I began this story over the summer, but then abandoned it for a few months. I'm very busy with school right now, but I do have several scenes drafted already so it's just a matter of putting them together and proof reading. I don't have an update schedule planned, so for now enjoy the first chapter.

Max blew the blonde hair out of his eyes as he slumped in the back seat. He had insisted that he was old enough and tall enough to sit up front, but his father always made him sit in the back. It was always like that with his father, Max would insist that he was old enough or too old for something his father insisted upon, but his father never backed down. His father would always say that he was just worried about his son, or cared for him. He personally thought his dad was just overprotective. He fidgeted in the back seat, bored from the long ride.

"Relax buddy," his father said from the front. "We're almost there."

"Oh joy," he said sarcastically.

"Don't be like that. We're in a new town, isn't that exciting?"

"Some stupid town on the West Coast that can't even think of a real name. So much more exciting than New York."

"Max," he was using a firm, fatherly tone.

"I want to go home," he pouted. "I want to be with mom."

He sighed. "That's not how this works. This place is our home now."

"I just live here. That doesn't make it my home."

Another sigh. "It's not like you'll never see mom again."

"Yeah," there was a hint of anger in his voice, "I get to spend summer and Christmas with her. Woo!" He moved his pointer finger around in small circles.

"You'll talk to her before then. She'll call, Skype, email. You'll probably end up talking to her everyday."

"I don't think I'll hold my breath."

One more sigh. "Look, we're here." He pulled the car into a driveway.

Max grumbled and grabbed his backpack, putting it over one shoulder as he exited the vehicle. He took his duffle bag out of the trunk and headed right upstairs, only stopping to kick off his shoes by the door. Upstairs he looked into each room, trying to find the one with boxes bearing his name. Finally finding the room, he set the bags down on the floor and flopped, faced down, onto the bare mattress. After a few moments he felt a hand on his back as the mattress shifted under the weight of another person sitting down. "Go away," he said, voice muffled by the mattress.

"I'm not going to do that," his father's responded, rubbing his back. "You've been like this the whole trip. In fact, you've been like this since I told you we were moving."

"What'd you expect?"

"I expected you to accept it by the time we got here."

"So I'm not allowed to be upset?"

"That's not what I said. I know that moving isn't always easy or fun, but you need to find a more mature way of handling this, you're twelve-years-old."

"I'm almost thirteen."

"Either way, that means you're too old to throw a fit. I'm sure that once you start school and make some new friends you'll like this place."

"Yeah right."

He sighed as he got up off the bed. "I'm going to start unpacking. When you're done sulking, get started on your own stuff." He left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Max eventually did stop sulking and began to unpack his boxes, trying to get his new room to look as close as he could to his old one. The finishing touch was a toy robot he careful removed from his backpack and set on the bookshelf. "There," he said to himself. "It's not perfect, but now it feels like I'm back at the home."

The door was open slightly, just enough for Max's father to peek in as walked past. He smiled, knocking on the door as he entered. "Looks like somebody's feeling better," he said.

"Dad," the blonde whined. "What's the point of knocking if you're just gonna' come in anyways?"

"Relax, the door was open. Besides, it's not like I haven't seen you..."

"Da-ad," he blushed. "It's the principle of the thing."

"Alright," he rolled his eyes. "Even if your door is open, I promise I'll knock and wait for a response before coming in."

He groaned. "Yeah, sure. Can we have dinner now? I'm starving!"

He let out a chuckle. "Alright. We'll have to get take out or something, I'm afraid. That means none of your old man's cooking tonight."

"Oh no," the blonde said, putting his hands to his face in mock horror. His father put a hand across his back, the two laughing as they left the house.

"Finally," the blonde said, getting out of the car almost the instant his father had parked.

"Slow down buddy," the older man called, turning off the engine and getting out of his own seat. "Don't rush in there without me."

"I wouldn't be rushing if you hadn't insisted on driving all over town. I told you I was fine eating anywhere."

"I just wanted to get familiar with the town is all."

"Couldn't you have done that after dinner. I told you I was starving."

"And here I thought you were Max."

He groaned. "Let's just go inside and eat dad."

"Alright, but I expect you to be well behaved. That means no whining, no crying..."

"Dad," he groaned again. "I'm almost thirteen, you don't have to talk to me like I'm a little kid."

"I just want to be sure after how you were acting earlier today."

Another groan. "I'm all over that. Now come on, let's go inside and eat." He was dragging his father at this point.

"Relax," he moved along with his son, staying a few paces behind the whole time, "The restaurant isn't going anywhere."

Max let out one last groan as he opened the door and "pulled" his father inside.

"Welcome," an overly bubbly woman greeted as the two entered. "How many?"

"Two," Max's dad said.

"Will you be needing a children's menu?"

The blonde let out a low groan and his father put a firm grasp on his shoulder. "That won't be necessary, but thank you."

They were let to a booth along one of the walls. As soon as the hostess left Max said, "I can't believe she asked if I needed a kids' menu. I'm almost thirteen!"

"Remember what I said outside," he reminded him firmly.

"I was just sayin'."

"Even so, don't take it so personally. So, what looks good?"

"I think I'll get a burger. Probably ask for extra mustard."

The older man glanced over at the condiment holder. "Looks like they've already got a bottle on the table."

"Real mustard or that gray poop stuff?" He let out a small chuckle.

"It's yellow mustard, the kind you like. Grey Poupon is real mustard, it's just fancy."

"Still sounds disgusting. Tastes that way too."

He acknowledged his son's comment with an "uh huh." Little was said for the rest of the meal. By the time they returned home Max seemed to have forgotten the indignity of being offered a children's menu and was less moody about having moved and first day at a new school.