Today is the day. The day we have all been waiting for. The day we have all been excited for; the day we have all been dreading.
Ryan's driver's test.
I am crammed between Blacky and Chomp in the back seat of the Volkswagen Van. I am squished against Blacky and Blacky is squished against the window, because Chomp is a tank of a guy and he takes up two seats instead of one. I don't mind being so close to Blacky; he smells good. Like a pumpkin scented candle, actually. But being jammed next to Chomp is just unfortunate. As much as I love him, he sure as hell likes to sweat.
Ryan is sitting up front, running his fingers up and over the steering wheel. The car is not his. It's none of ours actually. The Volkswagen belongs to our favorite nemesis, Chad. It's pink. I'm sure he won't miss it for a day.
Ryan pops open the glove compartment, obviously scavenging for some cash or something valuable. He is wearing his usual overly confident and enthusiastic smirk that he thinks looks casual and professional, but is truthfully really creepy. It makes the Joker's painted sneer look ordinary in comparison.
"Ah ha!" Ryan whistles and digs out a ring with a massive sapphire attached. He sneakily slips it onto his finger, watching the sun glint off its reflecting surface.
He hasn't even bothered to look decent for his big day. I mean, he's sporting his fucking pajamas for god's sake. The one with bacon and eggs and a huge spaghetti stain on them. That's Ryan for you.
A stern looking man with a seriously absurd mustache slides into the fluffy, pink passenger seat. Ryan licks his palm and runs a hand through his greasy hair. He extends his clammy hand toward the poor guy. I sigh. Along with his admirable pajamas, Ryan is making a great first impression!
The man shakes Ryan's hand, but is hesitant about it. After removing his palm from Ryan's, he wipes them on his well ironed trousers. He gives Ryan a polite nod and says, "Hello, I am Mr. Loggerhead and I will testing you to see if you qualify for a driver's license."
I actually make an effort not to chuckle. Ryan doesn't. A loud snicker escapes his mouth. "Whatever ya say, Mr. Loggerhead."
"Ryan!" Blacky scolds in disbelief. As you can tell, Blacky is a freak about manners. His motto is: Please and thank you or I'll spank you.
Mr. Loggerhead must've not known we were in the back because he snaps his head back and glares at us. We stare back innocently.
Finally Blacky explains, "We are just here to root Ryan on, and uhhh, to defend him in case you try to attack or kidnap him or whatever, cause you're a stranger and all. Stranger danger, you know."
An awkward silence passes.
"Can I start now?" Ryan interrupts eagerly.
"Please." Mr. Loggerhead answers, seemingly confused.
Ryan slams his foot on the accelerator and the car lurches ahead, jerking us all forward violently. I realize how stupid I was to get in a vehicle with Ryan. There might as well be a law stating, No man, woman, or child shall enter a car with Ryan Shep behind the wheel. It's common sense.
Blacky grips the sides of his seat so fiercely, his knuckles turn white. His face is twisted into a grimace as if just waiting for the crash. Which, I promise you, is coming.
Mr. Loggerhead frowns and jots something down on his clipboard.
Soon, Ryan is speeding down the main road, just barely under the speed limit. He whistles to a catchy tune, but ceases abruptly in the chorus. He turns to Mr. Loggerhead and says, "Must be unfortunate to have a name like Mr. Loggerhead, huh? Do friends call you Loghead?"
Blacky smacks himself in the face, dragging his palm slowly down his face. "Ryan." He groans, stressed. "How many times do I have to tell you not to mock-"
