Queens, New York - Two Weeks Earlier

Hogarth Strange followed the police officer down the hallway. The officer held the door open and Hogarth walked through. His father stood outside, arms folded and with a furious expression on his face. The moment he saw Hogarth, he grabbed him by the arm and practically dragged him out of the station.

"Get in the truck," he ordered.

Hogarth climbed into his father's Ford Bronco without a word. The car pulled out a moment later after Jared had started the engine.

Hogarth was in trouble - again. He was a street racer, something that often upset his father, spending more time in his garage tuning his car than at his desk, doing homework. Several times, Hogarth had been caught by the police street racing, but this time was different: He had engaged a rival classmate in a one-on-one street race, which ended badly. They ended up in an unfinished housing development and wrecked both their cars when they unexpectedly collided with a pile of gravel, sending them flying through the air.

Jared was furious when he received a call from his son, who told him he was at the police station and needed to be bailed out. One hour later, and his temper still hadn't cooled down.

"What the heck were you thinking, Hogarth?" Jared demanded, slamming the car door and walking into the house. "This is the sixth time you've been arrested for street racing! Do you honestly prefer the inside of a jail cell?"

"What do you want me to say?" Hogarth asked, throwing his hands into the air.

"Don't say anything!" Jared roared. "The housing development's charging us tens of thousands of dollars for the damages you and that other kid caused at their site, and if we don't pay for it, they're going to sue us. And chances are, they'll put you in juvenile hall!"

"I'm sorry, Dad! I'm sorry I decided to race! I'm sorry I called you in the first place! How was I supposed to know this would happen?"

"Is that a serious question, Hogarth?!"

Hogarth rolled his eyes. "So what do we do?"

"Not we. You are leaving."

"You're kicking me out of my own home?"

"Hogarth, you are a recidivist: You've engaged in illegal street racing multiple times, and we are a blue-collar family. The police made an agreement with the development company to drop charges against you and not hold us to paying for the damages provided you leave New York."

"Dad, you're not gonna accept that, are you?!"

"You don't have a choice, Hogarth, and neither do I! Your actions have been putting a strain on both our lives, and now it has pushed far past the breaking point!

"I'm sending you to San Francisco to live with your mother. Go upstairs and pack your things. No movies, no video games, no comic books. Just essentials."

Hogarth glared at his father before he stormed up the stairs to his room.

~GB~

"Hey man, are you paying attention?"

Hogarth blinked and looked around. He saw the man sitting in the seat next to him looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, I didn't hear that."

"I said, doing funeral arrangements is a complete pain in the neck. I can't believe I had to come all the way out here for that. I mean, couldn't I have just done it online?"

"I don't know what to tell you," Hogarth said, placing his head in his hand and looking out the window at the plane wing. "I'm no expert with funerals."

"So what brings you to San Francisco?" the man asked.

"Not much. Got into a complete accident that destroyed a lot of property in New York."

The man's eyes widened before he looked away.

"Sorry I asked."

~GB~

Hogarth was among the last people to disembark from the plane. Walking down to the ground floor, he had to wait for the baggage claim carousel to produce his suitcase.

Of all the places he didn't want to be, San Francisco was undoubtedly at the top of the list. The city was smaller than New York, and there weren't any good streets to race on, even if he still had his car.

But the worst part was his mother. A San Francisco police officer, Stephanie Strange was dead serious about making sure her son followed the rules whenever she saw him, and she made it clear she had zero tolerance for his street racing. Hogarth hadn't seen her since he started middle school.

His brown suitcase dropped out of the ceiling and he grabbed it as it passed. Heading out the door, he looked around for his mother, but saw no sign of her.

At that moment, Hogarth heard a siren cry out and turned. A San Francisco police cruiser pulled up next to him. The passenger side window rolled down. A woman with blonde hair that clashed with Hogarth's brown hair peered out at him.

"Need a ride?" Officer Strange asked. "Put your suitcase in the trunk."

Hogarth sighed and did what she asked. When he came back to the door, he tried to open it, but it was locked.

"Only officers ride in the front seat," Stephanie said.

"Is this your idea of a joke?"

Stephanie's glare answered his question. He shook his head and climbed in the back seat. She pulled away from the curb a moment later.

They had only left the airport when Stephanie started talking.

"Six arrests for street racing?" she asked with a hint of anger in her voice. "Endangering innocent people, and causing over fifteen grand in damages? What were you thinking?"

"It's nice to see you, too, Mom."

"Hogarth, you know how your father and I feel about this, and yet you keep doing it. I am happy to see you again, but not about the circumstances that caused it."

"I didn't have a say in the matter."

Stephanie didn't look at him in her rearview.

"I know you don't like coming here," she said, "but you're lucky that this was an option in the first place. You could've been put in juvie without a choice."

"I've already heard that speech, you know."

"Clearly, you need to hear it more than once. If you get arrested here, Hogarth, that's it. No more second chances. You'll be put in juvenile hall."

Stephanie pulled the police cruiser into the driveway of her house. Getting his suitcase out of the trunk, Hogarth followed her through the front door. Past the door was a staircase that led up. Hogarth had to lug his suitcase up each and every step.

At the top of the stairs was another door. Stephanie unlocked this one and went inside, holding the door open for her son. The living room had a leather couch with a flatscreen TV. An open wall showed the kitchen, complete with a refrigerator, electric stove, and a decent view of the city skyline.

Stephanie led Hogarth down the hall and opened a door for him. The bedroom inside was painted gray. A full-sized bed stood against the wall. On the opposite was a dresser and wardrobe. Nothing else was in the room.

"This is where you'll be," Stephanie said. "You'll be starting school first thing next week."

She handed him a piece of newspaper.

"What's this?" Hogarth asked as he took it.

"Job listings," she answered. "You're gonna find a job to do, something that will keep you away from any street racing. If you don't find one, I'll keep being on your case about it until you do. So, I suggest you start looking. Most popular job openings are on top, least popular are on the bottom. You know where to start."

With that, she turned and left.

Hogarth sat down on the bed and sighed, burying his face in his hands. He had no idea how he was going to get a job. He knew no one would hire a recidivist street racer. He might as well be in juvenile hall.