Chapter Three: How We Begin

"Samantha!" A high, shrill voice called out dramatically as Travis pulled her out of her frozen split between his legs.

"Victoria Crosse! You know better than to interrupt my students when they're training!" Madame Lune dried indignantly, tapping her ballet slippered foot. Travis and Sam shared identical smiles of mirth.

"Yes ma'am. I know ma'am." Vicky hurried in trying to appease the dance coach at the studio that Sam had been training under for the last six years. "It's just that I saw…"

"No buts." Madame Lune scolded in a gruff manner. Sam looked towards the door from where she and Travis now stood erect before the wall of mirrors. Madame Lune, dressed in her leotards and slippers as always, was waving her instructing cane in Vicky's face. Vicky's already thin lips were pursed tightly together in frustration. "Samantha has ten more minutes of her training for today and then you can drag her wherever your adventurous heart desires. For now, though, she is mine. Shoo!"

Sam giggled fully as she watched a disgruntled Vicky get none-too lightly shoved out the door. Travis's chuckle rumbled through her back where he still held her. She quickly felt his lips near her ear, his effort to not be overheard by Madame Lune well known.

"She's going to ask you to be her designated driver to Mike's party tonight." He assured her. Sam groaned.

It had been a week since she'd gotten her Camaro. She's cleaned it, polished it, waxed it, and given it every ounce of care she had to get it looking nice. She'd even used the emergency cash she had under her bed, at least some of it, to purchase touch-up paint for it. Her father's buffer had enabled her to put a smoother, more appealing coat of paint onto the Camaro so that now it looked newer. She'd had to beg him to show her how to use the buffer properly so she wouldn't do more harm than good.

She might have imagined it, but when she was working on the car the day afterwards she could have almost believed that the Camaro had shivered with delight as she buffed it.

The only downside she saw to getting her car, though, was that she had become the new favorite to be assigned to be designated driver. Unless it was Miley, in which case it wasn't often, she refused. Miley was one of her only true friends. They all but shared their Pampers stage together. Miley was without a doubt her closest friend in the world.

"I kinda figured that." She whispered back just as lowly as Travis.

A lot of guys at the studio that danced, shockingly to most, were straight men. They either had a passion for dancing, wanted a chance to pretty much grope women without reprimand, or their mothers had forced them into it. Of the twelve guys that presently danced full-time at the studio, Travis was the only gay guy.

Travis was a gangly sort of guy at first glance, but underneath all that shy awkwardness Sam had seen the dancer beneath. Travis and she had been partners for years, mostly due to the fact that since he wasn't interested sexually in women, and she'd gotten to know him well. She'd also become good friends with him and his boyfriend Stephan. Travis had inheritently pale skin and long limbs, but his face held an almost elfin-like quality to it. She had a time or two tried to get him to pierce all the way around his slightly pointed left ear, as her own ears were slightly pointed and equally pierced, but he always said no.

"Back to practice, children." Madame Lune ordered as she shut the door once more, this time locking them in.

Madame Lune worked them hard for the next ten minutes. They were training for the state competition in Mission City a month away. Already there was word travelling that she and Travis were rumored to be the competition to beat. They did everything from ballet to salsa to break dancing, though the last one was not taught by Madame Lune. Break dancing was considered a poor substitute for rocker gymnastics if ever she saw it.

Sam parted with Travis after they'd changed out of their training clothes and back into their normal day-wear. They embraced quickly, Sam thrilled that she didn't wince around Travis like she had done at first those years ago, before Travis pulled out his cell phone to text Stephan. It was their three year anniversary and they were going out to the Italian restaurant in town near the lake.

"Sammy!" At that nickname Sam did cringe. She hated being called 'Sammy'. If she had to have any nickname it was 'Sam'. Sammy reminded her too much of a young guy or a dog's pet name. "I saw your car!" Vicky squealed and she rolled her eyes.

Of course Vicky had seen her car. No one really ragged too badly on her car because she was known to defend her possessions well, but she had gotten a few snickers when she'd first returned back to school with it. Apparently everyone thought of her as loaded, her parents buying her everything, and expected her to show up in a Porsche or something similar. Wouldn't a possible clue to deny that idea be the fact that her own father drove a Ford S-Max? That was no sports car.

"Hello. Nice to see you too, Vicky." Sam sing-songed. This time Vicky was the one to roll her eyes.

Vicky was the typical cheerleader type. When they were growing up, both having been in pageants together, people often thought that they were the same people. Where Vicky was full of herself, considering herself well above everyone else in the world due to her social popularity and her beauty, and incredibly selfish, people soon came to find that Sam was none of these things. Sam had been raised with strict rules and an honor code. Yes she could be accused of yelling at someone or insulting them shamelessly, but she always had a reason and never did it behind their back. Sam was no Saint, but she was also no prissy bitch with a maintenance problem.

"Yeah. Hello Sam. How are you today? Good? Great!" She cheered quickly before grabbing Sam's hand to drag her out of the building. "You and me are going shopping. Mike's having a party down by the lake and you are so coming with."

"It's you and I, Vicky." Samantha couldn't help but taunt. Vicky grumbled quite unlady-like. Sam only giggled. She excelled in English, always had, and often worked as a tutor at the school for extra cash. With Vicky's failing grades in that class, along with many of the others, Sam liked to remind her of that. Maybe the other girl should get past the whole platinum blonde, dumb teenager phase and stop sucking face with every jock in the school?

It was a lost cause the second she thought it.

"Whatever." Vicky sneered. When she continued her voice had the sour cheer back in her voice, the one that went to such a high pitch that dogs came running. "I saw these cute shoes that would just look so good on you! Daddy Glenn gave me his credit card and for giving me a ride I'll buy them for you."

Of course. Daddy Glenn. Vicky was a total kiss-ass to her step-father who spoiled her rotten. Glenn Mathewson was also a known drug dealer that the cops could never seem to catch. Samantha avoided the man like the plague, being both a brutish looking man as well as a serious threat. The man kept a damned semi-automatic in the glove compartment of his car for Heaven's sake! Sam knew better than to get involved with anything involving that man, his daughter usually included.

"Look, I'll take you. You don't have to buy me the shoes. Just don't go blabbing to your father that I was driving you, okay?" Vicky nodded her head furiously, obviously missing the fact that everyone but she and her mother was terrified of Glenn Mathewson, a history of violence in their past or not.

"All right. Let's see if we can find something cute for us to wear!" Vicky squealed as they arrived outside and before Sam's car.

Once again Sam could have sworn that she saw the car shudder with revulsion when Vicky began to dance upon her high-heel clad feet like a little girl that just got her way.

As Samantha held Vicky's hair out of her face she wondered how she ever got herself into these situations. Vicky continued to heave up all the alcohol she had been consuming even as Sam kicked herself for giving in to her better nature and agreeing to be the designated driver for this pathetic girl.

They'd gone to the mall and bought Vicky a new sun dress and shoes to match. Afterwards they had gone to eat at a nearby popular ice-cream parlor. Sam suffered through Vicky's never-ending drone on her life and all the men that flittered in and out of it. They'd been sitting together on the hood of her Camaro, Sam constantly checking to make sure that the other girl didn't drip ice-cream all over the hood. The latest wax and polish to her baby was not going to be ruined thanks to a slob.

Peculiar things had been happening all afternoon around the Camaro, though. While it was true that Sam had sensed something off every now and then around her new car, as if she could feel that it had a mind of its own, this day out with Vicky had proved to be a little more than unnerving. If she wasn't such an optimist she might have thought that all the little glitches suddenly sprouting to life in her car were indicative to a sentient nature.

When the radio had gone off more than once at inopportune times with startling accuracy to the situation Vicky had joked that the car was either possessed or Satan's Camaro.

Sam kept a careful tally of everything that her Camaro had been doing oddly. The headlights would suddenly flicker on and off if she tripped in the parking lot. The radio often clicked on with that unnerving accuracy. The seatbelts refused to come unhinged as they slowed to a stop, instead only snapping open once the car had been shifted into Park. Sam knew that that was not a bonus feature in even newer cars. The seat would also warm or cool sporadically, as if trying to regulate her body temperature. Vicky had been the first to mention this little trait, but when they looked for a possible add-in for seat heating they found nothing.

Then there was the little incident when some guy trying to get her number as they were leaving the mall.

She inwardly laughed at the memory. The guy, probably in his mid to late twenties in age, had followed them shamelessly from the mall after Vicky flirted with him. He'd been insistent that he get their numbers so that he could call on them for 'a good time' later in the week. Vicky had succumbed to his sleaze-ball charms, but Sam hadn't. She'd refused adamantly, a sneer in her voice. Still the idiot wouldn't give up.

She'd been about ready to put the car in reverse out of the parking space when the man reached in through her open window and wrapped his thick fingers tightly around her upper arm. She'd slammed on the brakes to glower at him.

"Don't be such a bitch, doll face." The man had laughed in her face, a hint of anger glinting in his eyes.

Without further ado, Sam slammed the car back into Park, balled her fist up, and aimed for the bozo's nose. As she swung, in mid arc the driver's side door thrust open just behind the wave of her fist. She remembered her eyes widening with shock. She hadn't touched the door, not even leaned into it, yet almost in the same instant that her fist knocked into the guy's crooked nose the door slammed into his legs and lower torso, thrusting the man back a few feet with grunts of pain. Vicky had laughed, apparently believing that Sam's punch had catapulted the man and not the truth that the door had come alive and done all the work.

The door stayed open, only slightly, while she stared at it in disbelief. She wasn't certain if she suspected it to sprout eyes and a mouth to shout surprise or for a camera crew to come running out from behind the nearby parked cars to tell her that she'd been Punk'd.

As soon as she shut the door, her fingers trembling, the radio station that was currently playing switched over with a static swoosh to something that made her laugh inwardly and reaffirm her first notions that the car wasn't as it seemed.

The Cell Block Tango from the musical Chicago had blared through the speakers, the words clean and clear.

He had it coming, he had it coming

He only had himself to blame

If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it

I betcha you would have done the same.

Vicky had gone deathly quiet and stared at the radio as she had. Sam guessed that the little crack about her new car being Satan's Camaro finally registered with her at last, that it might not just be a joke.

They'd changed at Sam's house before heading out to the party an hour or so before sunset at the lake. They were both welcomed with open arms, as all 'popular' kids were. Sam mostly danced with the girls while avoiding the alcohol at all costs as well as they boys frequenting the ice chests and punch bowl set up. Tiki torches were lit by dark so that their party wouldn't have to end.

By the time the slow dances had started, as well as a lot of the sex taking place behind the grove of trees, Sam had retreated to the hood of her Camaro while snacking on a small bag of chips she'd retrieved from the snack table.

She'd only been resting for several minutes before Lauren and Gabriella came darting up towards where she'd parked her car farther away from the others. Lauren and Gabby were twins and participated in gymnastics as well as danced part-time at the studio. Sam liked them a lot better than she liked most other popular kids because they weren't so stuck up. Though they did talk behind peoples backs, they never did so without good reason and did not spread rumors around.

At present both girls had looked half drunk and entirely too worried.

Without much ado the twins led Sam to the opened public bathrooms at the lake where it turned out Vicky was vomiting up a storm. Sam had sighed before leaning down to help her fellow female in need.

"Vicky?" Sam questioned softly once the blonde-haired girl ceased her up-chucking.

"Yeah?" It was a guttural sound, one that promised a raw throat and a splitting headache upon the morn.

"I think it's time I took you home." There was more that she wanted to say. She wanted to call Vicky an idiot, maybe even slap her for getting so wasted, but Sam knew that right now Vicky was already tearing herself a new one for her stupidity.

Without waiting for a response, Sam grabbed for Vicky's right arm and draped it firmly over her shoulders. The other girl, only slightly shorter than her, was inebriated enough that she wouldn't be able to walk by herself. Sam had escorted enough other drunken teens to their cars, even at seventeen years of age, to figure out the appropriate way to balance their bodies and still keep them moving.

"I don't feel so good." Vicky slurred. Sam fought back a chuckle.

"You wouldn't, honey. Drinking too much never feels good no matter how alleviating it is during the initial intoxication." Sam smirked to herself knowing that half the words she just spoke, though simple under any other circumstances, weren't likely to be understood by her fellow blonde teen. "Maybe next time you'll know better." She highly doubted it despite the slow bob of Vicky's head. Most likely Vicky was already an alcoholic, or well on her way to being one.

"One night porcelain throne worshipper a convert does not make." Her father's words echoed in her mind. It was true enough. How many people partied all weekend looking for a good time, woke up with a skull-splitting headache the next morning, vowing never to drink again so long as they lived through the torture of puking up their guts, only to return to the bar scene the next weekend?

Too many, that's how many.

Sam had only managed to drag Vicky about half way through the rowdy crowd of teenagers, some nearly as drunk as she, before a baritone voice called out to her from the nearly empty buffet-like table.

"Hey Sam!" The overly cheery voice of a Mister Michael Banes reached her ears almost as quickly as he did. "Woah, Vicky looks like shit." He spoke from the other side of the lolling girl. Sam snickered knowing that had Vicky been completely lucid that Mike might just be sporting a nice palm print to the side of his face for that comment.

"Yeah, she does. Since she clearly partied herself out it's now my responsibility to drive her home." She peered through her lashes over to Mike to see him scowling slightly.

"Have you drunken anything?" He demanded softly, his tone warning. She gave him her best 'what the hell is wrong with you' look. His eyes widened with understanding a second later, his cheeks flaming as well as any slap to the face would have. "Oh, jeeze, I'm sorry. That was stupid of me. Of course you weren't drinking. I just…Look, I'm really…Oh man!"

She had to stop to belt out her laughter. Well, would you just look at him, she thought to herself, Mister Suave is flustered.

"What's so funny?" He grumbled even though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"You." She chuckled once she'd calmed. "Michael Banes, the original 'good-boy Playboy', is nervous of speaking to a girl. Now, if we're going to talk, can you at least grab the other side of Vicky and help me get her to my car?" He hurriedly obeyed, only to scowl back over at her.

"I'm not nervous." He assured her with finality. "I just didn't want to insult you."

"You didn't, at least not really." With Mike's help she managed to get Vicky to her Camaro in record time. It was Mike's turn to chuckle. "Now what?" She asked in puzzlement as she unlocked the passenger side door of her car.

"Didn't exactly peg you for an older car type of girl."

"What kind of girl did you peg me for?" Sam inquired with an impish grin as she maneuvered a half conscious Vicky into the back of the car. She gave Mike a careful look, one that made her bite her lip in consideration. "Are you going home now?" She asked suddenly, forgetting her previous one in an instant.

Mike shrugged. "Might as well. The party's pretty much ended except for the few swingers left in the bushes." Sam shivered at that mental image.

"Look, I'd really appreciate it if you helped me to get Vicky home. Can you sit with her in the back of the car while she's on her side to keep her from vomiting in her own mouth? It's just a precaution, but I'd still prefer to take it. I can either bring you back here to your car afterwards or just take you to your home if you didn't bring it or have one."

"I got a ride with one of the guys." He affirmed with a wicked smile. Sam bit her tongue. "I'd be happy to help."

"Um, just so we're clear," she stopped him before he could enter the car, "I don't want you touching me tonight. I'm not right after that night and I really am not into doing anything outside of a normal friendship with you."

Mike smiled sadly. She could just bet that he could still hear her screams in his head. She'd been vocal that night. She'd also been more vicious than she'd ever been in her life. She had even tried to maul the police officers when they came near her in her state of shock when they came after the call of a near rape.

"I understand." He nodded his head once, firmly, before getting into the back seat of the Camaro. She watched him adjust to hold Vicky's head over his lap before shutting the door. The seat would stay up until she unloaded Vicky and Mike could move up front.

"It'll take a bit to get to Vicky's house." Sam began as she pulled out of the spot she'd parked, her eyes firmly planted before her. "I'll get her to the door and to her father. You should probably stay in the car, though. He's, uh, well he's…"

"Like a mob boss and drug dealer?" Mike inquired with a chuckle. Sam did, too.

"Yeah, like a mob boss. He'd be less likely to shoot me for bringing home his wasted daughter than he would you." Sam's eyes darted to the strange symbol on the wheel as she felt it make a sudden jerk. If she wasn't so sure that cars were inanimate objects she would have said that the Camaro had been surprised. She was really beginning to wonder.

"Hey," Mike's voice brought her back out of her observations suddenly. Her eyes snapped back to the road as she tuned into what he was saying. "Did you ever sell that trunk of antiques? You know, the ones from your great uncle?"

"My grandfather, actually." Samantha corrected with a small smile. She'd brought them into school to have the history teacher look them over. They'd cleaned them and had a few lunch periods worth of discussion on what she had and what they were used for. "Some of it I have. Dad's having me keep a few things, like personal pieces that I originally posted. I pulled them off of eBay about a week ago."

"Like what?" He asked. She doubted that he was truly curious about the pieces, more like he was just trying to keep up a conversation.

"We're selling his navigation tools and such, but we are going to keep his old journals and his glasses in storage somewhere. Mom wants to have the glasses put in a kind of trophy case beside his urn in the living room."

"Those glasses were kind of cool, even with all those scratches in them." He intoned simply even as Vicky moaned.

Sam shrugged lightly. "I didn't get any bids on them anyways for the month that they were up."

The rest of the ride they made idle chitchat. Sam had been forced to pull over twice for Vicky to vomit, something that she didn't mind doing so much since she didn't want to have to clean her car out so thoroughly. At Vicky's large tutor home Sam parked as close to the front door as she could before setting the car and attempting to get out.

The key word here being 'attempt'.

"What's wrong?" Mike asked from the back seat as Sam fumbled with the handle and the clearly unlocked door.

"The door's stuck." She growled.

"It's what?" Mike laughed. Sam glared back at him over the seat. He smacked his hand over his mouth when he caught the promise of retribution in her eyes. "You just got in that door! It didn't even squeak when you opened it before."

"I know. It did this the first time I bought it." Sam pulled back from it then before thrusting her foot into it hoping maybe to dislodge whatever had gotten stuck within the door. "It also seems to have the same problem with opening spontaneously."

"You can't be serious." Judging by the sudden stiffening of the jock's body she could tell that the scathing look she sent him was working its charm in showing him that she was not lying.

Sam worked at the door for a bit more before shuffling over to try and get out the passenger door. She got the same results with the same effort. Eventually she sagged into it, her lips pursed into a thin line. "You know, I'm starting to think that Vicky was right about this car being Satan's Camaro. This thing has either the best or the worst timing about letting me out when I need to go somewhere." She smacked the dashboard beside her with a hard fist.

The radio clicked, the words spewing forth from the speakers making her laugh at the absurdity.

I wanna take you away

Let's escape into the music

DJ let it play

I just can't refuse it

Like the way you do this

Keep on rockin' to it

Please don't stop the

Please don't stop the music

"And then there's that little problem!" She shouted over 'Please Don't Stop The Music' by Rihanna. She fumbled with the radio until it clicked back off before sighing. "I love this car, don't get me wrong, but I'm starting to think that I paid too much for it. It's obviously defective."

Samantha let out a shrill squawk as she fell backwards out of the suddenly open passenger door. She landed with a painful thud onto the paved driveway of Vicky's home and growled up at her car.

"You are a real turd, you know that?" She stood with as much dignity as she could muster and kicked the front right tire. "Next time I round a corner I'm going to make sure you get a nice scrape along your frame from a light pole." She was so busy staring daggers into her Camaro that she didn't hear Mike chuckling in the back seat. After a minute or two of fuming she managed to rope in her control and collect Vicky, though not before smirking devilishly at Mike. "And I'll make sure to key your car the next time I see it."

Mike rolled his eyes.

Sam moved as best she could while shuttling Vicky. At the front door she rung the bell and waited. It didn't take long for the porch light to flicker on, nor for the impressive male that was Glenn Mathewson to be standing before her in the open doorway. His eyes took in his slouched daughter swiftly before refocusing on her entirely.

"I suppose you expect some sort of payment?" It was a partial question spoken in a gravely voice, one made so by the use of cigarettes or cigars frequently.

"No, sir. Vicky and I went to the party together. She just wanted me to make sure that she got home safe in case she got like this." Sam didn't lift her eyes to his knowing that he was a dangerous, dominant male. Eye contact only made them more confrontational. Glenn huffed before stepping forward and sweeping his daughter up into his thick arms. It was overly obvious that he spent many hours in the gym working out to keep up his physical brutality.

"Get on home girl." He grumbled out before turning back into his house leaving her standing alone, her spine stiff. Only once the porch light was turned off did Sam sigh with relief.

It could have gone much worse. She assured herself before getting back into the Camaro.

The door opened seamlessly. Once she was in she barely took notice that Mike had moved to the passenger seat before she reversed rapidly out of the driveway. She remained silent for a time allowing her nerves to come down some from the memory of being in Glenn's presence. Men were bad, criminal men hiding behind their money were worse. The latter of those men tended to have more malicious minds.

"Sam?" Mike inquired tentatively, pulling her out of her reverie. She gave him a sidelong glance and a half smile. "You all right?"

"Yeah. Just calming down."

The car dissolved into silence for another minute or so before Mike sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "How are you doing…you know, after that? I know that this sounds incredibly rude, but you've been really distant since Tucker…well, you know."

"Yeah, Mike. I know." The snap in her tone was somewhat relieved by the sudden downturn to her mouth. She let out a harsh breath after a second. "I just don't do well with males anymore. I can be around them now, like I can have you alone with me in the same car, but I still have a thing about physical contact." She let out a humorless chuckle. "I never really was one for touching much beforehand anyway."

"Isn't your dance partner a guy?" The question surprised her. Sam turned to Mike with wide owl eyes earning her a deep laugh. "Come on, Sam! You're a popular girl at school! Of course I know about you. Everyone does. Heck, Miley's always bragging. So, your partner's a guy?"

Sam let a genuine smile lick up the sides of her mouth. "Yeah. Travis also happens to be gay."

"Oh. Oh!" His surprise made her laugh uncontrollably. It seemed to be addictive as he too broke out into hysterics. Sam barely kept control of the car her body shook so badly. Mike settled back into his own seat after a time, still grinning from ear to ear. "Phew! I was feeling inadequate for a second there. You know, Sam, I really would like a chance to go out with you. I promise no touching. We can even bring others. I would just really like to get to know you better."

"Why?" She had to ask.

"Why not?" He quipped back. His smile was as sure as the pure look in his eyes. It was the first time Samantha had really seen any genuine 'good guy' personality in a male or even a female for some time. "Sure you're popular and probably the hottest girl in school," he ignored her snort, "but you've also got a better personality than half of the state of females. I mean it, too. I don't think that I've ever heard a bad rumor spread about you, not even one that might claim you to have split ends. You're always helping out at the school when you don't have to and when you give your word you don't break it. Truth be told, I don't think I would have had the balls to keep my word to Vicky to take her back to her father tonight. Seriously, Sam, you're someone that I'd really like to get to know better even if you don't see me as boyfriend material."

Sam remained silent, driving the speed limit to Mike's house. She'd been there before. Most people had. Mike didn't live in a big house, but it was well kept. His mother mostly spent her time in her bedroom watching television and drinking while his father worked at a mechanic's shop, so he was left mainly to himself. He held frequent parties or invited others over to watch various games.

She wouldn't believe that Mike didn't want to have sex with her. She couldn't. No matter what he said she knew that he'd want a relationship with her, or at least have her think that they had a relationship, in order to get into her pants. At his age most boys weren't interested in commitment and she sure as snot wasn't prepared for one either. She'd been too long in fearing men. It just wouldn't work out.

But who was to say that she couldn't learn from this?

The proverbial light bulb went off in Sam's head. No, she didn't want to have sex with Mike. No, she didn't want to have a relationship with him. But maybe, just maybe, she could relearn what it was like to be around guys again.

As an added bonus she might actually teach the dumb jock not to string girls along just for the sex.

Yeah, that could work.

Samantha kept herself silent until she pulled into Mike's driveway, some sick part of her wanting to make him sweat it out, and then turned to face him. She gave him a nervous half smile, one that had his eyes lighting up like a kid in a candy store. It was a unique look that she'd never seen from the jock before.

"Fine. Tell you what, come by the studio tomorrow at two. It's when I get done with training. We'll go back down to the lake. Miley told me that she and a few of the others were going down for just a swim."

"That sounds great, Sam." He beamed widely before popping the door open. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

Samantha watched him retreat to his front door, gave him a small wave as he entered, and then slammed her head into the steering wheel. "I am such a horrible person for using him." She mumbled. She almost did expect it when the radio clicked on and the stereo blared.

And with a sad heart I say bye to you and wave

Kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I had made

And like a baby boy I never was a man

Until I saw your blue eyes cry and I held your face in my hand

"'Hate Me' by Blue October? Really?" Sam stared at the radio for a second before clicking it back onto a station that she liked. As she backed up out of the driveway to head home she let a joking smile grace her lips. "You really need to work on your people skills, my little Bumblebee. If you're not careful I might just get you into a tiny fender bender to learn some manners."

She was almost certain that she didn't imagine the sudden flare of her high-beams before they snapped back to normal.

Three o'clock in the morning;

Sound asleep in bed, too exhausted to even twitch, the residents of the Witwicky household missed the revving of an engine within the confines of their driveway. No one noticed the old, driverless Camaro reversing out onto the main road towards the industrial part of town nor when it came back less than two hours later playing a jaunty tune of 'Little Bitty Pretty One' with an extra spring in its shocks.

Notes: I hope that y'all are liking this. I would really like more reviews on my work and if anyone has any questions, sees anything off like spelling or wants to make a point on possible changes in plot (though I will not guarentee that I will change anything), or simply wants to remark on it, please feel free. Remember not to 'cuss me out'. I don't appreciate foul language directed towards me or others, though constructive criticism is welcomed.

Also keep in mind that everything outside of what I'm writing is happening (Qatar and the hacking, all of it). The only pieces that change are what I'm writing now.

Disclaimer: I own nothing 'Transformers'. I only lay claim to my own personal ideas and change-ups.