𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 ━ transformers

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

I try not to be too offended. Or mortified. He's probably heard me out here talking to the truck like it was an old companion. No doubt he thinks I'm a loon--which isn't far off as of right now.

"I'm preparing myself," I tell him.

He grunts--or maybe it's a snicker? "Preparing yourself? For what, might I inquire?"

"You know." I gesture to the truck that's going to take me to my death.

Ron definitely grunts. "You are speaking the to truck? For preparation?"

I nod.

"What could conversing with the truck possibly prepare you for?" He sounds genuinely confused.

I sigh. "I have to ride in this thing, might as well try and get to know it." I am tempted to pat the hood but I figure me and 'ole Ironhide aren't there yet.

"Get to know a truck?" he asks. I can hear the judgment in his voice.

"Judge all you want," I say with a huff, "but I'm conquering my fear. You should be proud. Ratchet is getting what he wants. Dr. Henderson is going to have a field day with this, I swear."

"I am proud." Ron furrows his eyebrows like he's confused I would think otherwise. "I just do not understand what talking to an inanimate object could possibly do to calm your panic."

I shrug. "It's something I did with Dinky. I just figured it would help a little."

"Dinky?" Ron questions, sounding appalled.

I point to my Corolla that's in need of a bath (thanks, Will and Dad) and Ron's lip pucker.

"You named your vehicle?"

"Yeah." I nod, confused. "You named your truck."

"But that's--" Ron pauses, shakes his head with a grunt. "That's different."

Highly doubt it, considering they're both inanimate objects, but Ron looks like any other argument on the matter would end in bloodshed. I roll my eyes anyway. My bag weighs down on my back with all the books and assignments that are loaded in it. I should already be on my way to school right now but no. Now I have to wait for both Will and Dad to come out because they're my ride for the rest of the school year I suppose since it would have been too much of a drive for Mom and their base is on the way to school.

"How is your hand feeling?" Ron asks suddenly.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "It feels like it did last night. When you asked me the same question."

Ron grunts. "One can never be too thorough in the healing of their injuries. Any infliction of pain can set back the process for weeks, even months if you are not careful, Eleanor."

"Uh huh," I say, not really listening. I know it's his guilty conscience talking. Has been for the past weekend, honestly. It had been endearing at the beginning, but now it's just irritable. (Not irritable but like, not endearing. That little gray area in between the two.)

"And your back?" he questions.

"Fine," I truthfully tell him. Whatever medicine Ratchet put me on, it was working wonders on my back. Both it and my legs hardly hurt anymore.