PillsbureeDoeBoii
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"Who manages to run five stop signs in a row, and then get stuck in a ditch?" My mother's shrill voice echoes from the other side of the phone, and I share a wary glance with Ella, hoping she couldn't hear the string of obscenities that my mother was spouting.
I let out a nervous chuckle, "You know me, Mom."
Ella snorts, and I'm almost overcome with the urge to strangle her as an awkward pause ensues on the other line. I can just imagine her icy blue eyes narrowing at the phone as she runs a wrinkled hand through her graying brown hair. "Who's with you?"
"Ella," my voice cracks the slightest bit, as I glare at said girl, who seems interested in her shoes at the moment. As good of a friend as Ella was, she wasn't a very good friend to have around while you were behind the wheel. Her and her musical ADD tendencies resulted in the changing of music every five seconds, which usually resulted in chaotic sing-a-longs in our horrible off-pitch voices, always induced by her.
A long sigh sounds from the other end, "Where are you? I'll come pick you girls up."
My eyes wander towards my fogged up window and I rub my sweatshirt's sleeve up against it, revealing the snowy road. I squinted at the nearest street sign, "Maple Road," I mutter, "I don't even know where we are."
"What was that?"
"Maple Road," I respond, immediately. There's no need to mention that in my world 'Maple Road' had been non-existent up to this point. In fact, maybe I'll let on that Ella and I used to come biking up this road after school last year. She might buy that, plus, it makes me look better. Almost as if I was certain of where I was driving.
This all seems brilliant enough until I hear a strangled cry of annoyance from the other end, "Claire! Do you even know where Maple Road is? You're probably more than ten miles from home. Dear God, what am I going to do with you?" Before I can point out how unfair she's being, I don't have a map built into my brain, she interrupts, "I'll be there in a bit. Stay. There. Okay?"
"We're in a ditch," I snark, "Where are we going to go?"
"Goodbye, Claire."
I click the 'end call' button and sniff, inhaling the brisk, cold air. "She's pissed."
"This is your fourth 'accident' since you've gotten your license. How could she not be?" Ella says, acting all innocent. As if she hadn't been belting out a Backstreet Boy song just minutes ago, momentarily stealing my attention.
"Notice all my 'accidents'," I make air quotes for emphasis, as I give her a look, "have involved you in one way or another."
Her lips twitch downwards and her brown eyes become clouded, and I imagine the corks moving in her brain as she tries to find one exception to this statement. I roll my eyes, because there really isn't. Ella was going to be the death of me. Best friend or not, the girl was causing me serious trouble. "The time you accidentally ran over that old man at the supermarket! I was not there!"
"You were so," I disagree. That day was burned in the back of my mind quite clearly. I mean, how could you forget running over an elderly person? Never again can I visit my grandmother with a clear conscience. It sucks. "You kept screaming to some rap song. I couldn't hear myself think."
Ella's expression threatens to reveal her guilt. "Well. The guy was alright, anyway. Just a few bruises. Besides, he claims to have fought in the Vietnam War, what's a couple scratches compared to that?"
I roll my eyes, "My point is, that you are a safety hazard when it comes to the world of driving, El."
"Yeah. Well," she purses her lips, "maybe you just suck at driving."
"I passed my test with flying colors."
"Things were flying, Claire, but they definitely weren't colors. Traffic cones, maybe."
I wince. I had only hit two traffic cones, really. And, maybe, one cardboard cutout of a pedestrian. But seriously, who's going to walk on by during a sixteen year old's drivers test, anyway? No one. That's who. "Just shut up," I mumbled, halfheartedly. Ella had a point. I tend to screw things up pretty badly.
She must have noticed my expression, because immediately she looks remorseful, "I'm really sorry, Claire-Bear, but maybe the bus is the safest place for automatically challenged people like you." Behold, Ella Storten's apology. Embrace it, folks, it only happens once a century.
--
It's only a rough draft, and it's unfinished. But I'd love to hear what some people think. Criticism is encouraged and appreciated. Thanks.
I let out a nervous chuckle, "You know me, Mom."
Ella snorts, and I'm almost overcome with the urge to strangle her as an awkward pause ensues on the other line. I can just imagine her icy blue eyes narrowing at the phone as she runs a wrinkled hand through her graying brown hair. "Who's with you?"
"Ella," my voice cracks the slightest bit, as I glare at said girl, who seems interested in her shoes at the moment. As good of a friend as Ella was, she wasn't a very good friend to have around while you were behind the wheel. Her and her musical ADD tendencies resulted in the changing of music every five seconds, which usually resulted in chaotic sing-a-longs in our horrible off-pitch voices, always induced by her.
A long sigh sounds from the other end, "Where are you? I'll come pick you girls up."
My eyes wander towards my fogged up window and I rub my sweatshirt's sleeve up against it, revealing the snowy road. I squinted at the nearest street sign, "Maple Road," I mutter, "I don't even know where we are."
"What was that?"
"Maple Road," I respond, immediately. There's no need to mention that in my world 'Maple Road' had been non-existent up to this point. In fact, maybe I'll let on that Ella and I used to come biking up this road after school last year. She might buy that, plus, it makes me look better. Almost as if I was certain of where I was driving.
This all seems brilliant enough until I hear a strangled cry of annoyance from the other end, "Claire! Do you even know where Maple Road is? You're probably more than ten miles from home. Dear God, what am I going to do with you?" Before I can point out how unfair she's being, I don't have a map built into my brain, she interrupts, "I'll be there in a bit. Stay. There. Okay?"
"We're in a ditch," I snark, "Where are we going to go?"
"Goodbye, Claire."
I click the 'end call' button and sniff, inhaling the brisk, cold air. "She's pissed."
"This is your fourth 'accident' since you've gotten your license. How could she not be?" Ella says, acting all innocent. As if she hadn't been belting out a Backstreet Boy song just minutes ago, momentarily stealing my attention.
"Notice all my 'accidents'," I make air quotes for emphasis, as I give her a look, "have involved you in one way or another."
Her lips twitch downwards and her brown eyes become clouded, and I imagine the corks moving in her brain as she tries to find one exception to this statement. I roll my eyes, because there really isn't. Ella was going to be the death of me. Best friend or not, the girl was causing me serious trouble. "The time you accidentally ran over that old man at the supermarket! I was not there!"
"You were so," I disagree. That day was burned in the back of my mind quite clearly. I mean, how could you forget running over an elderly person? Never again can I visit my grandmother with a clear conscience. It sucks. "You kept screaming to some rap song. I couldn't hear myself think."
Ella's expression threatens to reveal her guilt. "Well. The guy was alright, anyway. Just a few bruises. Besides, he claims to have fought in the Vietnam War, what's a couple scratches compared to that?"
I roll my eyes, "My point is, that you are a safety hazard when it comes to the world of driving, El."
"Yeah. Well," she purses her lips, "maybe you just suck at driving."
"I passed my test with flying colors."
"Things were flying, Claire, but they definitely weren't colors. Traffic cones, maybe."
I wince. I had only hit two traffic cones, really. And, maybe, one cardboard cutout of a pedestrian. But seriously, who's going to walk on by during a sixteen year old's drivers test, anyway? No one. That's who. "Just shut up," I mumbled, halfheartedly. Ella had a point. I tend to screw things up pretty badly.
She must have noticed my expression, because immediately she looks remorseful, "I'm really sorry, Claire-Bear, but maybe the bus is the safest place for automatically challenged people like you." Behold, Ella Storten's apology. Embrace it, folks, it only happens once a century.
--
It's only a rough draft, and it's unfinished. But I'd love to hear what some people think. Criticism is encouraged and appreciated. Thanks.