Here it is! The first revamped chapter of MMG!

Note: I only own a small fraction of O/C's. The rest is copyrighted to Hasbro. Please R&R. I'm open to suggestions.

The Misadventures of Miranda Gnylles

By: TMR

Chapter 1: The First Sighting and Boredom

I glanced at the clock for what seemed the thousandth time. For the last period of the school year, it was going awfully slow. Sighing, I leaned back in my seat. I was really impatient to get out of here. My parents were going on a weeklong cruise to Mexico. So that means a week at my best friend's house. No matter what I did, though, the time wasn't going any faster. Having my iPod out, I was listening to some Linkin Park, which was a favorite of mine. Every word drifted from my mind:

"And the sun will set for you,

the sun will set for you,

and the Shadow of the Day

will embrace the world in gray and the sun will set for you…."

Glancing at the clock again for the thousand-and-first time, I sat back up and opened up my binder to several pictures taped to the inside. Some were of my friends, some of me, and one big torn picture of four different vehicles. I know their names very well because I drool every time I see it. There's a Chevy Camaro, a Hummer H2, a Pontiac Solstice, and a GMC Topkick.

People have their favorite things. Some love sports, some are text-holics, some live for cheering. But me? I love to talk about vehicles. I'm what you may call a 'car buff' Many girls my age can text a message in about three seconds, whereas I can tell you the difference between an engine of a sports car and the engine of a truck. My friends and I share many hobbies, including our love for all things with wheels. We talk a lot about new makes and models. Each one of us has our favorite type. One could be Mustangs, another could be Jaguars, but personally I like the Chevies or GMCs. No Toyotes for me thank you very much

A lot of boys, (and girls), hate scratches and particles of dust on their daddy bought cars, but I think it makes trucks more appealing in nature. I absolutely hate shiny pickups. That's why I'm not a big fan of Hummers. Sure in their introduction as the HumVee military off-road vehicles, they were kick ass, but the Hummers, H2's, and H3's rarely see a dirt road much less mud bogs. It makes them look ugly.

"Drive me," they say. "I want to see dirt again." That's just me.

I was never a girl who liked makeup, texting, or staring at guys all day long. Nope, I totally fit the category of "tomboy." It's in my blood, I guess. See my parents were both raised to hunt, fish, and camp. My mom grew up deep sea fishing in San Diego. My dad lived in the opposite direction of the USA, and was steeped in hunting, boating, and fishing – and any other outdoor thing you could think of – in a small backwater town located on the border of Iowa and Wisconsin. They met in a very unlikely way: over a hunting trip. So like I said, it's in my blood.

The five minute bell rang through my daydream. Startled, I nearly fell from my seat.

I looked around just to make sure no one saw. My Math teacher, Mrs. Randall, gave a very loud ragged sigh. She looked exhausted. I wouldn't blame her considering she probably felt the same.

Trying to find words, she made an attempt to say last minute goodbyes to her last period of the year only to start stuttering.

"Class, I would er like to say, thank you. Thank you for a great year. All of you were um…..I don't want to say this, but you were the greatest class I've had the entire time I've been here."

Aw shucks, don't I feel great? I'm gonna start crying here because of the drama.

I started putting away stuff into my backpack, when someone in the back said, "I think, you're the greatest teacher in the world."

"Geez, as if we don't have enough drama already," I muttered. With my hand pushing my long brown hair out of my eyes, I looked up to see that the secondhand arrow was almost at the twelve with the red one closing behind

C'mon bell ring, I aimed at the clock. I want to get out of here! As if somebody heard my thoughts, the shrill bell rang, ending the last day of school for the freshman class.

Hallelujah, I'm outta here!

I quickly departed, pausing only to say,

"Thanks for one of the best years of my life."

I ran toward the loading areas for the bus stops, but I didn't stop. I continued running down the sidewalk, passed by my usual stop, turned left, and made my way along the street towards the crosswalk I normally use to get to the little restaurant across the way. It's where my parents always pick me up – on the days they deem it worthy of picking me up and not making me suffer the long bus ride home.

As I moved parallel to the school's parking lot, I slowed. There is always a very interesting array of vehicles parked here – some student's and some teachers. There's a '91 Chevrolet Impala over there. – a good -looking '68 Mustang over there.

Ooooh, what's this? I leaned closer to the fence as another classic car caught my eye.

"Ohmigosh,"

Glinting in the late spring sun was a gleaming red 75' Chevy Camaro with white racing stripes.

Really nice, an extremely rare car.

Okay, I said I like trucks. Camaros, I adore – especially the classics. But still if I had to pick between the two… Remembering that I had to go somewhere, I continued on my way down to the crosswalk.

The police are always looking out for teens who jaywalk. A few months ago, some poor kid, (a Junior I think), got hit because he was jaywalking. Heard he broke some ribs and a leg.

So I always use the crosswalk, no matter what. I slowed down to a stop to wait until the coast was clear. For the moment no one was coming, so I started to step off the curb and on to the street when all of a sudden a black truck came screaming around the corner and raced through the crosswalk not five feet in front of me.

I stared not because it almost ran me over, not because of the fact it was speeding, but because that the truck was a Topkick. It was what my friends called, "a badass looking pickup truck, which would cause anyone to stare. If you got ran over, well it's pretty much your own stupid fault for not paying attention. "

Too bad I didn't have a camera on me. I'm gonna have to bring mine over on Saturday.

A honk scared the bejesus out of me, I finally saw that the driver of a small minivan was getting really mad, so I apologetically gestured and resumed a course across the street.

My mom was there, sitting in her silver 99' Honda Accord, but she didn't notice me. She was drawing, as usual. Her short blonde hair fell straight as a board to the base of her neck. She was turned away from me, head down, and her lighter blue eyes affixed to a small pad of blue sticky notes in her hand. She and my dad have the same shade eyes, so how mine turned out darker, is beyond me.

I have my mom's looks, but my dad's hair. Her face, his nose. My hair is a medium brown color with some natural curls which my mother actually envies to this very day.

My mom was preoccupied, so maybe I should take the chance. I carefully crept up to her window. Before she knew it, I was right at the driver side door and she still didn't see me. So I gave her a wake-up call.

"Hi mom!"

She jumped up like a Mexican Jumping Bean. I was surprised that she didn't hit her head on the ceiling. She turned her head and gave me a nervous smile.

"Miranda, I…..er…. didn't see you there."

Gee, ya think? Putting that aside, I tried to adjust the strap on my pack.

"Can you pop open the trunk, mom? This stuff isn't getting any lighter." I grimaced again.

Man twenty pounds of junk is just not light.

The popping of mechanisms was heard as the back panel flew up.

"Thank you." I strolled to the back; tossing the nuisance I called a backpack in to the dark interior of the trunk. I closed it none too gently and came around to the front seat door. Opening it I glided into the seat and shut the door behind me.

"So how was your day, sweetie?" she asked.

"Long. Really, really, long. It felt like two hours every class." (Which is like only three)

It was a quiet ride back to the house. We only live about five miles from town. A really peaceful area, Lemoore is. It's a really small town compared to Fresno or Hanford. The only thing special is the Naval Air Station. You can tell because of the FA-18's that are roaring by. I've been growing up around an Aviation Structural Mechanic my whole life. So I know a lot about jets, engines, and the whole shebang.

I annoy the crap of a lot people because of the fact that sometimes I'm a know-it-all about a lot of things. Heck, it even annoys me. But I've never let that get me down. So what more can I say? I'm a Navy, know-it-all, motor head, truck-loving, tomboy, brat who's bored out of her mind.

But can I do anything about it?

Yes I can.