May 26, Thursday
10:00 AM
Some back road near Milan, Michigan
10:00 AM
Some back road near Milan, Michigan
It’s such an incredible feeling when you’re driving a nice, classic convertible down a country road. Letting the wind blow your hair around. And the radio blasting to summer music, because you know that summer music is way different than regular music. When it’s during the school year, it’s okay to make slow, soft, depressing music, because that’s how we feel. But during the summer, no one wants to listen to that, they want to feel happy.
And boy do I feel happy, seeing as how yesterday was the last day of school. Forever. I mean, other than college. But still, I get to remake myself, make a fresh start. I don’t have to sit by any of those preppy uniform-baring (because uniform-baring people are way different than uniform-wearing people in the sense that uniform-baring people actually like their uniforms, unlike normal people) dipshits anymore.
They wouldn’t be caught dead here, in the middle of a cornfield. So far away from civilization. Wimps! Although, none of them do have a classic, convertible, cherry red ’57 Thunderbird, like me, so they wouldn’t even know what to do with themselves.
Shit, was that a cop?
Once again, I was too caught up in my thoughts and passed a stop sign when a cop car was sitting right there.
I look down at my speedometer and see that it says 75 MPH, precisely twenty over the speed limit. My dad is going to kill me. No, that’s too nice of a word. My dad is going to flip out, go insane, and murder me with a butter knife because it’ll be the closest thing to him. How am I going to explain this one?
I pull over, slowing down way to fast than I should for this old car, and am careful not to pull right into the ditch. If you saw the size of these things, you might not even be driving here. These suckers are huge. I mean, they are gigantic.
The cop stops behind me and I pull down my mirror to make sure there are any bugs sticking in my teeth and my hair isn’t sticking straight up. In the mirror I see him getting out of the car, he looks only about mid-twenties. And I get an idea. It’s crazy, it’s slutty, but it’s my only chance.
He walks up to my door and I look over at him as alluringly as I can, which, mind you, isn’t very much at all. I haven’t had so much of what they would call experience when it comes to this thing. And it’s probably not the greatest look ever too because he gives me this weird look back. I stop, feeling embarrassed, and try to remember how Hillary flirted back in Sophomore year.
“I’m assuming you know why I pulled you over,” he says. I cringe at the statement and clench my teeth.
“I’m assuming you know that I don’t care,” I snap. He pulls back, looking scared that I’ll hit him or something. Okay, sorry, but I hate people who assume things. And that’s totally hypocritical of me, I know, because I assume all of the time. But I just hate it when people assume things about me, because they’re usually wrong.
“Alright then, I’ll just give you the ticket and leave,” he says. I close my eyes, sighing. Nice one, genius. I’m pretty sure that when Hillary was looking for a guy to make out with, she didn’t yell at him. He hands me the flimsy piece of paper and walks away, back to his car. I open an eye, to see how much it’s gonna cost, and almost pass out. One hundred and forty frickin dollars just because I was twenty over. That’s more than the prom dress I bought in junior year.
When I see him get back in his car, I start mine back up. He pulls out and keeps driving in front of me. I wait for him to get a nice dandy space ahead of me. And then I start going again. This time when I see the speed limit hit fifty-five, instead of completely revving the engine, I slowly let the speed hit 65. I mean, that’s not as bad as twenty over, it’s only ten over. I may not even be pulled over for that. Well, maybe out here, but you probably wouldn’t on the expressway or something.
Spoiler! :
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