A/N: Well, I've been into Transformers for a while now, so I was like "why not make a fanfic?". Mikaela is only going to appear at the start, but not for the rest. It's not that I don't like her, it's just that she doesn't really fit in my fanfic. Sorry for those that like her. So yeah, this is like the first time I've written a OC, so I'mma do my best. I will most probably update often. Er, in regards to my other fanfics, well... I'm rewriting 'em, since my writing style has change, kind of.
Parings: Jazz/OC, with hints of Bumblebee/OC and Sunny/OC/Sides. Sam/Carly later on.
Summary: Family or love? Sophia Witwicky would have picked family in a heartbeat. So why was she hesitating now? Well, the answer may lie in a certain sliver mech.
Rating: T, rate is going up in later chapters.
Disclaimer: Transformers doesn't belong to me. Only my OC.
Beta'ed by WolvesandFae. Thank you so much for beta'ing this chapter! ^^
"Talking to each other mentally"
'Thoughts'
"Normal"
"Radio"
I stifled a yawn as I went into the classroom, just in time for mine and my twin's turn to present our project. The teacher's head snapped in my direction when I swung the door open and strut in confidently. I ignore the whispers, I was used to being called "delinquent" and "troublemaker" after all. It wasn't like it was a lie.
"Ms. Witwicky! You are late!" the teacher exclaimed, waving where the clock was at. I look at it and indeed, class was almost over, the only reason I actually came in time for the presentation was because my twin told me it was our turn. Well, he told me through our mental link. I stuff my hands in my short shorts back pockets.
"Sorry," I said indifferently, walking towards my twin and ignoring the wolf whistles. I tilt my head, meeting my twin's gaze when I felt him fucking staring at me. 'What?' I asked through our mental link, taking my hands out of my back pockets.
He looks at my short shorts pointedly, 'Those are too short.' I roll my eyes and retort, 'It goes to my thighs, so am good.' He was about to answer, but our teacher interrupted. "Mr. Witwicky, now that Ms. Witwicky is finally here, start your presentation!" the teacher barked out, glaring at us.
My dear twin; Sam, started to fidget, opening his book bag and dropping our great-great grandfather's stuff out on the table on the middle. I sigh and start to help him organize it, I heard a few people snickering'. "S-sorry, I have a lot of stuff," Sam said loud enough for the class to hear.
I jumped a bit when I felt a small, but sharp sting on my neck. I touch the area gently, only to realize that I wasn't the one that got hit with whatever was thrown, but Sam was. I lift my head and glare at the class, my eyes landing on Trent who I was pretty sure did it. 'Fucker,' I thought, instinctively blocking that thought from my twin.
'Are you okay?' I glance at Sam and nudge him slightly with my elbow.
'Yeah, it doesn't really hurt,' he answered, smiling reassuringly. I gave a small nod.
"Who-who did that?" The teacher stood up, looking at the whole class who were laughing and snickering. "People! Responsibility." He sat back down, after giving us a nod.
"Okay," Sam murmured, looking at the stuff on the table. "Um, so for our family genealogy report we decided to do it on my great-great-grandfather-"
"Who was a famous man, Captain Archibald Witwicky," I finish for him, running a hand through my waist-length dark brown hair. "Very famous explorer," Sam agreed. "In fact, he was one of the first to explore the Arctic Circle, which is a big deal. In 1897, he took 41 brave sailors straight into the Arctic Shelf." He continued to tell the story until it was done.
"Sooo, that's the story, right?" I said, glancing at him. He gave a nod in response, and I continue, "Great, so here we have some of the basic instruments and tools used by 19th-century seamen." The whole class erupt in snickers, making me glare at them, shutting them up. I smirk, good I haven't lost my touch.
Sam took one of things from the table. "This is the quadrant, which you can get for 80 bucks," he started. The urge to facepalm was strong, but I resisted it. I shook my head as he continued trying to sell our great-great grandfather's stuff. I perked up at the mention of his glasses as he lifted them up. There was some weird stuff on them, I frowned.
"Are you going to sell me his liver?" the teacher mention. "Mr. Witwicky, this isn't show and sell. It's the 11th grade. I don't think your grandfather would be particularly proud of what you're doing."
I gave Sam a look, silently agreeing with the teacher for the first time and probably the last.
"I know. I'm sorry. I just, you know, this is all going towards our car fund," Sam said, giving me a sheepish look, then he looked at the class again. "You can tell your folks. It's on eBay. I take . Cold hard cash works, too. And the compass makes a great gift for Columbus Day."
"Sam!" the teacher snapped.
"Sorry." Sam wince a bit.
"Anyways," I began smoothly, "unfortunately, our great-great-grandfather, the genius that he was, wound up goin' blind an' crazy in a psycho ward, drawin' these strange symbols and babblin' on 'bout some giant ice man that he thought he'd discovered-" I was cut off by the bell that rang.
"Okay! Might be a pop quiz tomorrow. Might not. Sleep in fear tonight," the teacher said, smirking.
"Here, you want? 50. 40? 30?" Sam was still trying to sell that stuff. 'Sam! Stop tryin' ta sell that stuff!' I chide. 'I know, I know. Sorry,' he grimace.
"Sam?" the teacher questioned in irritation.
"Yeah. Sorry, sorry," Sam said, we walk in front of the teacher's desk, grinning widely. "Okay, pretty good, right?"
"Uh, I'd say a solid B-," the teacher responds.
With those words, Sam's grin dropped and I went stiff. Fuck no. We needed that damn A, and we were going to fucking get it.
"A B-?" I question, staring at him.
"Your brother was hawking your great-grandfather's crap in my classroom," he exclaimed, gesturing at the seats, then shrugged. I took a deep breath. Damn you, Sam.
"No, kids enjoy- Look, can you do me a favor?" Sam ask, putting his hands on the desk before pointing outta the window. "Can you look out the window for a second? You see our father?" The teacher gave a huff in exasperation, lowering his glasses down his nose, looking where Sam was pointing at a old-fashioned car. "He's the guy in the green car," I piped in.
"Yeah."
"Okay, I wanna tell you about a dream. A twins' dream. And a man's promise to those twins. He looked us in the eye. He said, 'Kids, I'm going to buy you a car. But I want you both to bring me one-thousand dollars each and three A's.' The two of us got one-thousand each and two A's. Okay? Here's the dream." He cup his hands together, holding his hands out. "Your B-. Poof." He pulled his hands out. "Dream gone. Kaput."
Even after that whole rant, the teacher didn't seem like he care and Sam was looking like he was about to burst out crying, or try to pull his hair out. So, I use the secret weapon that might help us. "Sir... Just ask yourself, what would Jesus do?" I question.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" We ran towards our dad's car. Well, I jogged and he ran. He put the book bag on the back, opening the passenger door and got in. I frown and look at him. Oh well, I decide to just put my book bag in the back and got in the passenger seat as well, effectively sitting on Sam's lap.
"So?" Dad ask, looking at us questioningly. He didn't even bat an eyelash at the closeness we always had, but then again, we were twins so he must thought it was normal.
"A-," Sam started, then I finished, "It's an A, though." I squirm slightly, trying to get myself comfortable.
"Wait, wait, wait. I can't see," he said, then took the paper and looked at it. "It's an A."
"So we're good?" We question at the same time.
"You're good," He respond, nodding.
Then we drove off. Yes, we finally could get a car. I smile a bit.
"Sophia," Dad called out, glancing at me once in a while.
"Yes?" I ask, but I already knew what he was going to say. After all, it was a talk we had postpone since he told us about getting us the car.
"Please, no street racing. You just got your license back a little while ago, because of what happened before. Remember that," he said. I stiffen a little at that, I knew what he was saying. Juvie; commonly known as juvenile detention center. I ended going there after I stole a car and used it to street race, eight months in juvie and my permit got suspended for six months. I was only fifteen when that happened. I can still remember how much mom and Sam cried, and how disappointed and sadden dad was.
It was hell in juvie, that much I knew. Everyone had thought that once I got out, I would stop doing shit like that. Well, I tried to stop, but the adrenaline of the first time I stole a car and street race had gotten me addicted. I loved that feeling. I loved how fast the car went. I loved everything about it.
So I kept doing it. I was pretty sure my family knew, but they didn't say anything; thinking that maybe, just maybe I would see sense by myself. But when I didn't they pleaded and demanded I stop. I had come home that day from street racing and, yet again, stealing a car.
It had been past midnight, and when I tried to sneak in, my parents were there with Sam. Mom was crying, Sam was about to cry, and dad was yet again, disappointed. So I promised them that I would stop and I did. It took them one year and a few months until they trusted me enough to get my license back and I did, then dad told us about getting a car. The rest is history.
"Yeah, I know," I said, feeling Sam tighten his grip around my waist, a gesture that asked if I was okay, so I just nod.
"Alright," dad said, relief obvious in his voice. Then he smirked, going into a Porsche dealership. Fuck no, I knew that look. He wasn't going to buy us a Porsche. I was about to call him out when my dear, naïve twin started to yell in excitement and happiness. "No. No, no, no, no. Dad!" I just shook my head. You would think that by now, he would know dad. "Oh, you got to be kidding me."
"Yeah, I am. You're not getting a Porsche," dad barked out a laugh, driving pass the cars.
"You think that's funny?" Sam frown at him, displeasure obviously showing on his features. I stayed silent, I didn't want to get into it, after all.
"Yeah, I think it's funny," dad responded, still laughing at his own joke.
"What's wrong with you?" he hissed. I sighed and coo at him, hugging him. Sam's face softens a bit while he hug me back, still sulking.
"What? You really think I'd get you both a Porsche for your first car?" dad asked, watching in amusement as I cuddle and comfort Sam.
"I don't want to talk to you for the of this whole thing." Sam pouted a bit, looking away from him. I roll my eyes and hugged him some more. "There, there."
"Oh, come on. It's just a practical joke." Dad snickered some more, going in another dealership, which looked like there were some filthy ass cars in it. I don't even know if they could be call cars.
"It's not a funny joke," Sam shot back, then finally looked at where we were. 'What the...' he murmured. I nodded. 'My same thoughts there, my dear twin.'
"Here? No, no, no, what is this? You said... You said half a car, not half a piece of crap, dad," Sam said, as I got outta the car, him following after me. Dad also got out and looked around. "When I was your age, I'd have been happy with four wheels and an engine."
"Okay, let me explain something for you. Okay? You ever seen 40 year-old virgin?" Sam asked. Dad nodded, "yeah." Then Sam proceeded to point at Dad's car. "Okay, that's what this is." Then he pointed at the cars from this shop. "And this is 50-year-old virgin."
"I'll be fuckin' dammed," I murmur, looking at all the cars and walking away. Well, if we were going to buy something from here, I was going to find something at least decent enough to drive. I looked around, going through many cars. I could briefly hear someone introducing themselves. Then I saw it, it was a yellow Camaro, it looked decent and pretty cute, with some adjusts it would look better.
I let out a whistle when I was close enough. Yup, it was a pretty cute car. I opened the driver's door, and got in. I caress the steering wheel and I swear I feel it shudder. Must be my imagination or something.
'Sammy, hurry up and get over here,' I said impatiently, and instantly he answered back, 'I'm almost there, Sophie.'
And sure enough, he came with Dad and a black man in a Hawaii shirt. "This ain't bad," my brother commented, looking outside then inside. I hum in agreement while going to the passenger seat. I look at the black man again and I raise my eyebrow. 'Who the fuck is that?' Sam follow my gaze and saw the man. 'Oh, that's 'Uncle' Bobby B.'
"Alright then," I murmur, I lightly touch the seat I was sitting in and fuck, I felt it shudder again.
"It got racing stripes," Sam commented.
"Yeah, it got racing..." "Uncle" Bobby B trailed off. Then he got a good look at the car. "What's this? What the heck is this? I don't know nothing about this car." He frowned then yell out, "Manny!"
A short man came out. "What?"
"What is this? This car! Check it out!" "Uncle" Bobby B gesturing at the car.
"I don't know, Boss. I've never seen it! That's loco!" the shorter man screamed back.
"Don't go Ricky Ricardo on me, Manny! Find out!" he retorted and the shorter man left.
"Feels good," Sam murmured and touched the odd symbol at the center of the steering wheel. But the car didn't shiver. So it was my imagination.
"How much?" Dad asked, looking at the car too.
"Well, considering the semi-classic nature of the vehicle, with the slick wheels and the custom paint job..."
"Uncle" Bobby B started, and I raised my eyebrow. "Yeah, but the paint's faded."
He looked at me like I said something in another language. "Yeah, but it's custom."
"So it's custom faded?" We question at the same time, looking at him like he was stupid.
"Well, it's your first car. I wouldn't expect you to understand," he told us then turn to Dad. "Five grand."
"No, I'm not paying over four. Sorry," dad said.
"Alright. Kids, come on, get out. Get out of the car," he said, waving his hand.
"No, no, no. You said cars pick their drivers," Sam protested, getting outta the car, I just slid back into the driver's seat.
"Well, sometimes they pick a driver with a cheap-ass father," he retorted then looked at me. "Out of the car.
I glare at him and was about to get out, but I couldn't get out. I blink and try harder, well fuck, I'm stuck. "Can't get out."
"Uncle" Bobby B tried to open the passenger side, but couldn't open it either. He kept trying until the door flew open, knocking him over into the car next to it.
"Oh shit," I murmur.
"You alright?" Dad asked.
"No, no, no. 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!" he laugh.
"...Greater than man..." the radio started suddenly.
"That one's my favorite, drove all the way from Alabammy." He pointed to a car on the other side, I huffed. I didn't want another car, I wanted the one I was in. And by the looks of it, Sam agreed with me.
Then the radio started to act up again and gave a fucking loud noise, cracking all of the windows of the other cars. Shiiiittttt. I tried to open the door again, it turns out I could open it now.
"Fo-four-thousand!" "Uncle" Bobby B held up four fingers, looking really shaken up.
I smirk in a pleased fashion, and lean against my brother's and mine new car.
I got a feeling everything was going to be interesting from now on.