Driving Her Insane

01

C H A P T E R    O N E

SO MAYBE – I'M GOING OUT on a limb here – this wasn't my brightest of ideas.

I don't know if it was the piercingly ravenous glare Officer Collins was shooting in my direction, the sheer fact that he was supporting a couple gashes from trying – although done quite unsuccessfully – to dodge my car, or the realization that I was screwed that made it click like the unbuckled seatbelt at my side that maybe this whole scheme to steal my stepdad's car and drive, even though I couldn't drive to save my life, was something I should have thought through. Which I didn't, if that wasn't obvious. Or, you know, I wouldn't be in this situation. At three A.M. On a school night. Way past curfew. And so, so screwed.

I took a deep breath, smoothed out my frazzled hair, and inserted an innocent smirk on my lips, as Officer Collin tapped his sausage fingers on the glass window.

Slowly rolling down the window, I said in the most innocent voice I could muster up, "are you lost, Officer?"

"Marley," he seethed out in what could only be anger. Which, as I have come to hear, is an oddity. He's supposedly some reincarnation of Gandhi. But I didn't buy it. "Get out of the car. Now."

His arm extended for the door handle. It was locked. But it only took one particularly hungry for blood glare for me to unlock the door and walk out.

Officer Collins had the appearance of someone who had one too many cheeseburgers a couple years back and never had the drive to work it off. Instead, it just piled on. And on. Until he could be – almost – featured on one of those reality TV shows about obesity in America. Which really begged the question as to how he caught his suspects. Definitely not by running.

He always seemed to have a five o'clock shadow. No matter what. It was like he didn't seem to understand the concept of a razor. But it did help to hid his double chin that sagged down from his very round and very plump face. A lot of his features were magnified by his weight, like his tree stump legs or his sausage fingers. My mom always said he had the potential to be a very attractive guy -- if he put some work into it. But I just couldn't see it.

"Walk in a straight line," he ordered, impatiently. He scratched his chin, with slitted eyes, as he walked over to the side of my stepdad's clunky car.

I followed behind him grudgingly, grunting out, "are you implying, I, a minor, was driving drunk? Now, that's just ridiculous, Officer."

"You don't expect me to believe that someone can drive like that sober, do you?" he responded.

"That's highly offensive," I stated matter of factly, crossing my hands over my chest.

Somewhat over the past couple months, Officer Collins pulling me over seemed to be a regular occurrence. I mean, I wasn't the best driver. And I was even worse at hiding how terrible I was behind the wheel. Plus, it didn't really help that I may have cheated off the permit test from the guy sitting next to me and that I – although, I've taken it four times – have not even come close to passing my driver's test. It was a gift really – how bad I was a driving. I just expected Collins to realize this by now. It wasn't like he had pulled me over three times before. This month. Or anything. Not at all. Seriously.