This story is really addictive to write, I already have a bunch set aside for later. I prefer to post a few chapters behind so I can edit and work some retroactive plot magic. The first chapter seemed a bit dry to me, but as you will see in a moment, I like to switch up my style a bit. I hope you like the chapter title.
I still don't own or profit from Transformers.
An Average Day in the Life of the Teenage Friend of a Giant Alien Robot from Space Who Disguises Himself as a Sports Car and Aspires to be the Worlds Biggest iPod:
Awesome.
Sam Witwicky's day had started out normally. He woke up, went through his ritual of morning hygiene, dressed, put on his cologne and bounced into the kitchen. He chugged a glass of milk and ran out the door with one of his mother's home-baked banana nut muffins in his mouth, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and stuffing his feet into his shoes without tying them.
As he bolted into the driveway the engine of his alien robot car roared to life as usual, the yellow Camaro lunging forward a few feet playing a few bars of "Good Morning Sunshine" in greeting. As Sam reached for the door handle, however, the locks clicked and Bee backed away in offense.
"Awww, come awn Bee, jus' this once?"
"It ain't no lie, baby BYE bye bye!"
"Dude, that's so not cool. I know for a fact that Lennox's kid can eat in Ironhide. And please don't blast NSYNC so loud!" He crunched loudly on the nuts in the muffin, savoring the banana-nutty goodness.
"Ironhide is still undercover, and the infant needs sustenance every two hours. You know I am not just a car, and Ratchet knows that I know that you know that food and Autobots don't mix. He expressly prohibited me from allowing you near me with food after the popcorn incident. If it happens again, I think he will really leave me that way."
Taking another bite of the muffin, Sam went on the defensive. "But Bee, that was an accident. You know that I'd never purposefully gum up your incendiary cannon-"
"Or cause a misalignment in my orientational equilibrium matrix."
"Right, I really am sorry about that-"
"It was, with the exception of Mikaela's driving, and combined with the erratic readings caused by kernels popping in my primary sensory relays, the most frightening experience of my life. "-Forget what you heard, if I said it I meant it-" Either the muffin goes or I do, Sam."
Sam eyed the tiny chunk of muffin in his hand longingly and after looking appraisingly between it and Bumblebee, tossed the last bite of it into the trash can and approached the triumphant yellow vehicle.
"This is how we get this done, you can check on the rep- yep!- second to none."
"Not even to one of my mom's muffins, Bee. Now, her brownies, mind you-"
"Sam! You wouldn't!"
"Nah, I'm just kidding. Geez, the way you act maybe I should've saved you guys some grief and shoved a bag of popcorn into Megatron's chest to get rid of him instead of the Allspark."
There was a tense pause for a moment, then: "Sam, promise me you won't ever repeat that in the presence of any other Autobots."
"Oh…ok…"
And then the world's strangest Chevy Camaro burst into a fit of two-ton metallic giggles.
So that had been a somewhat average morning on the whole. He always planned to wake up a little early and eat breakfast in the driveway chatting with Bumblebee, then take a leisurely drive to school and hang out with him in the parking lot for a few minutes. His parents had found out that Bee was sentient and could talk some time ago when they'd caught him driving a snoring Sam back from a meeting with the Autobots. They had had no choice but to explain some of the basics. Now the couple took pains to skirt several feet around the bot when leaving the house but made no attempt to converse. It irritated Bee that they still called him The Car, but since he and Sam were no longer in deep cover he was willing to forgive and ignore at least as passionately as Ronald and Judith Witwicky.
School had been normal, boring even, and it was with glee that Sam dashed through the parking lot and dove into Bumblebee's driver's seat, then sped off to the sound of Boys like Girls: "Throw it away! Forget yesterday! We'll make the great escape… We won't hear a word they say; they don't know us anyway…"
They took the long way home, buzzed on a care-free weekend, engaging in a fierce battle of wits and song lyrics as they drove. As soon as they reached their destination, Sam bolted upstairs and set himself upon his homework. His curfew had been extended to midnight as long as he finished it all in the afternoon. Unless of course he was going to one of the few, long official meetings with other giant alien robots which his parents preferred not to think about. As soon as his explanation included the term 'Autobots' he was sent to bed with no further questions.
It was at around six when, this being a Friday and Friday being the least Autobot-friendly night to be on the road (what with all the teenagers high on freedom zipping around), Bumblebee usually stayed home to make his weekly report to Optimus Prime and receive a summary of the others' activities. There being only one complete and three abbreviated reports to share- four, if one included Jazz's portion of their duties, now largely carried out by Optimus and Ratchet- one wouldn't expect it to take all evening. But having acquired an idea of the scope of Autobot interests when Bumblebee started translating his contribution one week to humor the boy, Sam decided to leave him well enough alone on Fridays. So he rode his new, masculine black bike to meet Mikaela for ice cream.
They didn't get to see each other much this year; with Mikaela's juvie record erased she had been putting in a heroic amount of effort to get into a good school and earn her tuition. Her hard work scored her a free ride at the local tech's summer program, where she could become a certified mechanic and thusly pay her way through engineering school. Their relationship had ground to a halt when they each discovered that neither had the time to devote to each other, and both realized that things had been moving way too fast- even for ladiesman217- and started over as close friends. Well, close friends who went on a weekly date and the occasional romantic day trip with a third, fourth, fifth, and sixth wheel yellow Camaro.
So there they were at Crazy Bob's Minigolf and Ice Cream Stand trading news and enjoying thousands of calories of pure bliss. Little did they know that someone was on to their ill-conceived plot to hide the most incredible thing to happen to mankind since the corrugated coffee cozy…
And thus, as they walked back to the parking lot to retrieve the manly bike and Mikaela's blue scooter, they were accosted by a familiar face in a suit and sock garters. Questions were asked but not answered, insults were thrown, and an unfortunate seagull may have been hit with a flying cone of cherry garcia, but the end result was unavoidable.
Which may or may not be why Samuel James Witwicky, great-great-grandson of Captain Archibald Witwicky, friend of the giant Autonomous Robots from the planet Cybertron, slayer of the evil Decepticon leader Megatron, heroic destroyer of the Allspark, and recipient of the "Best Car" superlative award in his high school yearbook, was crammed in the back of a black GMC driving through The Backside-of-nowhere, Nevada with five of the most important defensive figures in the country- and one complete nutcase.
One kidnap-happy nutcase who was so boned if Bumblebee found out.
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MUAHAHAHA! I introduce to you Puttrid, the 18th hole in mini-golf! He will always spit your ball back out, so you'll never get that free game!