Grandad always orders a BLT. I usually order a grilled cheese, but today I order a BLT, too. I don’t even like tomatoes, but the sandwich is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.

“You can use my phone to call Denis on the ride home,” Grandad says.

“Thanks.”

“And how about you let me and your mom help you more with this censorship thing? We won’t take over—but having us behind you will help. Plus, I know a bunch of guys who fought like I did for your right to read whatever the heck word you want. You need to know when to ask for help.”

“I’m sorry you think about those families every day,” I say.

He takes a big bite of his BLT. Chews. Nods. The look on his face is something I can’t describe. “The best I can do is use my life for something good. Not just for other people. For me, too. Your gram taught me that.”

“She was a great lady,” I say.

“She was. She made me care about myself.”

When I think about it, that’s exactly what Grandad just did for me. In public. On a city street. In the rain.

On the way home I call Denis. And I sniffle into the phone like it’s no big deal. I tell him how sorry I am for saying the stuff I did. I tell him I don’t care that he told Marci.

“Just ask her to the dance,” Denis says. “That’ll help with some of your stress, right?”

“I don’t even know how to do that,” I say.

Grandad leans into the phone. “I’ll explain it to him, Denis.”

I swat him away from the phone. “I’ve been putting it off the whole week,” I say.

“I’ll teach him!” Grandad says loudly, tapping his fingertips on his knees.

Denis laughs into the phone. We say goodbye. I say sorry one more time and he says, “We’re best friends, dude. I get it. I’m here for you. Just ask.”

I feel like he’s giving me a free shot because my dad left.

And then I think he’s really cool for giving me the free shot.

I need it.

Grandad teaches me how to ask Marci to the dance. “It’s simple. Just ask.”

Then he says he’s going to dial her number and I ask, “How do you even have her number?”

“We traded at the protest last week.”

“So you have my potential girlfriend’s number but I don’t even have a phone?”

“That’s accurate,” he says. Then he burps. Then I burp. The BLT was worth it.

When Marci picks up, I say, all in one breath, “Hi, Marci, it’s Mac and I want to ask if you’ll go to the dance with me on Friday.”

She says, “Heck yes!”

And then neither of us knows what to say, so I say that I’m on a bus and it’s loud, so I’ll talk to her Monday. She says goodbye, and I can hear that she’s happy. I’m smiling so big that I know I’m happy.

I guess that’s the point.

I look at Grandad and he’s smiling, too.

At dinner, things feel different. It’s weird to not have seen Dad in two whole weeks. Last time I asked Grandad about his stolen car, he said he was leaving it in the hands of the police. I haven’t talked to Mom at all about it. She seems happy, too.

We eat dinner on a Saturday any time we want now.