Chapter One: Grades

The clock ticked unbearably slow. Tapping the pencil to the time of each tick, my brother reached over, obviously annoyed, and snatched it away from me. Sending a glare his way, I reached into my backpack and pulled out another one. I was rewarded with a defeated sigh.

"Samuel Witwicky?"

Sam scrambled to his feet and stumbled to the front of the class when he was tripped. Sighing, I looked at my paper as Sam got flicked in the forehead with a folded piece of paper.

"Who did-? Who did that? People. Responsibility." The teacher gave a hollow warning. We all knew that it was Trent and we all knew he wouldn't stop at any chance he had to tease my brother. He kicked the back of my chair and I just growled, sparing a glance over my shoulder at the smirking brute. He winked at me and I shivered. Trent was obnoxious and a huge blockhead, but he's always had the hugest crush on me since the 5th grade. The class laughed as Sam said "seamen" and once more for "sextant". The teacher held up a "Silence" sign twice but his intentions were futile as the bell rang and the students rushed to get away from him. Gathering my stuff into my bag, I walked up to Sam.

"I'll see you in the car?"

"Yeah. Hey, I can get you a great deal on this! 50? 40!"

Shaking my head, I exited the class. Sam always wanted to sell poor Grandfather Witwicky's stuff. I think I would be uber pissed if my grandchild try to sell my stuff I left to my family. Walking out to dad's car, my step had a bit of a skip to it. Laughing, dad watched me as I climbed into the back seat.

"Someone looks happy!"

"Hell yeah! I got my 3 A's and the thousand Sam asked me to get. It's all up to him to get that final 'A'," I punched the air with my right hand. Dad just laughed and looked over at the over-excited brother of mine that had made his way over. I sat further between the driver and passenger seats, looking hopefully at my brother, "So...?"

"Sooo I got an 'A'!" Sam blurted excitedly as he collapsed into the passenger seat, his graded paper in hand.

"No way!" I shrieked happily, giving Sam an awkward one armed hug.

Dad reached out a hand, "Let me see that. You're waving it to much, I can't see it."

"It's an 'A-' but it's still an 'A'."

Both me and Sam held our breaths as dad looked it over. He sighed and gave a warm smile, "Okay, okay. It's an 'A'."

A victory cheer was in order and Sam and I probably looked like total idiots, but we didn't seem to care at the moment. Dad just shook his head and chuckled at us, pulling into the slow flow of after-school traffic. I relaxed into the back seat and watched the scenery, wondering what kind of car we would get. Hopefully it was fast, and kind of a muscle car but something not to-.

My thought stopped short as dad pulled into a Porsche lot. Sam was spazzing over it as I practically drooled over some of these cars.

"No way!"

That was all I heard before I heard dad chuckle. The bastard, messing with our heads.

"Shut up Sam. He's just messing with us."

My hand met the back of Sam's head as he stared at Dad in disbelief, then I saw a pout coming on. Smiling, I looked at the car lot dad was pulling into. Groaning, I looked at the clown, he was mumbling something about it being hot and make up. I poked dad in the shoulder as he pulled to a stop.

"You have to be kidding me dad. Really? This place is a dump!" I was complaining as we all got out. Dad just smiled and was about to say something as a dark skinned man walked up.

"What can I do for ya'?"

"Yeah I'm here to get my son and daughter their first car," Dad put an arm around my shoulder as the man held out a hand.

"And you chose ol' Bobby here to buy from? Nu-uh we're family now. Uncle Bobby B, baby, uncle Bobby B."

Sam shook his hand wearily as I began to wander around the lot. There was several old, rusty cars that never got a second glance. I was about to turn back to yell at dad that there ain't nothing here worth it but something yellow caught my eye. My eyes scanned the car containing the bright tinge, from the two racing stripes right on down to the slightly worn tires. Slowly making my way towards it, my breathing sped up. I wasn't a complete car junkie (that would be my friend Celeste) but I have more knowledge than Sam and know when to appreciate a fine car specimen as this one. As I neared, I reached a pale slender hand and ran it up the hood of the car, barely touching it as I got to the driver's door. I could've sworn it shivered but I was to busy admiring the interior of the car to give it any second thoughts.

"Hey Sam?"

"What?"

"How about this one?" I was half shouting to my brother (who was half way across the lot) as I slid into the drivers seat. My hands went up to the steering wheel and smoothed my palms on it. This car felt so good, the seats almost contorted to my body and the car raised and lowered slowly, almost as if it sighed. Sam appeared at the window, glancing inside, "Wow."

Sam opened the door, "Move over."

I stuck my tongue out at him but compliantly scooted into the passenger seat. I was admiring the inside still, the frame of the car was in good shape and it held the car perfectly. The leather seats were the same color as the car as well as the stripes and the material was softened with years of good use. It was perfect, "God, Sam, we have to get this car. Look at it! This is just... wow. How did it end up at a dump like this?"

Dad appeared next to the car as did "Uncle" Bobby B. Before Sam could talk, Dad spoke up,

"How much?"

"Given the semi-classic nature of the car-"

I gave a snort, "Semi-classic? Dude, this thing is a beautiful vintage car."

"Well, little lady, mind tellin' me why its a "beautiful vintage car"?" Uncle Bobby B glared at me through the passengers side open window.

A retort bubbled up in the back of my throat but Sam nudged my shoulder. A sure enough sign to tell me to shut up, "Ignore her. She's a bit of a hot-head."

Dad continued to talk to Bobby B as I sat back in the passenger seat with my arms crossed and a pout tugging at my bottom lip. I could see Sam smirking out of the corner of my eye and he swiped a thumb across the middle of the steering wheel. It revealed a symbol of some sort. I leaned in closer, my curiosity getting the best of both me (it seemed Sam's had as well seeing he leaned in just as I did), completely ignoring the conversation between my dad and Bobby B for a split second. It almost looked like a face, an extremely robotic face, with a complex yet simple design. It sent a shiver down my spine. I began to reach for it, something compelling me to touch it, when me and Sam were snapped forcibly back into reality when dad patted the top of the car, then Sam's shoulder, telling us to get out.

"But dad!" I whined, giving him my biggest puppy dog eyes.

"No, Jess. C'mon and get out. I'm not paying over $4,000 for a car you and Sam will undoubtedly wreck.

Sam grumbled to himself, getting out, when Bobby B climbed into a dingy, 1970-some odd VW Bug, stating that it was only 4 thousand and a beaut. Dad slung his arm over Sam's shoulder, pointing to a Ford Fiesta with racing stripes. I tried to get out but my door was jammed. After a few tugs and pulls, the door swung open, hitting the car Bobby B was in. I practically fell out, staring wide-eyed at the car I had just hit.

"Jessica!" Dad looked really red.

"I didn't do it on purpose dad! I swear! The door was jammed!" I held up my hands in surrender as Bobby B shouted to his friend about getting the dents out, and then forced a strained laugh. I rolled my eyes and gently closed the passenger door, patting the top of the car before walking to the middle of the car lot with my brother. Suddenly, I heard a radio tuning and as I turned back to the Camaro, a high pitch emitting from the said car's radio. I hit the ground, my arms covering my head from all the glass. Sam and Dad followed suit, Sam emitting a scream.I got up and looked at all the cars; every car's windows and windshields shattered. Turning, I saw that the only car untouched was (go figure) the Camaro. Uncle Bobby B scrambled to his feet and turned every which direction before whipping around to my father, holding up four fingers and his voice cracking.

"Four Thousand."