EmberRose: OH. MY. GOSH! I discovered Transformers last weekend and I fell in love! I know I have a ton of other stories to update (thank you my loyal readers!) but I can't resist! I fell for Bumblebee, and I've been running scenarios through my head for the last week! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: XxEmberRosexX doesn't own Transformers.
"And that is why my great-uncle is a huge contributor to our current society." I finished with a smile, relieved to be finished with my report. Polite claps rang around the classroom and I turned to Mr. Hosney expectantly.
"Good job, Ms. Witwicky." He said in a bored tone.
"So I get an..." I left the sentence open for him to finish.
"Well presented, so an A." He answered lazily. I flashed a giant grin at my brother, Sam, before retreating to my seat. "Okay, mister Witwicky, you're up."
Sam stumbled up to the front of the classroom, fumbling with the many objects in his arms. "Sorry, I got a lot of stuff."
"Watch this." I heard Trent whisper a few seats away from me. A rubber band flew from the evil jock's hand and hit Sam in the neck. Everyone started laughing at Sam's expression.
"Who did that? People! Responsibility!" Mr. Hosney called over the laughter.
"Okay, um." Sam continued awkwardly. " So, for my family genealogy report, I decided to do it on my great-great-grandfather, who was a famous man, Captain Archibald Witwicky. Very famous explorer. In fact, he was one of the first... to explore... the Arctic Circle, which is a big deal. In 1897, he took forty one brave sailors straight into the Arctic Shelf."
"Hey, Ellie. Why wasn't your genealogy report as cool as this?" Camille whispered from a seat behind me.
"He's a idea-stealer." I grumbled, putting my head into my arms, hiding my caramel-brown eyes.
"So that's the story, right? And here we have some of the basic instruments and tools used by nineteenth century seamen." Sam said, holding up a weird object. Everyone started laughing, ignoring the sign that said 'quiet'.
"This here is the quadrant, which you can get for eighty bucks. It's all for sale, by the way. Like the, uh, the sextant here. " Sam continued, holding up another object. As more laughter ran out, a blush rose to my cheek in embarrassment. "Fifty dollars for this, which is a bargain. These are pretty cool. These are my grandfather's glasses. I haven't quite gotten them appraised yet, but they've seen many cool things."
"Shut up, Sam. You're going to fail and we won't get a new car." I moaned into my arms.
"Are you going to sell me his liver?" Mr. Hosney asked sarcastically. "Mr. Witwicky, this isn't show and sell. It's the eleventh grade. I don't think your grandfather would be particularly proud of what you're doing."
"I know, I'm sorry. I just, you know, this is all going towards my car fund." Sam explained quickly. "You can tell you're folks, it's on Ebay. I take . Cold hard cash works, too. And the compass makes a-a great gift for Columbus Day!"
"Sam!"
"Sorry." Sam quickly apologized. "Um, unfortunately, my great-great-grandfather, the genius that he was, wound up going blind and crazy in a psycho ward, drawing these strange symbols and babbling on about some, uh, giant ice man that he thought he'd discovered."
The bell rang near the end of his presentation so nobody payed attention to the final years of our great-great-grandfather.
"Okay. Might be a pop quiz tomorrow. Might not." Mr. Hosney sighed. "Sleep in fear tonight."
"Better do some brown-nosing." I whispered to Sam as I passed by him. I started to walk to Dad's car, slowly though so Sam could catch up to me.
"Yes!" He yelled, running up to me with his paper clenched in his hand.
"A?" I demanded with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes!" He shouted, pulling me along as we ran to Dad's green car. He threw me into the backseat and pushed kept yelling the word "Yes!"
"So?" Dad asked expectantly.
A-minus. It's an A, though." He basically sang. He looked at me.
"A." I shrugged with a smile.
"Wait, wait, wait. I can't see." Dad argued, so Sam and I shoved our papers into Dad's face. "It's an A."
"So I'm good?" Sam asked, I leaned forward in between the seats in suspense.
"You're good." Dad said with a smile. We drove into a Porsche car dealership much to my surprise. "I got a little surprise for you two."
"No way!" I squealed happily.
"No. No, no, no, no! Dad! Oh, you got to be kidding me!" Sam crowed happily, almost falling out of the window while looking at the cars.
"Yeah. I am." Dad laughed, driving out of the Heaven-on-Earth. "You two aren't getting a Porsche."
"You think that's funny?" I demanded in my most irritated tone.
"Yeah, I think it's funny." He chortled while we drove to some crappy dealership.
"What's wrong with you?" Sam growled.
"You think I'd really get you two a Porsche? For your first car?" Dad snorted.
"You think that's funny?"
"Yeah I think it's funny."
"What's wrong with you?" I sighed, leaning back. "We're not talking to you for the rest of this whole thing."
"Oh, come on!" Dad chuckled. "It's just a practical joke."
"Not a funny one." Sam muttered as we drove into the run-down dealership. I watched absentmindedly as a yellow Camaro drove past us. A clown out front held a sign and stared at us as we past.
"Freaky." I pointed out. "Don't trust places with clowns."
"Manny!" A black man yelled.
"What?" The man I assumed was 'Manny' called back.
"Get your cousin out of that damn clown suit. He's having a heat stroke again. Scaring white folks!" The black man shouted before turning to us.
"Here? No, no, no, what is this? You said- you said half a car, not half a piece of crap, dad." Sam argued, slamming the door to Dad's car shut.
"When I was your age-"
"Here he goes again." I sighed in exasperation.
"I'd have been happy with four wheels and an engine."
"Okay, let me explain something to you. Okay? You ever see 40-Year-Old Virgin?" Sam asked him.
"Yeah."
"Okay, that's what this is. And this is a 50-year-old virgin."
"Too much information, Sam." I scoffed, rolling my eyes.
"Ah, okay."
"You want us to live that life?" Sam demanded while giving Dad a pleading look.
"No sacrifice-" Dad said.
"Yeah, yeah. No victory. We know." I finished the quote.
"No victory." Dad confirmed.
"You know, we got it. The old Witwicky motto, dad." Sam rolled his eyes.
"Right." Dad said firmly.
"Gentlemen. Bobby Bolivia, like the country, except without the runs." The black man introduced himself, striding over to us. "How can I help you?"
"Well, my children here are looking to buy their first car." Dad gestured to us. I gave a small wave while Sam forced a polite smile.
"You come to see me?" Bolivia asked proudly.
"We had to." Sam said quietly.
"That practically makes us family. Uncle Bobby B, baby. Uncle Bobby B." He said, shaking Sam's hand.
"Sam." My brother said and shook his hand.
"Abrielle." I said, shaking his hand as well.
"Sam, Abrielle, let me talk to you. Your first enchilada of freedom awaits underneath one of those hoods. Let me tell you something, children. A driver don't pick the car. The car'll pick the driver." Bolivia preached.
"Mm." Sam hummed absentmindedly.
"It's a mystical bond between man and machine-." He continued blissfully. I walked away from our small group and walked over to a familiar looking Camaro with a black stripe down the middle. I slid into the front seat and put my hand on the steering wheel. A strange symbol was imprinted on the steering wheel making me curious.
"Hey Sam! Come look at this one!" I called out the door. I smiled at the car, loving the feeling it was radiating off of it. It was a cheery feeling, and kind of cocky.
"Whoa!" Sam breathed, scooting in by me. I shifted to the passenger seat to allow him to observe the car.
"How much?" Dad asked Bolivia.
"Well, considering the semi-classic nature of the vehicle, with the slick wheels and the custom paint job..." He considered the car for a few moments.
"Yeah, but the paint's faded." Sam pointed out.
"Yeah, but it's custom." Bolivia argued with a raised eyebrow.
"It's custom faded?" I questioned skeptically. "That makes sense."
"Well, this is your first car. I wouldn't expect you to understand. Five grand." Bolivia decided, looking at Dad.
"Nope. I'm not paying over four. Sorry." Dad said, shaking his head.
"Kids, come on. Get out. Out of the car." Bolivia said, hitting the top of the car.
"No. No, no. You said cars pick their drivers." Sam whined.
"Well, sometimes they pick a driver with a cheap-ass father. Out the car." Bolivia snapped, opening the driver's side door. "Now, this one here for four Gs is a beaut."
"There's a Fiesta with racing stripes over there." Dad pointed at a old faded Fiesta that was at least twenty years older than this one.
"We don't want a Fiesta with racing stripes." I pouted sadly while I struggled to open the passenger side door. "Come on daddy. This one is so beautiful!"
"This is a classic engine right here. I sold a car the other day-" Bolivia started. I had given up and crawled to the other side where Sam had just started to shut it. It slammed in my face, and suddenly the other door opened, hitting the car next to it.
"Geeze!" Holy cow!" Dad exclaimed.
"No worries. I'll get a sledgehammer and knock this right out. Hey, hey, Manny! Get your clown cousin and get some hammers and come bang this stuff out, baby!" Bolivia laughed.
"You all right?" Dad asked as he helped me out of the car.
"Yeah." I responded, smiling. I pulled my red curls into a ponytail and stretched.
Greater than man...
I jumped and looked around. Sam raised an eyebrow at me, but ignored me.
"That one's my favorite, drove all the way from Alabamy." Bolivia said, pointing at another rust bucket across the lot. Suddenly a loud noise emitted from the Camaro and the glass from all of the cars shattered around us. Sam and Dad grabbed my small arms and pulled me down to the ground.
"Ow." I yelped as the glass dug into my hands. Bolivia's wide eyes swept the broken cars in disbelief. He turned to us and raised four shaking fingers at us.
"Four thousand."