I finally did it. What I've been wanting to do for a while: I did an oc rewrite for the first TF movie. I'm proud of it, so here's the first chapter.
I don't own Transformers or any recognizable brands, only the OC: Alexandra (Alex) Witwicky.
Chapter One: New Car
I looked at my brother's school as Dad drives the car into Sam's school's parking lot.
"Where is your brother?" Dad asks as we look through the crowds.
"Oh! He's there!" I point as my older brother. I got luckier than my brother did, because my school gave everyone the day off today because the front office was getting redone. I'm not complaining, at all. I'm not in high school like Sam is yet, since I'm 13, and in seventh grade.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Sam says as he runs up to the car.
"So?" Dad asks.
"A minus, it's an A though." Sam says as he gets in.
"Wait, wait, wait. I can't see." Dad tries to see the paper Sam waves around. "It's an A."
"Did you have to bribe the teacher?" I ask.
He leans back to whisper his answer to me. "No, I asked for a favor. Different than bribing, Alex." He turned to Dad. "So, I'm good?"
"You're good." Dad says as he pulls into the Porsche parking lot. I smirk. I know Dad's gonna mess with Sam, I know it.
"I got a little surprise for you."
"No, no, no, no! Dad! Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" Sam shouts.
"Yeah, I am. You're not getting a Porsche." Dad laughed. I snorted.
"You think that's funny?" He asks me in a hurt voice. "Just wait until you get your first car, He'll do this to you!"
"I'll be ready for it," I quipped as Dad pulled into a junky car yard.
"Here?" Sam gasped. "No, no, no, what is this? You said half a car, not half a piece of crap!"
"When I was your age, I would've been happy with four wheels and an engine."
I groan as Dad starts the 'when I was your age' stories.
"Did you walk uphill both ways?" I snip.
We all get out of dad's car. Sam's still debating with Dad, while I look around. The only car that looks somewhat cool is a beat-up yellow and black old Camaro. The salesman comes up to us.
"Gentlemen," He says, and then notices I'm here. "And gentlewoman. Bobby Bolivia, like the country, how can I help you?"
"Well, my son here is looking to buy his first car." Dad pats my brother on the shoulder.
"You come to see me?"
"I had to." Sam shrugged.
"That practically makes us family. Uncle Bobby B, baby, Uncle Bobby B." The man laughed.
"Sam."
"Sam, let me talk to ya. Your first enchilada of freedom awaits underneath on of those hoods. Let me tell you something, son, a driver don't pick the car. The car'll pick the driver."
And I'm starting to get a bit bored. While salesman and Sam chat, I browse my brother's options. Still, the only semi-cool car is that hunk-a-junk Camaro.
I step in front of it and cross my arms. "Sam better pick you. You're the best car here," I hesitate, before naming it. "Hunk-A-Junk."
Sam does start to look around, before getting to the Camaro. He looks at it a little bit. "This ain't bad, it's got racing stripes." He got in. While the salesguy starts yelling some random stuff, I lean my head in the window.
"Feels good." Sam grips the wheel.
"Looks like it could use a good dusting." I comment.
"How much?" Dad asks.
"Well, considering the semi-classic nature of the vehicle, with the slick wheels and the custom paintjob-"
"Yeah, but the paint's faded." Sam says.
"Yeah, but it's custom."
"It's custom faded?"
"Five grand." The salesguy says to dad again.
"Not paying over four." Dad shakes his head.
"Please?" I put on my youngest sibling charm, widen my eyes sadly, and fiddle with my fingers.
"No," Dad shakes his head. "Stop that."
"I think you overdid it when you played with your hands." Sam said.
"Kid, come on, get out of the car."
"No, no, no, you said the car picks their drivers." Sam replies.
"Well, sometimes they pick a driver with a cheap-ass father. Out the car." The salesguy orders. I snort at the cheap-ass part. It's a little bit true. That's why dad's making 'his path' all by himself.
"Now, here's a beaut for four Gs." He motions to a slug bug.
"Slug bug!" I declare and punch Sam in the arm.
"Ouch!"
Hunk-A-Junk's door opens on the slug-bug's side door. There's a sign on the slug-bug that says clean, but the car is the dustiest thing that there ever were.
"Geez!" Dad exclaimed.
"I'll get a sledgehammer and knock this right out." He says, before shouting to the other employees. "Hey, hey, Manny! Get your clown cousin and get some hammers and come bang this stuff out!"
Suddenly, static plays from the Camaro and glass shatters everywhere.
"Four Thousand!"
"Go on," Dad pats us both on the shoulders. "I'll do all the paperwork here."
I race to the passenger seat as Sam gets in the driver's side and gets the keys from the salesguy. He drives home. He claims he's showing mom, but I know he's just trying to get me outta his hair.
When he parks, he races in the house, and I meet mom on the patio. She's got a pitcher of lemonade and a couple of glasses out. I pour myself a glass and take as sip as Mom sets a plant on the plant stand.
"How did it go?"
"Dad tricked Sam into thinking he was getting a Porsche." I grin.
"He can be such a tease." She shook her head and rolled her eyes.
"Are we including or excluding awful Dad jokes?"
Dad pulls up a few minutes later and starts working on his path. Mom decides to inspect his job while I help her carry her flowers to the flowerbeds or whatever.
"Ron, this one's uneven."
"Yeah, probably." He says dismissively.
"This one's wobbly."
"I'll take care of that real soon."
"Couldn't we have just hired a professional?" Mom asks.
Sam sprints out the door and… right onto Dad's grass.
"Ah, Sam,"
"What?" He asks.
"I do not like footprints on my grass-"
"-There's no footprints!" Sam argues.
"That's why I built my path. So, why don't you go from my grass onto my path."
"It's family grass dad."
"When you own your own grass, you'll understand." He says. "Alex, get me some more of the path rocks."
"Ok, dad." I nod and grab a few of them, bringing them to Dad as Hunk-A-Junk starts up.
"Sam! Take me for a ride later!" I call.
"Will do!" He replies as Hunk-A-Junk makes a lot of smoke in the backyard.
"Wow, you are so cheap." Mom said.
"It's his first car, it's supposed to be that way."
"Besides, I named it Hunk-A-Junk." I grin.
"You better be careful with your smack-talk, Alex. What about when you get your first car?"
"I was thinking maybe an old jeep," I grin. "Something cool and functional. Ooo maybe an old pick-up instead, 'cause, ya know, go big or go home. Ooo, or maybe something fast!"
Mom and dad just laugh. Later that night, I'm sitting at the kitchen table working on my homework. I think my history teacher is trying to kill us with homework this year! Dad is watching tv and mom is upstairs.
The landline phone rings. The moment I see the caller id, I grab the other phone to listen in on the conversation.
"Dad," Sam says over the phone. "Please don't be mad, but I'm at the police station."
Dad screams something that sounds like a foreign language into the phone and I put away the phone so my laughing doesn't get me caught. Dad puts the phone down.
"Alex! Come on! We need to get your brother from the police station." He shouted angrily. I want to tell him that I'm not the one who should be getting yelled at, but I just nod and sprint over to the door.
The drive there is silent. Dad's just inwardly fuming, I know it. When we get there, Dad kicks open the police station doors.
"Where is he?" Dad screams.
Hell hath no fury like a father picking up his son at a police station.
An officer leads us to an interrogation room, and we stay in the interrogation room for a while.
"Look, I can't be any clearer than how crystal clear I am being. It just stood up."
"Hunk-A-Junk?" I ask.
"Yes, it was Hunk-A-Junk." Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm going to tell him you're calling him that."
"Do it."
"It just stood up." The deputy continues. "Wow, it's really neat." He grabs a cup and hands it to Sam. "Ok, chiefie. Time to fill it up. And no drippy-drippy. What are you rolling? Whippets? Goofballs? A little wowie sauce with the boys?"
"My brother doesn't do drugs." I scowl with disgust.
"What's these?" The cop asks my brother. "Found it in your pocket. Mo-jo. Is that what the kids are doing now? A little bit of Mo-jo?"
I crack up with laughter.
"Those are my dog's pain pills." Sam tells him.
"You know, a chihuahua. A little guy."
"What was that?" The cop narrows his eyes at Sam.
"Huh?" Sam blinks.
"You eyeballing my piece, Fifty-cent? You wanna go? Make something happen. Do it, 'cause I promise you, I will bust you up." The cop glares at him.
My older brother glances up at the cop. "Are you on drugs?"
