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For as long as she could remember, Catherine had been best friends with the awkward boy she’d come to know as Sam Witwicky. There were often jokes between their parents how they’d been friends since the womb, although their parents hadn’t known each other until they’d realized they had kids of the same age only living a few houses from each other. Whatever the case, from the first day they’d met there was no stopping the inevitable sleepovers, parties, rough-housing, tea parties, facing the monster in the closet or under the bed, and the challenges all young kids would face. The tween and teenager years were no different except their duo had become a trio with the inclusion of the blonde-haired Miles— or “hippie” as she liked to call him with all the love of a friend, of course. Still, she and Sam had always been best friends; just the two of them against the world, and hippie-boy to provide backup and distractions.
And now they were older teens in high school, and while some things had change—not that Sam had noticed being the oblivious boy he was—both, or at least Sam, could be safe in knowing that she would still wait for him at the school exit with Miles, especially if that day was the last day of school.
“Do you see him yet?” the blonde-haired boy asked, standing high up on his toes to peer over the throng of student trying to ram their way out as fast as possible, the call of summer strong and enticing to their wild, hormonally controlled teenage nature.
Catherine pushed a red string of hair behind her ear, “No. He’s probably just too busy either crying or pelvic thrusting in the classroom to make it out.”
Miles snickered. She grinned back, shifting out of the way of an impatient student who tried to bowl her over in his dash for freedom. Sam was taking longer than she would have thought, and it worried her. All he’d talked about this week, let alone past month, was about getting his car and how all he needed was an A in all his classes to do so. Unfortunately, not only was his father annoyingly strict and stubborn, the boy wasn’t the smartest. He wasn’t stupid, but he wasn’t an all A student, either. Miles didn’t help at all, but that was where Catherine came in. She was smart and responsible enough to actually study, so she ended up helping him out as best she could. And, as of today, he was assured his car if he could just get an A on his major assignment for History. She’d helped him get all the research on his great-great grandpa and even helped him practice giving his project. Now it was up to him to present it.
Him. Socially awkward Sam.
Shit. I really hope he sucked up, she frowned. She would hate to see him come moping down the hall rather than leaping. She had to admit she was excited about him getting a car, too. It was a hot topic for their teen years, and both were eager to finally get one. Hers she knew wouldn’t come until graduation, but with Sam getting his possibly today they could hitch rides to everywhere, and, well, it would be nice to ride with him.
“You’ve got the look again.”
Catherine blinked and turned a raised brow at the blonde boy. He smirked, and she scowled as her cheeks warmed.
“Shut-up!” she hissed, and his smirk only widened. When she looked away, though—ears turning red and warm—his smirk fell with a sigh.
“You gotta tell him soon, amigo,” he spoke, and she turned redder. “’Cause you and I both know he doesn’t see it. Which is sad since I did, like, a year ago.”
“Just shut-up, Miles! I’m gunna tell him soon! I just need the right timing!” she huffed.
His smirk returned with a hint of mischief, “Like at the lake party tomorrow?”
"Maybe,” she mumbled almost too softly for him to hear, and then turned a hard glare on him. “And don’t you dare say anything!”
“My lips are sealed!” he replied quickly, throwing up his arms in surrender. “I doubt he’d get it if I told him anyways. Weird how I’m not the smartest in school, but a pro when it comes to love?”
“A pro that’s single and rejected by every girl you attempt to hit on, which has been, what, none?”
“That hurts you know. And that’s just play stuff. Too many hoes here for the real deal. Besides, bros before hoes remember?”
“Aren’t I a contradiction to your little saying?”
He smirked, “You’re a bro for me.”
Hopefully not for Sam, though, she thought, although grinned back at the blonde haired boy.
A part of her was very—no, deathly, afraid that would be the case with Samuel Witwicky. She had been dreading the thought for two years now, ever since she had fallen in love with the oblivious idiot. She couldn’t really explain why she had; he wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous and there were better looking guys at school, although she did find him pleasing to look at; he certainly wasn’t the smartest, but there was something to that naivety and his fascination with nerdy things cute. Yet, she did know that she was happy with him, and he could always make her feel that way when she needed it. He had her back, and she had his, and he was, frankly, all she really knew in the stark outside world of reality. Miles was a good friend, really he was, but it wasn’t the same with Sam. He was a part of her, and she hoped he felt the same. She didn’t know if she could stand being his "Best-Friend-For-Life".
She sighed, and thankfully Miles was scoping for the young man and didn’t notice. She considered herself lucky the blonde hadn’t told once he’d found out. She wasn’t even sure how he had; only that, after Sam had left for class the blonde boy turned to her with the most shocked face she’d ever seen and told her she liked him. One awkward conversation and a chorus of threats to pummel the ever-living-shit out of him if he told, Miles had promised to keep his word. He had kept that promise, too, and she appreciated it more than he could and would ever know. He’d even tried to “help” out once, but it hadn’t done much except lead to a mess of a blended something, Sam’s mom going into hysterics, and something else she couldn’t accurately recall due to blurred memories of the incident.
Now the rest remained with her, and with Sam making her dreams come true by realizing he felt more than just platonic feelings for her, and also that his crush on Mikaela Banes was just an attraction to a teenager with a body that didn’t seem possible at her age.
Ah, yes. Mikaela. The Bane of my existence. She smiled at her pun, but then frowned again as she wondered why Sam had to fixate himself on a girl who didn’t even know he existed. It was infuriating! Especially when said girl was the top of the social hierarchy, undoubtedly preppy, and the epitome of the “dream girl” with her perfect make-up, revealing-but-somehow-school-appropriate clothes, and 0-size waist. Obviously, Catherine’s make-up free features, her boyish clothing, and more-muscular-than-it-should-be body was no competition.
“I think I see him,” Miles murmured beside her, and she glance over the river of students that had begun to turn into a trickle as the time limit for the buses came closer to its deadline. Sure enough, bobbing excitedly through the stream was the familiar dark, curly-haired top of their friend. Even before he finally spotted them and shouted his success, they knew his car was in the bag. He didn’t get that eccentric for just anything.
“IdiditIdidiitIdidiit!” he all but screamed at them as he waved the paper in their faces. It was only through Catherine’s quick intervention that the paper was taken from him and the A- on it was clearly visible. “A minus! Guess who just got a new car?”
She smiled, “I think you did, and you’re welcome by the way.”
“And I promise to pay you back with a free drive anytime you want,” he laughed back.
“’A’ free drive? Yeah, I’d say I’m entitled to unlimited. Better yet, I should have unlimited access to drive it wherever I want. After all, who was it that helped you pass all your classes so you could even get the car, hmmm?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay. You can have unlimited rides, but it’s my car, so I’m the one drivin’!” he huffed back and held out his hand for the paper.
“Fair enough,” she smiled devilishly as she handed it back.
“So what’re you hopin’ for? You’re dad’s not exactly a charity when it comes to the green stuff,” Miles mused, causing Sam to grimace slightly.
“Mom talked to him, so hopefully that means something,” he shrugged, and then glanced out the door searching for his father.
“’Hopefully’ being the keyword,” Catherine added.
"Yeah, and uh, gotta go now—I can see my Dad. I’ll catch you guys later!” he shouted, taking off at a run through the door, skillfully dodging the last remnants of people coming through. Catherine sighed as she watched him go, part of her hoping he got an awesome car and the other hoping she could go through with things tomorrow. She couldn’t deny Sam’s obliviousness was not the only problem with her life of romance—she couldn’t bring herself to tell him, and she hated it. Loathed it. She wished she could just be rid of it, but it had a tight hold and sucked her confidence dry. But she had been planning her confession at the Lake party for a while now—she couldn't and wouldn't let the little parasitic fear stop her.
Miles shifted his backpack on his shoulder and stepped around so that he was walking backwards to the door, “Weeeeell, seeing as you’re just going to daydream about sucking Sam’s face, I’m headin’ home, too. There’s a seat on the couch missing me and cartoons not being watched, and I think a cold pizza in the fridge with my name on it, too.”
She blinked, pulled back to reality, and grinned, “I assume the vacancy will be filled all this summer, yeah?”
“Damn straight. Adios, amigo!”
“So long, hippie,” she saluted back and the blonde-haired boy took off at a light jog to his bike. She waited, watching him for a moment, and then walked out, too. She paused at the bottom of the steps to look where Sam had gone, her heart fluttering at the thought of him, and smiled softly. Shifting the weight of her own backpack, she set her gaze forward, and started the short trek home.
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-O-
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“Short” was really just that. The walk was only twenty minutes at most, and that wasn’t so bad even with the hot Tranquility sun. Being used to it helped, but jeans didn’t, so she did have a thin layer of sweat when she finally walked up the wooden porch steps of her home, stuck the key in the equally wooden door, and entered into the fray of wagging tails and eager whines. Such was the price she paid for having three Siberian Huskies at home whom had come to realize she was their way to relieve their bladders in the afternoon and their source of everything until dinner time.
“Alright, come on guys, let’s go before you explode,” she chuckled, rubbing them all playfully as she tossed her backpack onto the nearby leather couch. A quick muddled with furry, black-and-white obstacles-walk later, she had the three running about their yard searching for acceptable spots. She took the free time before they came bounding back to glance to her right, looking for the familiar bird-dog house—the “penthouse”, she corrected herself— that Sam’s Mom had recently made for, well, their dog. She once thought her three furry babies were spoiled with their treats, walks, toys, and whatever else her mom coddled them with, but Mrs. Witwicky had taken it to an all new high—a very disturbing all new-high.
Mojo wasn’t in it, she noticed, and that was probably a good thing. Little guy managed to get hurt when Mrs. Witwicky wasn’t watching the laundry basket in which Mojo was sleeping. That had been an interesting day to say the least, but she didn’t dwell on it, and instead looked for Sam’s mom. By the lack of her loud voice and lack of lights on downstairs, she wasn’t there, which was a bit of a disappointment. Despite the woman’s overly eccentric and potentially-crazy personality, she was wonderful to talk to. Her husband was equally so, but he could be a little too stubborn in his ideals for her sometimes. Thankfully Sam had taken after his mother more than his father.
A cold, wet nose in her hand distracted her and she found her youngest husky staring up at her with pleading, blue eyes. She cooed affectionately and kissed his forehead, to which he happily wagged his tail at.
“Ooooh, you’re so adorable, Bandit! Way cooler than Mojo,” she grinned and then glanced at the other two, whom had ignored her on their way in. “Now go see if that old fart Dasher will play with ya, ‘cause you and I both know Sophie won’t.”
She let him go off then, and while he did attempt to play, it only gave him an annoyed growl from the older female husky companion and a door pushed into his face by the other\. She could only laugh at his drooping, disappointed tail, and then called him over to sit with her on the couch and watch T.V. He gladly accepted, although Sophie would have none of it as she planted herself firmly at Catherine’s feet when barking did nothing to deter Bandit from his comfortable spot. Her laptop soon joined them, and their motley group stayed there undeterred for a good, long while until her cellphone rang.
“Mom? What’s up?” she asked at once. “You and Dad staying late again?”
“Work will be late, but we plan to go out tonight, too. It’s our anniversary, after all. Forgot to tell you, and, well, I don’t see you before you leave, so you know. There are leftovers in the fridge, but we left some cash so feel free to order pizza.”
“Oh yeah. I think Dad talked about it like a week ago. Anyways, you guys have fun. I’ll keep the house safe and the dogs under control,” she replied back, forcing the joyful tone in her voice. Her mother, as always, fell for it, said that they would, and then the phone call ended. With a sigh, Catherine tossed it over Bandit and slumped down some. Another night with the house to herself. It was almost a routine, and now with summer rolling in the house would be hers all day. Not that she really minded. She did love getting to do whatever the hell she wanted—within limits, of course—but the dogs weren’t the best companions. She could go over to Sam’s, too, but she felt bad going over every single day. It made her feel like a mooch, so she tried to refrain, although Mrs. Witwicky has assured her their home was hers too.
“Bandito, why does Sam get to have such awesome parents who actually do funny things with him?” she asked the dog, whom looked up at her from her lap, but said nothing. “And of course you love mine because they spoil you with treats. Granted, you’d love anybody who feeds you and walks you and lets out to poop. Traitors in the making.”
The silence condemned the guilty, but he was too damn cute for her to hold a grudge, so she ended up ruffling his fur affectionately. Her parents, however, were still heavy on her mind. It wasn’t that they were bad parents. They didn’t abuse her or anything like that or deprive her of anything. Rather, they were almost perfect in regards to parenting. They provided with her ample money, they bought most things she wanted, both had jobs bringing in good money; they had three dogs, a good education for her, and a good home. Hers was literally the American Dream, but for her it was more like a nightmare. The colorful walls around her were a cage, bought and fortified by parents whom were perfect in their familial jobs, but failed miserably as people.
It made her all the more grateful for Sam. He had been her one shining light for the past ten years when the house’s oppressive nature became evident. She did have other, lesser friends she talked to once in a while as well as her wrestling team, but she couldn’t tell them how she felt or how she wasn’t allowed to be who she was. She could tell Sam, though, and he had listened and comforted her and let her sleep over countless time. It was what she needed, and that need had made her release how happy she was with him and that she wanted to be with him for as long as possible. The idea had once made her hesitant in proclaiming she loved him, but she knew that need had now become the flustering emotion.
Just gotta wait until tomorrow until the party and then I can tell him she breathed, attempting to ease the flush already forming on her cheeks. She smiled briefly at a sudden thought, I wonder if he’d take me for a ride—if he reciprocated, of course. If.
The smile lessened as the thought transformed, and she sent a quick text to the young man, wondering if he was back yet. Not even a minute later, his reply came and she ushered Bandit off the couch. She ordered them to be good and not chew anything up before nearly running out the door and down the street. Four houses later, and she was in front of the quaint home of Sam Witwicky. It was as it should be with its tanned walls, dark-brown shingled roof, wooden porch, homey plants, and comphy chairs. Except, that is, for the golden-yellow and black-striped metal beast sitting all slick in the drive way.
She knew just from the frame style it was a Camaro—she’d taken a keen interest in vehicles once the prospect of her own had come up earlier in the year—though what year she didn’t know besides that it was definitely before she was born. It looked its age, too; it was dirty, chipped, and all around rugged, but, for some reason, that gave it a charm. One that made her stare with awe at its old-school air. She found the insides weren’t so bad either, with the old, leather seats that were only slightly torn. She couldn’t help but snicker at the décor—“Beeyotch” and the disco ball just fit so well. All in all, she was impressed, and would not mind cruising in such a sweet piece. Granted, she would go for something more modern when she chose, but it was nice. She couldn’t help but wonder how cheap it was, though, considering Sam’s Dad had bought it.
The backdoor opened and she grinned as the dark-haired boy came into view, “I wouldn’t have taken you for the old school type.”
He shrugged, “It’s not the driver who chooses the car; it’s the car that chooses the driver.”
“You get that from a fortune cookie?” she inquired with a raised brow.
“From the car dealer, actually. He was, um, a little crazy,” he replied and then scratched his head. “He might’ve been right though. Call it crazy, but when the guy put the price too high for my Dad the car’s alarm suddenly went off and busted all the other cars. It was like it didn’t want me to go.”
“Huh. That is pretty weird, but it was probably just a weird coincidence,” she rumbled back, but now regarded the car meticulously. Having finally said something, the car did have a kind of “vibe” to it. Underneath its exterior, she suddenly had the notion there was something more to it. But what? Being a government vehicle like Knight Rider would have been too much and too good to be true, and ghosts were out of the question for her. She might have said “alien” if the car were a person rather than a car, but seeing as it was, in fact, a vehicle, she shut that option out.
“It’s probably just your imagination. You should just be happy you got this baby,” she grinned, turning around to lean on the hood with her arms folded across her chest. Sam grunted as he joined her, arms set back to support his weight.
“He almost didn’t,” he grumbled.
“Ronald Witwicky—stingiest Dad in the world,” she laughed, and then bumped him when his face soured more. “Aww, c’mon. Just messing with ya. I bet taking a girl for a ride would make you feel better.”
He cast her a look as he smirked, “And you qualify?”
“Hey!” she balked, slapping his arm. “I happen to have boobs and a vagina, thank-you very much!”
“Yeeeah, but what girl squats over forty-five on each side?”
“A wrestler one, you jerk! And don’t be pullin’ that just ‘cause you can’t bench over ten pounds!”
“I can bench twenty-five!” he huffed and she snorted.
“Congratulations. You’ll have bigger guns in no time,” she growled back. They paused for a moment, both glaring, before suddenly bursting out into laughter.
It had been a while since they had a silly arguments and fight like that. They’d had them for as long as they knew each other, and each ended the same way. Laughs and a good time. This was one of the main things she loved about him—he could always make her laugh no matter what. She could only hope it was the same for him, and she hoped to find out soon enough.
“So,” she spoke between laughs. “Do I qualify as a girl or not?”
He hummed with a grin, “Yeah, okay. But just for today. And where shall I be driving the lucky girl tonight?”
“I do believe Burger King sounds like a perfect idea. I feel a craving for French fries and burgers,” she purred back.
“Excellent choice. Now, wait one second while I get the keys and then prepare for a smooth ride,” he chuckled, hopping off the hood and returning back indoors. Catherine chuckled; wondering how “smooth” it would actually be since he’d barely passed his driving test after two previous attempts. She chuckled aloud as she glanced inside the car.
“Make sure he doesn’t crash, alright? I don’t want the first day of summer to end bad,” she spoke, and, for just a moment, she thought she felt the car vibrate. She blinked once, then twice, and stared hard at the car, but the vibration—if she had felt it—was gone. Was it just her imagination or something else?
Whatever it was, she forgot it when Sam appeared once more and they hopped in to begin their ride to Burger King.
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-O-
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“Jesus, Sam! How in God’s name did you get a license?!” Catherine shrieked as the young man in question pulled yet another way-too-fast sharp turn around the corner and she held onto the side of her seat for dear life. Sam, on the other hand, looked hurt as the car went straight and even managed to give her his sad, kicked-puppy look. She would have none of it and glared back with her that-doesn’t-work-on-me-you-psychopath look. She knew she was in the right, too, especially after enduring his insane peel out of the fast food restaurant, sudden brake when he realized he would not make it through the yellow light at the intersection, and the god-forsaken sharp turns she was not prepared for. And to think they had been having so much fun at Burger King!
“Calm down, Catherine. We’re back on our street anyways,” he replied finally, scoffing her glare.
“That’s still enough time for you to crash,” she murmured and let her head fall back against the seat’s head rest. “Mind if I chill at your place for a while still?”
“Parents gunna be home late?”
“Yeah, and the dogs aren’t the best company.”
“Sure thing. Mom and Dad won’t mind, and it’s been a while since we played Halo or Gears,” he hummed, and she grinned with him at the thought.
“Yeah, I’m getting a little rusty, too.”
“And I’ve been polishing mine,” he grinned confidently, but then sobered as he pulled into the driveway. “What’s with your parents, though? They’ve been gone late just about every night, right?”
“For the most part, yeah, but that’s not so bad to be honest,” she replied, unbuckling and stepping out of the car.
“Free of the ‘oppression’ right?” he inquired, a hint of amusement at the word, as he, too, stepped out.
She frowned, which made him look away, “It’s not the same being able to be yourself around others than when you’re alone. And I have a feeling they’d know when I cursed in the house or something.”
“Ouch. So they don’t like you cursing and the fact you don’t act girly? Man, they really don’t seem that bad to be honest,” he replied, coming up beside her to walk inside.
“Well, they don’t really talk with you or your parents, so you don’t get much of the home life, and they always put on a good show when in public. Private life is a hell’uva lot different than public,” she snorted with contempt.
Sam frowned sympathetically while he opened the door and let her in. The living room was free of any parents, although the T.V. and lights were on. They could hear sounds from the kitchen, however, and by the remnants of dinner still on the dining table Mr. And Mrs. Witwicky were probably doing the dishes. Sam gestured for Catherine to wait, and she did while he moseyed over into the kitchen. The sounds of a pleased mother and bemused father could be heard, and she grinned as she imagined his mom was cuddling him. The sounds ebbed as Sam began to speak, and then a chorus of happy agreement came up, letting her know she was welcomed as always. Not a moment later, Sam returned with a plate of chocolate sweets made especially by his mother.
“Brownies? Oh, how I love your mother,” she purred, grabbing one and taking a bit.
“She still wants to know how you make those cookies of yours.”
“But she won’t, muwahahaha. Anyways, let’s hurry upstairs and get to gamin’. I wanna have as much fun as possible before heading back to Alcatraz.”
“Somebody’s feeling a little harsh tonight,” he mused between brownie bites while scaling the first steps up the stairs, and she grunted. “Good think you’ve only got one year ‘till you’re out, yeah?”
“Damn straight. No more disappointed parents and high school clichés and all the woes of being a teenager!” she cried, throwing her arms up.
“They’re not that bad. I happen to find the teenaged life enjoyable,” Sam replied as they rounded the balcony corner and came to his room. Years ago he might have grimaced and given her warning about his room being a mess or to not look in certain places for fear of her finding something embarrassing, but she had long since assured him the state of his room hardly influenced her opinion of him. Of course, there were limits, and Sam was a master of skirting around them. She couldn’t imagine having a room where the floor was made from randomly placed piles of dirty clothes, magazines, and whatever else he was in the mood for, and in comparison, her room was like a quarantine bubble.
“Alright, just let me find the controllers… and the console and we can get going,” he said, setting the brownies down and shuffling through a pile of clothes and paper. Catherine took her spot on his bed, lying back with a sigh. His bed was as soft as always and she couldn’t help but curl up in it. So many good times on it playing video games or just talking. Sometimes even Miles was there, but not so much later on when Mrs. Witwicky banned him for his “artistic” activity one time. At least it had been fun before the woman had gone ballistic.
“Comfy, are we?” Sam laughed as he tossed her a controller.
She purred, “Why, yes, I am. Why not start the summer out lounging on a comfortable bed?”
“Well, for one, it’s where I sleep so you can’t stay there forever,” he grinned back, taking his own seat beside her. “And, two, wouldn’t it be better to start out with going to a Lake Party?”
“Hmmm, that does sound much better; especially if it involves a ride in a certain dirty, yellow and black-striped Camaro.”
“I think that can be arranged. I do still owe you after all, so why not save you from the terrors of the teenage life?”
She smiled at his jest and gave him a playful jab, “I’m guessing that means you’ll be saving Miles, too, so I call shotgun!”
“That’s hardly fair when he’s not here,” he mused.
“I called it and it’s what he gets for not living down the street.”
He laughed and the conversation ebbed into playful banter and curses as their game began. It lasted long through the night, the two of them wrapped in their game and occasional silly fighting to try and thwart the other’s attempts to win the match or kill an enemy. The brownies were left untouched, their sweetness forgotten in their happiness, as was the time, which flew too fast for them. It wasn’t long before Catherine’s phone buzzed to let her know her parents were heading home and that it was nearing midnight. She really wished she was younger then—she would have been allowed to sleep over, but now she was older and it wasn’t “appropriate”.
So it was with heavy heart that she reluctantly told Sam she had to go, ending their fun gaming session. He understood as always, and figured he wanted to see if anyone had bought his glasses, anyways, and also that he’d see her tomorrow around two for the Lake Party. She happily agreed and took off, though paused to give a quick bye to his mother whom was in the living room watching light-night soap operas with Mojo. A thought trailed after her though, lingering on what Sam had mentioned.
It stuck with her all the way through the small talk with her parents about their work, evening, and what her plans for tomorrow were. They were cheerful for her going to the party, figuring it was about time she hung out with someone other than Sam and Miles, and told her they’d be out shopping for some new furniture most of the day, so she should just call to let them know when she’d be back. That done, she secluded herself to her room with her belongings and had the laptop up and surfing the web to eBay. Finding Sam’s page was easy enough—she had spent a long time giggling over his username—as was finding the odd glasses of his Great-Great Grandfather. It took even less time to create a fake username and address to pay for the item.
“Just a little something from me,” she whispered aloud once it was done, her mind plotting to pick them up secretly and revealing them when he least expected it. She knew he would appreciate it, and, well, she’d need as much appreciation from him if she hoped for her dream—for him to utter three simply complicated words—to come true. So it was with a hopeful grin that she shut the laptop off and, readied for bed as her dreams already started to take hold.
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