“Come on, you son of a bitch. Give it to me. Give it to me….” I bemoaned, growling slightly under my breath as I turned the key. As the cold spring air blew around me, the engine of the 1972 Gran Torino sputtered, along with the entire car. It continued to make that amusing ‘chk-chk-chk-chk-‘ noise—you know the one. The one that every car owner fuckin’ LOVES to hear; obvious sarcasm being obvious. Who doesn’t love when their car sucks? But yeah, it was an unfortunate sound. For me to hear it, however… I had heard it so many times that by now, it had become an annoyance. So much so, that now I found myself getting angry. I slammed my hands onto the steering wheel. “Fuck!” I gripped it tighter, and began to shake back and forth. “AAAAUGH!!” My vocal cords matched the movements of my body. “FUUUUUUCK!!” This continued for a few more moments, before I slammed my hands down one more time—this time, in defeat. I slumped over in my seat, and stared at my lap, as if it would give me the answers to my problems. It obviously didn’t, which only made me more upset. I was LONG past angry, though. “You stupid… piece of shit…” I grumbled. “Why won’t you just WORK?!” I hit the car one more time, and with renewed vigor, shoved the key into the ignition slot. I moved some hair out of my eyes, and growled. I turned it once, nothing. Chk-chk-chk. You know, the works. But… on my second turn? Chk-chk-chk-VR-VROOOOOOM “YEEEEAAAAAHHHHAAHHAAAA!!!” I cheered, slapping my sore hands against the steering wheel one last time. I almost couldn’t believe it. “My God, I’m so sorry I ever doubted you, Henry!” I yelled, laughing again. ‘Henry’ referring to the late Henry Ford. Henry Ford is the man who manufactured the Gran Torino, in case you were… too dull to pick up on that. Well, anyway, I quickly shifted into reverse and pulled out of my driveway. I shifted back into first when I was out, and peeled out of my neighborhood. This time, in STYLE! Because after working on this hunk of junk for over six months, I’ve finally got it in proper condition. I only had to replace the tires, the bumper, the windshield wipers, the rims, the headlights, the carburetor, one of the cylinders, the stereo, the exhaust… so, honestly, not too bad! Just kidding. It was awful. Don’t get me wrong, I love cars, but having to walk hella miles to school every day was starting to strain on me. Thank goodness for high quality combat boots, I guess, but fuck—my knees weren’t doing too good. My feet were protected but my legs were taking the brunt of everything because of it. Oh well. That’s all behind us now. It’s Gran Torino time, bitch. I turned on the radio, switching it over to aux as I pulled out my cell phone. Before anyone could see it coming, the sound of Kenny Loggins filled the car. I shifted into third as I roared through the suburbanite neighborhood, not giving a damn for the legal speed limit. I rolled down my windows as the music blared, and when the chorus hit, “HEAVEN HELPS THE MAN WHO FIGHTS HIS FEEEAAAR!!” I down-shifted, giving myself a speed boost as I ran through a stop sign. I drove by a house with an old man out front. “LOVE’S THE ONLY THING THAT KEEPS ME HEEERE!!” “HEY! SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!” “FUCK YOU!!!” I laughed, speeding up and finally escaping from the American hellscape. I turned out onto the main road, heading down and straight for Volcano High. I continued speeding up, until all of a sudden, “SHIT!” I slammed on the brakes, the yellow light having caught me off guard. I didn’t expect to be able to make the light in time, so I had to quickly come to a stop. Thankfully, my brakes were fully replaced, so that was no problem; but the adrenaline was still definitely a shock. As I sat in the car, the idling having a calming, low rumble—I looked around inside. It was a little thrashed, but… it was mine. This… this was mine. I bought the car when it was a hunk of shit, I fixed it up… this is my car. I, Mia Campbell, am the owner of a 1972 Gran Torino. And that… that was… “Holy shit.” I whispered. The light turned green. “This is… this is—“ HOOOONK “Gah! I get it!” My voice was starting to strain. 8:00 AM and I’ve already yelled my lungs out. Fuck me… wait. I slammed on the gas pedal, let go of the clutch, and off I went. Within another five minutes or so, I was pulling into the student parking lot, attempting to be showy about my new ride. Of course, nobody really cared—but that’s besides the point. I liked it, I thought it was badass, and it was. So suck it, preppy kids. You can drive your 2020 Toyota Tacomas and your 2019 Mustangs all you want. For me, it’s all about the Gran Torino… My car sputtered to a stop in a random parking place, and I removed my keys from the ignition, getting out of the car shortly after. I grabbed my backpack and swung it over my shoulder as I slapped down the door lock button. I checked my pockets, I checked my bag, and I tried to remember if we had homework at all. When I completely blanked, I figured it was alright. Must’ve been unimportant. But I sighed to myself. Another day, another dollar. Here we go… <<<<>>>> …It wasn’t until second period, English class, where my fear finally set in. The beauty of my car had worn off, so now I was left miserable, and—worst of all—a student. “Everyone, please pull out your chapters 1-through-10 homework assignment.. you know, the one from Friday.” The English teacher, some soy dork named Mr. Natsuki, spoke. He was a parasaur, like me, but I’d rather not associate him with our kind. His fashion sense was dogshit, for one. I wasn’t going to stand on a pedestal, what with my tank top and jacket, but jeez; this guy really blew the idea of bad fashion out of the water. He wore a tracksuit pretty much every day, sweatpants, and tennis shoes. Yet I don’t think I’ve ever seen him exercise. I’m pretty sure he’s just some ‘cyka blyat’ slavaboo larper… But, wait. Homework? Did I hear him correctly? Shit. I quickly threw open my backpack, pulling out my red English folder and going through the pages inside. Boring assignment, boring assignment, Government assignment (?), wrong assignment, wrong book… shit. “Come on, I know you’re in here…” I muttered, continuing to flip through the pages. “Just bring it up to my desk here, and I’ll go through it later on. Will end up in the gradebook by… Friday?” Mr. Natsuki droned on, and shortly after, everyone around me stood up. I began to panic more and more as I put the folder back in my backpack. I know I did it. I remember doing it—I did it in class on Friday. Say what you will about me, but I’m not lazy. So where the hell is it? As everyone began to sit back down, I continued flipping through my notebooks. Some dork next to me spoke up, “Mia, you oka—?” “Shut up Nathan.” I growled, putting another notebook back in my backpack. “Not the time.” Mr. Natsuki had long since moved on, but I was still looking. I needed to find this page. My grades need to stay perfect, if I have a missing assignment, my parents are gonna be pissed! So where the hell is this thing? “I’m gonna need you all to get in groups of two…” He spoke, and I continued to ignore him. I had one last notebook to pull out and look through. And if it’s not in here, then I’ll shoot this place up. That’s a lie, and also, a really poor taste joke. But whatever! Not important right now. What IS important is finding this stupid homework assignment for Brave New World. Bunch of bullshit, I tell you. Stupid ass book and a stupid ass assignment… But finally, after minutes of searching, I found it. It was buried in the back of my composition notebook. I must’ve had it upside down or something. But thank fuck, I found it! Quickly tearing it out, I rushed up to the front of the room, dodging people as I went. I slammed the page down onto where he had the others, exhaling heavily. “Thank fuck.” “…Miaaaa, babe, you good?” Mr. Natsuki asked, sweat dripping down his neck like some kind of anime character. “You look stressed.” “No shit, Sherlock.” I whispered under my breath. “But no, I’m fine. Spent most of my time looking for that stupid assignment. I knew I had it done, just… didn’t know where it was at.” I shrugged. “Oh, well, hey! At least you got it in.” He gave me a finger gun. “Now, you got a partner?” I deadpanned. What the hell was he talking about? “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, echoing my thoughts. Some people say I have no filter. Wonder what they mean. He put his hand up, giving me a five finger point to keep me in place, as if I were gonna go feral on him. “Hey, language!” He scolded. “But were you not listening? We’re doing a partner project. You and one other person have to make a poster board presentation on a utopian society. It’s due next week, I can get you the instructions…” He trailed off, going over to his desk and shuffling some papers around. But I stopped listening after he said ‘one other person’. As in, just me and another guy. …Now, now. Don’t get me wrong. I’m no pussy—I’m not afraid of social interaction. I’m not one of those liberals that can’t ask for ketchup at McDonald’s. It’s just… uhh… everyone in this class is stupid? And a shithead? And I hate them? Who the hell am I gonna work with. I’m sure everyone already has a partner, so I’m just gonna get stuck with someone. This was such a question, I decided to voice my concerns to Mr. Natsuki. After I grabbed the paper he shoved in my face, at least. “Hey, so, who am I gonna work with? I’m pretty sure everyone’s got a partner. Might as well get it over with and go with whoever I’m assigned to…” “Hm. Not sure, lemme see.” He cleared his throat. “Hey! If you don’t have a partner, raise your hand, and come to my desk!” God damn it. Great way to get me a partner, sir. Now I’m DEFINITELY, ONE HUNDRED PERCENT gonna be stuck with a fucking loser. But… only one person raised their hand. A tan hand, with purple fingers. “Oh, no… no no no.” I muttered, turning to Mr. Natsuki. “Can’t I do it solo? Can’t I do this project on my own?!” I asked, practically begging. Please, don’t let me get stuck with him. “Wh-What? Why would you want to?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “Hey, Sage, what’s up buddy? Don’t have a partner?” Fuck me. “No, uh…” The purple raptor (?) trailed off, rubbing his arm. “Everyone I went to already had a partner, or just said no.” He pushed his glasses up on his face. “Do you have someone I can be partners with?” “I sure do!” He smiled, and put a hand on my back. “Meet your new partner, Mia.” “M-Mia?” He gulped, and looked over—and up—at me. I had a good six inches on him. What a runt. “Are you sure?” I was offended. “What’s that supposed to mean, you little fag—!” “Hey!” Natsuki interrupted. “Hey, time out. None of that. You two are partners now, and I can’t have you—or you—work solo. So suck it up. This project is supposed to be fun,” He pushed the paper into my breast, “So have fun!” I growled, but smiled. “I’ll tell the VP you touched my boob!” I joked, waving the page at him. “Oh yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “He’d give me a high-five.” Mr. Natsuki said, turning his nose upward as he gave a stupid smirk. I chuckled, but then slowly frowned when I… well, to be real, when I remembered my current situation. I was being forced into a partnership. And not just any partnership! I had to work with SAGE. I had to do an entire project with the school’s resident weenie. The resident femboy fruitcake loser. God, kill me now. He’ll probably wanna make our society like… iunno. He’ll want it to be some gay shit. Hazbin Hotel RP the town, anybody? “Mia, are you coming?” Sage asked, waving a hand. “Wh-What?” I had been kicked out of my own head. “Where are we going?” “Just back to m-my desk. We should really start working on the assignment if we want to get it done on time.” He stuttered out, looking completely, extremely nervous to be exchanging any matter of words with a female. It was honestly kinda pathetic. “He says we have plenty of time but that’s not accounting for scheduling, work, car troubles, days of—“ “Okay, I get it.” I waved my hand. “Shut up, and sit down. Let’s read over this page. What’s it say?” I asked. He sat down, and grabbed the piece of paper. “Oh, I already took the liberty of reading over—“ This fucking guy. “—everything. Mr. Natsuki says we need to do a presentation, a manifesto, and a poster board. I can write the manifesto, but everything else we’d have to do together.” He nodded at his desk, and turned up to face me. “Why can’t you just do everything?” I asked, feeling monumentally lazy. I know I just said I wasn’t, but… this fruitcake nerd would easily be able to pull it all off, and probably by the end of today. Why should I have to do anything? “Because uh, no. Screw that.” He muttered, in a moment of clarity, seemingly. Holy hell. Didn’t know the guy had it in him. “I may be a total geek, like you’ve been muttering about this whole time, but I’m not gonna carry this entire project on my own.” I looked him up and down. Gay little overalls, stupid haircut, cute determined face, weak build. Totally not the kind of guy I’d expect to be able to stand up to anyone—let alone me. I pursed my lips. “…So you’ve got guts. Well, fine then.” I sat down in the desk next to him. “I’ll start working on the presentation…” I reached down to grab my backpack, only to realize it wasn’t there. Shit. Quickly standing back up, I walked back to my desk, grabbed it, and walked back over. Damn it all. “Alright, now I’ll do it.” I muttered, slamming my bag down on the ground and then unzipping it. Grabbing out the shitty school-assigned laptop, I was quick to log in and get PowerPoint open. “So, what’s the name of our society?” Sage asked, pulling out his own laptop. “Faggot land.” I whispered, chuckling to myself. The kid groaned. “Come on. I’m not even gay…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Let’s just call it Placeholder for now, or something. We can decide on a better name later.” “Fine by me.” I moved my finger on the trackpad, and then to the keyboard, typing in ‘faggot land’ on our slideshow. “And what’s that you said about not being gay? Bullshit.” “Shut up.” He growled. My eyes widened. “H-Hey, you’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’, buddy.” I spoke, genuinely surprised. But then I got back into my groove. “I may have let the project shit slide but I’m not gonna accept that.” I growled myself. “I’m razzing you. I don’t actually think you’re gay.” I lied. We do a little manipulation. “Razz me back, small penis jones.” …He didn’t say anything in reply. I simply shrugged. He went from shy and dorky to rude and aggressive. Must have bipolar or split personality disorder or something—maybe his parents don’t love him. Oh well. Not like it’s my problem. I only need to talk to him for this project, and then I’m free from him and he’s free from me. It’s just a week or so. Shouldn’t be too bad. It’s not like I’ll go through any great deal of mental strife, or anything. “Look, if we wanna do this project, we gotta get along.” He opened his mouth after being silent for a while. He turned around in his desk, making eye-contact. “I know you hate me, and trust me, I’m not a big fan of you either. But if we can put aside the ‘razzing’ for just a WEEK, then everything will go by so much smoother.” He sighed. “Just… please? Maybe we can even end up friends by the end of this. I’m a forgiving guy.” …I considered his words. It would be hard not to razz him, but he was right. “You’re right, I guess. Though, isn’t it a little too early to be doing the teen movie ‘we all have to get along’ gay shit?” I asked, smiling a toothy smile. He then gave me a genuine frown. And I… felt kinda bad. He looked like he actually wanted us to get along. “Sorry.” I looked down. Then I looked back up. “Sure. You got a phone number or something? We can meet up over the weekend.” His cheeks blushed purple. Wait, huh? How did they—whatever. “Uh, s-sure.” “Wait, not like that, you weirdo!” I blushed too, realizing what I said. “It’s just for school!” “I—I get it.” He chuckled. He then pulled out a piece of paper, and I snickered, my blush fading fast. “Dude, just take out your phone, I’ll put my number in.” I smiled. “Oh, uh… nah. I don’t really like taking out my phone in class.” He looked to the floor. “Anyway, here. I have my number memorized.” He handed me a slip of paper, and I pocketed it. I then looked him in the eyes, his blush finally fading. After a few moments of us making eye-contact, he stuck out a hand, as if he didn’t know what to do next. Or, maybe he did, because what he said next made sense for the situation. “Friends?” I hesitated. “…let’s just say acquaintances for now.” I shook his hand. “…alright.” He nodded. “I’ll accept that.” He turned back around, starting work on the project again. …I wiped my hand on my lap. <<<<<<<>>>>>>> I shifted into second as I turned into my neighborhood. Cruising down the street at thirty miles-per-hour, I was set to arrive home in like… a minute? Maybe? I don’t know. This neighborhood was really long. But it’s not like I minded. I loved this car. What’s it they say about cars? Find a car you like and you’ll never drive a day in your life? Or, wait. Is that your job? Fuck if I know. I don’t have a job. Parents say they’ll pay for my gas and shit as long as I go to college when I graduate, and… that’s fine by me. Not like I could make it in the military. I’m too soft! …That’s bullshit. I could probably do it if I wanted to. I just… don’t. Therefore I won’t. It’s called logistics. Pulling into my driveway, I was swiftly removed from my own headspace by a… wait. A sputtering sound. Oh fuck. Oh no. God damn it, and this day already sucked! “Oh, shit.” I muttered. When I pulled fully in, I switched to neutral, engaged the e-brake, and began to tap my foot on the ignition. I didn’t trust the idling at the moment, so I would have to give it gas myself. It didn’t matter, though. Things were doomed to fail. How did I know? Well, because the engine died out. My blood ran cold as I shoved the car into first and put the clutch in. I grabbed the key and turned. Chk-chk-chk-chk…. “Come on!” Chk-chk-chk-chk… Chk-chk… … “FUCK!!!” The rest of what happened is a blur as I removed the key, threw open my door, and stomped my way out of the car. I’m very careful about closing the door, but past that, I’m absolutely livid. The fucking piece of shit was broken. AGAIN. And I didn’t even know what the problem could be this time. Sputtering could mean ANYTHING. Threw out the transmission? Carburetor died? Exhaust leak? Engine hates me? I don’t KNOW. I threw open my front door, and slammed it behind me. “SHUT UP!” My dad yelled from across the house. “FFFFuck you.” I groaned, holding my fists at my side. Stupid fat asshole. Brexit geezer. Cunt. Dick face. “Mia! Hey!” My sister, Naomi, exclaimed—walking out from behind the nearby corner. Sweetheart. Skinny pretty girl. Nice to me. “How was school?” “Shitty. Terrible.” Okay, stop. Too many adjectives. I sighed, and reset myself. “Group project in English and I’m stuck with the gay kid.” “Oh, I’m sorry.” She said, her voice genuinely apologetic. “Is the project at least fun?” …I sighed again, my shoulders slumping. I couldn’t stay mad at Naomi. She was always so nice to me. “It’s… fine. And no. It isn’t.” “Oh…” “It is what it is.” I shrugged. “Car’s fucked again, too.” She gasped. “Oh no! What’s wrong with it??” “I couldn’t tell you.” I deadpanned. “The damn thing never wants to work properly. I’m close to just giving up. Had it not worked today, I probably would’ve.” She shook her head. “No, don’t do that. You’re so close!” Sure doesn’t feel like it… Shaking my head, I tossed my backpack to the floor, and wandered across the house. I would normally grab a snack, but I didn’t have the energy. I just want my Gran Torino to… I just… I… ugh. Throwing open my bedroom door, I stomped my way to my bed, and threw myself on it. “Why… why does… why does everything suck?” I muttered. The cold pillow was comforting on my face, which felt hot. Reminded me of what happened between me and the gay loser earlier. …I felt myself beginning to doze off. I was tired. …tomorrow’s another day. Tomorrow, it’ll work. It has to. [POST-NOTES] The beginning of a new long fic. Set to be 20 chapters, at least at the time of this AN. Could change over time. But either way. Prepare for peak. Idea inspired by Deadassspider.