Hello, readers!

Here's the next group of chapters. :3 What I'd like to hear about most is your opinion on the dialogue! I tried to make it seem natural and that it flows like a real conversation, so let me know how I did and if any scene in particular seems off. Thanks in advance!

This chapter has been updates as of 2/28/16.

~ Crayola

Chapter Ten

Better Ways

The time spent walking to the front door was spent fixing my hair, straightening my clothes, hoping my face didn't have any dirt on it, and thinking of something to say.

Hugging the fence, I maneuvered to the sidewalk and walked back toward the house and up the front path proper—in case I was spotted through a window, it would look like I was a normal visitor. Instead of one coming from the back yard.

Like a freak.

When I reached the door, I hesitated. It was getting late and I wasn't sure if they would even answer, but I had to try. I wavered a moment longer, then rang the doorbell. The chime echoed throughout the house and I thought I heard someone swearing inside.

I couldn't hear the Autobots from the front of the house, and I just hoped whatever they were doing on the inside was loud enough that they couldn't hear anything, either.

The fact that they hadn't come out to investigate yet was a good sign.

Finally, just when I was about to ring the doorbell again, a slightly chubby, short man with a receding hairline answered. He had a glass of what I assumed was wine, or maybe champagne, in one hand and at first he didn't seem too happy to be answering the door.

"—any idea what time. . . . Who're you?" he demanded with a flick of his head.

Nervously, I patted my recently-fixed topknot and summoned up the best smile I could muster. "Hello, my name's Kathryn Walker. Um. . .are you Mr. Sam Witwicky?" I asked sweetly.

"It's Wit—oh," the man grunted, as if used to correcting pronunciation. I'd already heard it spoken so many times, though. He recovered quickly enough and leaned against the door, eyes narrowed to beady slits. "No, I'm Ron. Sam's my son."

"Oh." As if I didn't already know. "Well, may I speak with him?"

"Why? What did my son do this time?"

Though I'd rehearsed most of what I was going to say, I wasn't prepared for everything. I was relying mostly on my adlib skills—of which I didn't think I had any.

Well, here's to hoping.

"Oh, nothing, sir! He just advertised a few things on eBay that I was interested in buying, but when I learned how close we were, I insisted that I be able to see them first," I recited, pulling out my phone and showing him the exact page where the glasses showed up for sale.

As I said it, I realized just how many holes there were in the story, and just hoped he didn't poke at any of them.

Maybe the wine or champagne he was holding would help that.

Sam's dad reached out and took the phone from my hand, peering at the screen. It seemed he wasn't going to pull apart the holes in my story, at least for the time being. "That little—Never mind. Why are you here so late?"

"I know, I'm sorry, I just can't make it any earlier most days because of work. He told me it would be fine, I'm really sorry if it's not, I didn't know—"

He waved his hand with a dismissive flare and shook his head. "It's too late for that now. I can't believe he put this stuff up online to sell! You know these are family heirlooms? Dating back to my great grandfather?" he demanded, face contorted.

I hadn't expected him to be angry about it. I recoiled away from him, feeling my face redden. "I—I didn't know that."

"Ron? Ron who's at the door!" a female voice called.

A red-headed lady popped up behind Ron's shoulder and we made brief eye contact. "Oh! Hello! Are you one of Sam's lady friends?" she asked, voice coy and tinted with a minor accent I couldn't place.

"No, I just wanted to buy—"

"Damn," she sighed.

Though I wanted to know what she meant by that, her husband turned to her and waved my phone in front of her face. "Sam's selling those artifacts that belonged to my great grandfather! The ones that I gave him!"

Sam's mom swayed a little bit—she, too, was holding a glass of wine—and grabbed my phone to look at it a little better.

Meanwhile, I was left to shift from foot to foot, afraid they'd be angry with me.

"Oh Jesus. Why don't you come in, miss. . . ?"

"Kathryn."

"Kathryn, why don't you come in? We can go get Sam and make him disappoint you." She handed my phone back and I stowed it in my pocket. "My name's Judy, by the way."

My heart had dropped and now all I wanted to do was run and hide. The whole plan had gone awry. I don't know why I imagined that I would just walk up to their house, ask to buy all the stupid stuff Sam was selling, and have them bring it out to me on a tray. Why would anything be that easy?

And how was I going to buy it, anyway? I didn't have any cash! I guess I'd been hoping if I found it, Sam could help finish off the tangled web of lies I'd started.

"Oh—no I mean, if they're not for sale, I understand. I had no idea they were—"

"Nonsense! Get in here! You came all the way and I'm gonna make Sam fix this," she insisted, pulling the door from her husband's grip and swinging it wide open.

I glanced between the two, looked around for the Autobots—nowhere to be seen—then sighed in defeat and nodded. Ron moved out of the way and I followed his wife into the house proper. "Alright, I guess I could come in for a little bit."

Sam's house looked like it was straight out of a magazine. I wondered what his parents did that made them capable of affording all the knickknacks and art serving as center pieces, but I wasn't about to ask something so personal. Everything was very modern; crowded but not too crowded. Red accent curtains broke the beige monotony of the walls and furniture.

"You have a very lovely home," I murmured more to myself than to anyone.

Judy still heard me. "Why thank you! Go ahead and have a seat, I'll get Sam."

I did as I was told and sat down in a cushy taupe chair, hands folded in my lap. Ron sat on the couch and leaned way back, sipping at his glass of wine, while his wife moved to the stairs by the kitchen. The TV was playing the news, and was half-way through footage taken by a teenager with a phone—about the "meteor" that crashed.

Meteor, indeed.

By the look of all the ambulances around, it might have been Ratchet that fell from the sky over in that part of the city.

"Sam! Sam get your ass down here!"

Her tone and language took me by surprise, mostly because my parents were against swearing. Every now and again they would drop a few—as would I—but they never would have cursed at me.

Then again, the Witwickys were drinking, and not everyone could be like my parents.

"So—um, what kind of name is Witwicky?" I asked, picking at a loose thread in my pants' seam.

Ron shrugged. "Polish, I think."

"Ah. It's very unique. I bet there's a lot of family history there."

He smirked and raised his wine. "We have a family motto, among other things."

"Really?" I offered mechanically. Working with so many different people made me good at making small talk over nothing.

Nodding he recited, "'No sacrifice, no victory.'"

"That's a good motto to have."

"I like to think so."

His wife shouted up to Sam one more time, then shook her head and walked back to sit on the couch. "Honestly! I dunno about that kid sometimes," she sighed, taking a sip of her drink. "I'm sure he'll be just a moment. I'm sorry you had to come all the way out here for nothing, dear!"

I shook my head and smiled. "Oh, it's no trouble, really."

She set her drink down and brushed hair from her face. "He must have been selling them to raise enough money for his car."

"Oh. His first car?"

"Yes. Ron matched what he raised and bought him a crappy Camaro."

"It's his first car, it's supposed to be crappy! What did you want that old stuff for, anyway?" Ron deflected, grumbling to himself afterwards.

If only they knew how less of a piece of scrap Bumblebee was now.

"Uh—my, father, is really into sailing and stuff, y'know? I thought authentic old sailing gear would really. . .be a good gift for his birthday." I tried to maintain eye contact through the half-baked lie but found it difficult.

He nodded. "What would he do with that stuff?"

I just shrugged and looked down at my hands. "Um, I don't know, really. I'm just out of ideas. You can only buy your dad so many ties, you know?" How easily lies flew from my mouth now.

Ron chuckled and opened his mouth to reply, but the house shook suddenly, and the lights flickered. Ron's wife held her arms out to steady herself and I pushed myself farther into my chair, looking around wildly.

The Autobots! I thought with a scowl.

"Get down! Earthquake!" Ron yelled, jumping up out of his spot on the couch and hobbling around to the kitchen table. His wife made no move to do any of that, though. Neither did I. "Get under the table! Judy get under the table, hurry!"

Judy leaned to look around the wall, her brow furrowed. "How did you get down there so fast?"

"Was that even a real Earthquake?" I asked, looking around. I was just glad that nothing had been knocked off a shelf and broken. Wait—did Nevada get Earthquakes? I didn't think so, and Judy didn't look at me weird, so maybe not. . . ?

"Not one that's anything to worry about," she replied, adjusting a sculpture of an eagle that had been knocked askew.

Well, shit. She didn't seem to connect the dots—that I wasn't from Nevada.

Saved by the wine.

The lights flickered again, but this time when they turned off they stayed off. Ron crawled out from under the table, swearing quietly, and then fished around in one of the kitchen drawers. "Where's that flashlight, Judy?"

"It's out here!" she called back, gliding around the furniture to a cabinet behind the TV. In her tipsy state she ran into something and swore. Ron joined her shortly after and bathed the room in light. I turned around in my chair to find him with a giant flashlight and Judy holding up a wooden baseball bat. I found that cause for alarm.

Did she think we were under attack? If we were, what did she think she was going to do with a bat when the entire house had shaken?

"Stay here, uh—what was your name again?" he asked.

"Kathryn," I sighed.

"Yeah—stay here, Kathryn. We're gonna go make sure Sam is okay and drag him down here to talk to you." It sounded like a suggestion more than a demand, but I nodded all the same and made myself comfortable in that plush chair.

Their steps receded up the stairs and I looked around the empty—and dark—room. Without the light from the flashlight, I could only make out vague shapes and shadows. Without the television running, the silence pressed in on me and I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, suddenly feeling cold. Static buzzed in my ears and I took a breath.

The darkness never usually bothered me. Like any small child I'd been afraid of it at first, but eventually I'd grown out of it.

Something about the darkness of a house I'd never been in, in a state I'd never visited, felt different. More sinister. I didn't know where any furniture was, I didn't recognize any of the silhouettes of their living room.

My heart started to flutter and my insides twist, so I tried to distract myself.

I couldn't hear the Autobots outside, so I began there. I moved from my seat to the windows, jumping when a half-asleep Mojo growled at me; irritated by my disturbance of his sleep. I rolled my eyes and peered outside into the night, but could only pick out the occasional movement.

There was a commotion upstairs and I was glad for another interruption from foreign darkness. I scurried upstairs, following a bright blue light.

"Sam are you in here?" Ron was demanding as he tried to open the door to what I assumed was Sam's room, but it only jiggled with no response. Ron puffed up and shouted through the barrier. "Sam? Sam, why is this door locked? You know the rule! No doors locked in my house!"

Judy stepped up, holding the bat against her chest. "You know he'll start counting if you don't open th—"

"Five!"

"Oh dear!" Judy groaned, rolling her eyes. "Here we go!"

"Time's running out pal! Four!"

"He's counting!"

"Better hurry!"

Hearing the family interact with each other filled me with nostalgia. My parents usually didn't have to even start counting—just threaten to begin was enough for me to jump when told to. I never learned what exactly the consequences were, but I'd never wanted to find out, either.

"Just unlock the door!" Judy pleaded again.

"Two! It's coming off the hinges!" Ron threatened.

"He's counting, Sam!"

Ron took a small step back and his muscles tensed. "Better stand back!"

I actually backed away from them, eyes widening. For a moment I thought about intervening because I wasn't sure this man wouldn't hurt himself if he tried to kick down the door, but before he could even finish the word "one", the door swung open and Sam stared out at us, breathless and panting and flushed.

"Sup?" he huffed, eyeing his mom. "What's with the bat?"

"Who were you talking to?" his dad demanded.

Crap, he must have heard them arguing with the Autobots or something. I tried my best to hide behind his parents, not trusting Sam to keep his mouth shut about knowing me.

It didn't work.

His eyes fell on me for a brief moment. His face contorted into surprise, but I shook my head and hoped he wouldn't say anything. He caught on and motioned toward me. "Who's this?"

They glanced at me and I grimaced. "I didn't want to be down there by myself."

"Fair enough," Ron muttered.

"Sam why are you all sweaty and filthy?" Judy asked, reaching out to smear some dirt away from his cheek with her thumb. She'd licked the pad first and I felt a pang of sympathy for him; my mom had still liked to give me spit baths, too.

Sam frowned and dodged his mom's attempt. "I'm a child, Mom. You know, a teenager." He didn't miss a beat on his retort.

"We heard voices and noises, and we thought maybe you—," his mom began.

"Doesn't matter what we thought. What was that light?" his dad interrupted, shoving past Sam and into his room. Sam attempted to stop him, but there was no stopping this man it seemed, and if they were like my parents you didn't tell them "no" without raising suspicion.

My parents usually trusted me well enough to keep things like this from happening in the first place. I couldn't help but think about how differently this would have gone if Dad had been. . . .

The Autobots wouldn't have traipsed around the Witwicky's yard, for starters. He would have taken the direct approach, and he would have been able to command them with more authority and confidence.

He would have known what to do. Dad always knew what to do. Unlike me, who was yelling at alien robots and pulling out my hair.

"What light, Dad? There was no—You got a flashlight in your hands! It must have bounced—" Sam tried to maneuver around his dad, and I leaned against the doorframe, my face in my hands as I thought about how much I missed my dad.

It should have been him there, not me. I could have been home, sitting with Mom and talking about NCIS, not having stress-induced palpitations over aliens.

"There was a light!"

"Look, you guys cannot just bounce in here whenever you want to! You have to knock, you have to communicate!" Sam argued angrily.

"We did! We knocked for five minutes! The door was locked!" came Ron's rebuttal.

"No, you didn't knock, you were screaming at me, ok?"

"No," his mom cooed. "We knocked."

"This is my place, and this is oppression that you're doing here." Sam flailed his arms wildly for emphasis, and I sighed quietly to myself. What was the point of fighting tooth and nail? "You're ruining my youth!"

"Oh for Pete's sake! God, why are you so defensive, tonight? Were you. . . ," Sam's mom hesitated for a second. "Masturbating?"

Silence.

"Judy. . . ," Sam's dad warned. Both he and Sam had turned to stare at poor Judy.

I coughed—or more like choked on air—and bit down on my knuckles. That conjured up a whole slew of mental images I needed about as much as an extra hole in my head and I wanted to find a way to excuse myself. However, much like a train wreck, I couldn't look away.

To Sam's credit, though, his face didn't even redden a little bit. It was already flushed from all of the anxiety, though, so maybe I couldn't tell that he was blushing.

"Was I master—no, Mom!"

"That's private, Judy."

Sam's mom rolled her eyes and pushed a strand of hair from her face. "It's okay!"

"I don't masterba—"

"It's not something for you to bring up. That's father-son talk."

Sam pointed at his dad and nodded. "Father and son!"

"We don't have to call it that word if that's what makes you uncomfortable!" Judy offered.

At least his parents were cool about it, I couldn't even imagine what my parents would have done. . .we didn't pry into sensitive topics like that.

They just kind of—trusted me, I guess. They probably shouldn't have, as I was no stranger to sneaking boys into the house late at night. Or sneaking out. My mom had tried to talk to me about the birds and the bees before, but I'd just brushed her off and told her I'd learned it all from school already. I assumed it was uncomfortable for everyone.

In the end they just wanted me to be safe, which I was.

"You could call it. . . Sam's. . . Happy Time, or—"

Ron sounded flabbergasted. "Happy Time? Judy, stop!"

"—my Special, Alone Time. . . ."

"Judy!"

". . . with myself."

"Mom you can't—! We have a guest over!"

Despite the uncomfortable topic, I found myself with a grim smile on my face. They were so comfortable with each other, and happy. It warmed my heart but saddened my soul, knowing that I'd never have anything like that again with my parents.

"I'm sorry! It's been a weird night, I've had a little bit to drink. . . ." Shaking her head she turned to look at me and lifted her hand. "Sorry, dear. You shouldn't have had to hear that."

The moment was ruined when another tremor racked the house and I gasped, pressing myself firmly into a corner. I wasn't sure what this one was about, or what the Autobots could possibly be doing to make the whole house shake—were they slamming into it? Trying to find the glasses by picking up the entire house? Honestly.

"Earthquake! Get in the doorway! Aftershock!" Ron shouted. His voice faded as he scurried like a rat deeper into Sam's room.

The lights flickered back on and I stumbled into the room proper, looking around. An orgy of evidence that this was a boy's room hit me. I couldn't see the whole thing, but from the doorway I could pick out a plastic basketball hoop, a giant foam globe, some posters, and clothes everywhere. My eye caught a nifty, round tank with goldfish in it, but the cloudy water was in desperate need of changing. Poor fish.

"Oh the lights are back on!" Judy gasped. She glanced around and shook her head. "Your floor is filthy, Sam!"

Ron hurried over to the window to assess the damage of the yard and I prayed that the Autobots were out of sight. I jumped when Sam grabbed my arm and pulled me in close by my shirt. "What are you doing hanging out with my parents?" he demanded through clenched teeth, glancing at the two in question.

I shrugged out of his grasp and straightened my shirt, glaring at him. "I was posing as a potential buyer, but your parents are very upset with you for trying to sell your great-great-grandpa's effects," I replied indignantly.

"Sam!" Ron growled as if on cue. He pointed an accusing finger at him and declared, "You have a lot of explaining to do, young man. This lady is here to buy family heirlooms!"

"What?" Sam stammered. "The—the glasses and stuff?"

"And who were you up here talking to? Yourself?" Sam's mom demanded, marching up to stand next to her husband. She was still holding onto that bat like it was going to save her life against the "earthquakes" that plagued her home.

Mikaela stood up then, catching everyone's attention. Judy let the bat fall from her ready-to-swing pose and put a hand on her son's shoulder, as if she needed to keep herself steady. She really should have had her wine taken earlier. Sam looked like he was about to curl into a ball and die, but I was just surprised she had hid so well.

"Hey. I'm Mikaela. I'm. . .I'm a friend of Sam's," she introduced herself.

To my surprise, they weren't at all upset about it. In fact, Judy actually giggled and shook Sam's shoulder vigorously. Like they were proud. When I'd been caught with a strange boy in my room, I'd been grounded for ten years and lectured like I'd murdered someone.

Which is why I became so good at sneaking in and out of the house. Probably because I was a girl. Double standards.

"Gosh, she is gorgeous!" Judy complimented.

"She can hear you talking, Mom," Sam sighed. He mechanically tapped knuckles with his dad to appease him, and Mikaela muttered a quiet "thank you", smiling awkwardly.

Suddenly, Judy gasped and looked around in horror. "Oh my god! I'm sorry you had to hear our family discussion! It was bad enough that poor Kathryn had to hear it all. . . . Oh lord I'm so, so sorry," she apologized.

All I could do was shrug. Mikaela also dismissed her worries with a similar gesture.

When they looked away from me, I raised my eyebrows at Sam coyly. He was mortified and I was briefly concerned he would leap out of the window to make his escape.

"Sam!" Judy declared, startling me and her son. "You tell this nice lady here that she can't buy your trinkets!"

"Yes, what were you thinking, putting those up on eBay? That's your heritage right there!" Ron chimed in, turning toward his son. I quietly edged around them and stood next to Mikaela, who looked at me questioningly.

I just shook my head.

"Yeah, okay! I'll tell her! But where's my backpack? Have you seen it?" he demanded, turning Judy by her shoulder and ushering both of his parents out of his room.

His mom answered, "You left it in the kitchen."

My eyes narrowed and I glanced over at Mikaela. "Did he ever think to look outside of his room?" I whispered.

She rolled her eyes. "No, apparently not."

"At least it's over now," I groaned. I glanced over my shoulder one more time before we left the room, hoping that the Autobots would make themselves scarce long enough for us to get the glasses and leave.