place is crowded, the smell of greasy burger and fries fill the air, in other words, heaven.

I bite into my spicy jalapeno burger. Man, is it good.

"Wanna try the chili burger?" He holds in front of me a massive burger dripping chili sauce, cheese and onions. Shit, if I eat that I ain't never leaving the bathroom.

"I'm good."

He shakes his head, "you don't know what you're missing," closes his eyes and murmurs mmm, mmm as a gooey piece of cheese falls onto the plate. "Way better than McDonalds."

"Mom know?" I run my fry through the ketchup like it's a vacuum soaking up a bloody crime scene. I hope she's not too worried.

"Yeah, we were chatting with your sister up in Montana when I got your call."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, she'll be coming back home in a week," he smiles to himself at the thought.

Before I can ask my next question, Dad answers it for me, "and Mom understands everything. Hell, I had to convince her not to storm the police station herself and give a tongue lashing at those officers." Dad cracks up. I do too, cause we both know Mom would do it.

We drive home, pass my school, pass the white cross covered in flowers and an "I'll Miss You" mylar balloon on Peoria Street the death marking of a crash victim, pass Crutchfield Park and the place where this dude named Leon drank himself to death; pass the QuikTrip that use to be the DX where Dad worked when he was my age, pass the strip mall where Mom's salon is, pass the empty lot where I did my first Kickflip and got my second, or third, I can't remember, busted arm, pass the small dilapidated house Dad grew up in that's been up for sale for 3 years. And finally, we get home.

The air is dry yet warm, the sun has yet to set and now I'm painfully aware of how much I want to go riding. It's perfect weather. And I'm pissed cause my perfect day has gone to waste.

Mom squeezes the daylight out of me. She's a small woman, barely tops 5'0 and she's skinny (she'll love me for saying that 'bout her). I'm sorta scrawny myself, but I got some muscles but compared to my mom I feel as big as my cousin Billy who's hitting on 6'4.

"You think we oughta sue?" She asks Dad and he looks at her like she's crazy. "Come on honey, it was a mistake. Hawk's no worse for wear ( I stumble around our living room like I've been shot, dramatically holding onto my chest and make moaning noises) and the officer seemed real remorseful." My Dad rarely holds a grudge.

"They treated you okay, baby?" Mom ignores Dad and asks me in a protective voice. Mom is a lot more hesitant.

I shrug, "yeah, it was nothing. The officer apologized." I try to forget that an hour ago I would have climbed in Mom's lap like a damn baby, sucked thumb and all.

"I had my helmet," I point to the black helmet with the orange skull sitting on the passenger seat of Dad's truck, hoping that will earn me some brownie points. Both my parents threatened to kick my ass if they ever saw me riding without a helmet.

"You know it ain't like the Hells Angels or Bandidos wear helmets," I know this argument is going nowhere, and hell, I don't even know why I'm bringing it up now.

"Stop." Mom puts her hand up. "Just stop. We ain't dealing with this bullshit, Hawk. You wear a helmet or you don't ride. I don't care if you're just riding up the street, you're gonna wear a helmet. And yeah some of them do wear helmets, the smart ones anyways and it ain't like the rest of them have much brains to lose in the first place," Mom retorted. Lots of Mom's folks are bikers. Some of them are just like Mom and me, love riding, but some are actual bikers. Outlaws even.

Uncle Rick is always tryin' talk me on the fly about joining his club in a few years. Yeah, it'll be a bunch of tough ass guys from L.A. and his scrawny nephew with his helmet. Least it got a skull on it.

We're talking bikes so Dad is leaving us alone. He never got into bikes the way we do.

I'm about to go down the hall to my room cause I'm fucking beat when Mom shouts, "and Hawk sweetie pie, I don't give a shit if your buddy says you can take his bike, the only excuse you have for taking a bike from someone's front yard is if there's a cute little alien in the front basket and you're taking it back to its home planet."

I grin. "Got it," and give her a mock salute.

Just as I'm about to turn into my room I hear Mom call out again in a much more friendlier tone, "what kinda bike was it?"

"Harley, of course." Pfft. Like I'd be able to walk with my head up if I rode anything but a Harley. Uncle Rick would come from California just to beat my ass. Hell, my Mom would probably want a piece of the action too.

"That's my boy!" Mom's loud, rough but lively laughter fills our house.

I still wanna go out. A pulsating desire pulls me towards outside, but there is something even heavier than desire: I'm tired. I flop down on my bed, throwing my English book off the mattress and kick my shoes off.

Then I get an idea. Closing the door, no ain't like that, I do handstands across my mattress and flip off the bed and onto the floor in an upright position.

I land it perfectly.

At school I tell everyone about my arrest, cracking jokes and getting into trouble for speaking after the bell, which is not new to me at all. You better believe I enjoyed having everyone's eyes on me. Even my math teacher was listening in on my conversation, wiping the same spot on the whiteboard over and over in her tight skirt. Not that I'm complaining! Hell, if more of my teachers looked and dressed like her, I could have been a member of the honor society.

Talk about a cure for ADHD.

I may have embellished my story a bit, especially after telling it for the ten millionth time, but hey, got to keep them interested!

"Only my dumbass would be arrested for grand theft for taking Layne's bike!" I say about the 20th time that day as we sit on a curb in the McDonald's parking lot. I blow the wrapper off my straw and watch it float and then skim across the gravel. I take a huge bite out of my Big Mac. Dad's right.

Then my girlfriend puts out her cigarette and starts to cry and I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet. I feel sick and shamed. "You coulda gone to jail Hawk!" She blubbers, snot runs down her nose. I hand her a napkin. I know she hates it when her nose runs like that.

"No baby," I put my arms around her, trying to calm her, even though I'm all antsy myself, but she pulls away from me. Well, looks like I ain't gettin' nothing this weekend. Her mascara is dangerously close to running down her face. Her voice high pitched and breaking. And sexy. Is that fucked up? She's all emotionally fragile and I'm getting all hot and bothered.

I gently cup her chin in my hand and wipe her tear stained mascara with my thumb. "Hey, hey, hey, Mads. I wasn't going to go to jail or nothin'. It was just a misunderstanding. Everything's okay now." My voice is not what you'd call sexy. I don't know, I guess my vocal chords are sorta fucked, cause even when I was a little kid, I've always sounded like I'm fighting off a cold.

I give her real big Hawk Curtis grin and that does the trick, she gives me a half-smile. "Hawk, I just wish you wouldn't get in so much trouble." She sniffles.

There's kinda a nagging tone in her voice, but her smile is cute as hell and I'm relieved she's not crying anymore. I give her a little hug, "damn Maddie, no wonder my parents like you so much," I wiggle her earlobe as I whisper into it. Part of me wants to push my tongue in it, but we're in public and that's some weird ass shit. She smells real good and I can't help but feel touched when I realize she has on the perfume I got her for Christmas. My mom picked it out.

She coos slightly and leans into me. She's real warm. I'm crazy about her, even when she gets on my nerves.

What I don't add is that they like her so much cause she sounds just like them.

I maybe a dumbass, but I don't got a death wish.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading/reviewing!

S.E. Hinton owns.

Hope you enjoyed. :)