Frankie: Axl, you're coming straight home after school to work on your Aztec report.
Axl: God. Chill. I'm on it.
Frankie: Oh, are you? "12 to 15 pages, double spaced. No fewer than six color charts or graphs, bound in an Oxford ReadyClip clear-front report cover." Listen, Mr. Gottlieb is tough. He's not gonna pass you so you can play basketball.
Axl: Yeah, I know. Parents need to talk to him. He's got no school spirit.
Frankie: Axl, this is 40 percent of your grade. You do get that's almost half, right?
Axl: The paper's not even due for, like, a week. God, you treat me like a little kid. I'm practically an adult.
Frankie: In what way? You don't make your food. You don't buy your own clothes. You don't even remember to flush the toilet unless I remind you.
Axl: I'm almost old enough to go to war.
Frankie: Not if we wanna win, you're not.