Page 7 of Dream Chaser
Jake glares at all of them. “We had grit.”
Liam chuckles. “Yeah, we know.”
AJ raises a brow. “Did you guys have to google how to make memes, or did you just sit down with your enemies and make them cry all by yourselves?”
Lucas leans forward. “Back in our day, we didn’tneedmemes. We had ‘Eye of the Tiger’ and a five-mile run before school.” He points to his eyes with two fingers then back at AJ. “One look brought them to tears.”
Liam snorts. “Back in your day, trauma was a personality trait.”
I try not to laugh—I really do—but Logan’s deadpan kicks it over the edge.
“Back in your day, concussions were called ‘personality resets.’”
Jake points at them all individually. “You punks wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes in the locker rooms we had. Wood benches. One fan. We walked on the field, sweaty with a sliver in our ass, and won. We didn’t dare to complain to a coach who chewed glass for breakfast.”
Logan laughs. “You’re not wrong; we have air conditioning and HR. If a coach breathes too hard in a player’s direction, they start a group chat and ruin his life before lunch.”
I can’t hold back. I’m fueled up now. “Also, hydration. Big fan of that. Didn’t you guys have, like, one orange Gatorade for the whole team?”
Ryan groans. “It builtcharacter.”
Jackson grins. “So did your cholesterol.”
There’s a beat of silence … then Logan delivers the final blow.
“Respectfully, sirs, your entire generation was held together by duct tape, rage, and Capri Suns. Do not lecture us when you created this.”
Even Jake laughs at that one.
As the table devolves into full-on generational warfare, with Jackson pretending to cry into his hoodie about participation trophies and Jake loudly explaining how cassette tapes taught “patience and persistence,” Izzy appears.
She’s got a stack of menus in one hand, a pen tucked behind her ear, and the expression of someone who’s about ten seconds from reminding everyone whoactuallyruns the world. But she doesn’t. She walks over, casually drops the menus on the table, and then places her hands on her hips like a disappointed older sister who also happens to be in charge of everything.
“Well, well, well,” she says sweetly, “look at all these generational wounds festering.”
Jackson grins. “Don’t worry, Iz; we’ll teach your dad how to use Instagram. Maybe get him a burner TikTok.”
Jake scoffs. “I don’t need TikTok. I have muscle memory and a mortgage.”
Izzy smiles—just barely—and leans on the back of the booth behind her father. “You know, I think I consider myselfluckyI was raised by a Gen Xer.”
Everyone quiets. Even AJ looks up from his phone.
“Oh yeah,” she continues, voice sugary sweet. “Because while some people were being coddled and given allergy-friendly gold stars for trying, I was being raised by a man who taught me how to change a tire in a snowstorm, jump a dead battery, skin a deer, and run a budget with a ballpoint pen and a grudge.”
Jake puffs up like he just won Dad of the Year.Kinda did in my eyes.
Izzy pats his shoulder. “I wasn’t given timeouts. I was told to walk it off or go dig something.”
I chuckle. “You dug?”
Jackson chuckles and confirms, “She dug.”
“Idug,” she confirms. “Holes. For fencing.” She looks down at Jake, who is laughing silently. “And emotional processing?”
He nods.
“Y’all wanna call yourselves badasses and mess with Gen X? Fine. But when the grid goes down and you need someone who can fix a diesel generator, preserve tomatoes, and field-dress a deer while explaining the economic collapse of the country and how to rebuild the World Wide Web?” She gestures to herself. “You’ll be calling me.”
