My Stepdad, Billie Joe Armstrong (Daughter of Rage and Love)

Do You Know What's Worth Fighting For?

In an hour, my mom left for work at her psychologist office, while I was left with what I assumed was an unemployed at the moment Billie.

I wandered into the kitchen, with Billie following close behind.

"I'm going to the studio to record some songs with the guys today...do you want to come along or...?" Billie asked, running his hand through his disheveled hair and looking at me with uncertainty.

I was about to decline, but looking up at him, I saw the eagerness in his eyes and decided against it. Anyways, he did just cover for me, so I guess I owe him something right? And I do get to see the Green Day recording an album, and like it or not, they're still my favorite band. And I get to meet Tre! I mean, he's this little sized beanie bag in the shape of a unicorn peanut with the energy of a bunny on steroids!

"Hello, Earth to Hope?" I heard Billie's worried voice and then his face appeared in my line of vision. Shit, I can't go into a fangirl state of mind. Not with this old fart here.

"Sure," I said as indifferently as I could, while his face stretched into a smile and he gathered me up into a hug. I was too lazy to punch him.

"You'll finally get to meet Tre!...although I still don't see why he's your favorite," Billie yelled then huffed, and made a beeline for the stairs.

I grabbed a pop tart and was in the process of stuffing it into my mouth as Billie rolled down the stairs, carrying Blue over his head, like a trophy.

"Let's go!" he yelled, then grabbed my arm and pushed me out of the house.

Dragging me to his car (which Mike was smart enough to go back and retrieve last night) he simultaneously took out his cell and texted someone.

Getting into the driver's side, he stopped texting long enough to ruffle through the CD holder hanging over his head. Finding the one he was looking for, he laughed gleefully while sticking it into the disk compartment. Adam's Song by Blink-182 came on and he turned it up, drumming his fingers on the seat along to the rhythm.

Meanwhile, I propped my feet up on the dashboard and rolled the window down. A warm breeze ruffled my hair, and a beam of sunlight casually peeked in, a warm spot on my leg.

Looking back at Billie, I saw that he was bent over the cell with a concentrated look on his face, texting profusely. Suddenly, he slammed the phone down onto the steering wheel with such a force that I flinched involuntarily.

"You okay? Or is breaking steering wheels 'in' according to the punk rock magazine?" I asked him tentatively.

"Fine, I'm fine," he grumbled. He certainly didn't look fine. With his disheveled black hair falling into his eyes, his eyebrows were furred and the small wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead became more pronounced, adding a couple years to his already tired physique.

As he swiped angrily at those stray strands of hair, (almost losing an eye in the process) he simultaneously pulled out of the driveway, almost clipping the side of his car against the mailbox, muttering unintelligible phrases about God knows what.

Yes, I've always wanted to go on a death ride. Nothing gets my heart pumping more than that. I directed my attention to the outside surroundings, trying to not feel bad for not knowing what to say to make him feel better. And for caring enough about him to think that in the first place.

The drive itself was short, no more than 10 minutes, during which I was able to appreciate to full extent Billie's terrible driving skills.

"Here we are!" Billie said in a sing song voice and put on a fake smile as he practically jumped out of the car. I followed suit (ignoring the impulse to drop to the ground and kiss it), walking after him on wobbly feet, up the steps and into the air-conditioned hallway.

Billie led the way, walking past a couple of closed doors before entering the pre-last one on the right side. I felt a burst of anxiety flood through my veins. I mean, I met Mike, and he's cool but what about Tre? And Jason? What if they hate me?

I stopped in front of the studio. My heart was beating a little too hard, my breath hitched somewhere in the back of my throat.

Now or never.