In the small town where I was raised, the sign of popularity in middle school was ownership of a Spree Ñ a small scooter which resembles a motorcycle but can only reach speeds of 30 to 35 miles per hour. Besides a big trampoline, from the time I hit sixth grade, there was nothing I begged for more.

Each of my best friends, Alissa and Nicole, had one and were able to take ÒSpree tripsÓ together. The only thing worse than being Spree-less was the fact that I was not even allowed to ride on the back of my friendsÕ scooters. I was strictly forbidden from even sitting on one, so even when Alissa or Nicole would invite me on a Spree trip, I couldnÕt go.

One day I decided to take my chances and accompany Nicole to Jason MitchellÕs house on the back of her Elite, the even fancier Spree that the really popular clique members owned. It was around four in the afternoon; my mom was upstairs in her room, and my brothers were playing catch in the front yard.

Nicole started her Spree in the driveway and rolled down the hill in front of my house. I walked beside her and we went up another hill until we were completely out of sight from my house.

ÒThe coast is clear,Ó I said as I jumped on the back. Nicole revved the engine and we took off Ñ at the ever so exciting speed of 15 miles per hour. ÒWhoo hoo!Ó I thought to myself. ÒI am cool now. Jason is going to think I am so popular. Look at me, IÕm riding a Spree!Ó

On the other side of the grass median on Lynnway Drive, I saw a car that resembled my fatherÕs. ÒNo way,Ó I thought. ÒThat canÕt be Dad. ItÕs way too early for him to be home from work.Ó

As the car got closer I realized it was my father, and in my adolescent mind, I knew there was only one thing I could do: I quickly did a dive roll off the Spree onto the blacktop without even informing Nicole. She nearly lost control of the Spree, looked back and wondered what I was doing.

I made eye contact with my father for a brief moment as I lay on the street, scraped knees and all. Busted. I knew it, I was busted. If I had been smarter, I would have realized that staying on the Spree and simply ducking behind Nicole would have been far less noticeable than making some James Bond/Jackie Chan-esque dive into midair.

I told Nicole to continue her journey to JasonÕs, but I had to go home and face my father and mother, who dad had surely informed by now. I figured I would be yelled at and then grounded for eternity.

I walked in the house and up to my parentsÕ room. My mom just shook her head. ÒWeÕre disappointed in you, thatÕs all. You knew the rules.Ó No punishment, just the ÒdisappointedÓ line.

I havenÕt been on a Spree since that day. IÕm not sure if Nicole ever told Jason what happened, but I was really embarrassed when I saw him the next day in social studies class.

I spent the rest of my middle school years trying to forget the incident and attempting to survive on Lynnway Drive, right in the heart of Spree-Ville.

• Cruising in Spree-ville