The Flaws of A Teenage Relationship

Introduction

"I'll be back late dad, I'm gonna hang out with Sam for the night," I spoke to my father while sitting at the kitchen table tying my shoe.

I heard his heavy stepping coming from the entrance of the kitchen before he took his favorite seat at the head of the table.

"Hmm, how late?" He asked playfully.

"Oh man... I was thinking like October 5th, 2026."

"Oh I thought you said you were staying late, that's early!"

I was already smiling at his teasing nature and thanked him with a hug.

"I should be home before 11," came my final answer to his question.

I offered him a peace sign which he returned before heading out the door to my car.

Now, I wouldn't say that I'm obsessed with my car. I'm not. I just love her. A lot. I might be slightly too interested in her, but I am nowhere near as obsessed with my baby as most Russians are with their cars.

This will most likely be the most unimportant thing I will tell you, but she's a sleek black Mazda 3 with (illegally) tinted windows. I try to keep her as clean as possible, but it's almost impossible because my driveway is a quarter of a mile of rock gravel. She's always dusty, but I JUST washed her. Usually, the rain contrasts with the dust perfectly thanks to my naturally rainy state of Washington, but this is the dryest October that Washington has seen in years. Also useless information, but her radio is my favorite asset of hers. If you can imagine a 5'5 brunette girl with heart eyes for her car, that is me.

My friend Sam lives slightly out of town, like me, but on the opposite end. It takes a grand 16 minutes and 22 seconds to get to her house. I'm sure if she was more anal about it, she'd time me every trip and make me suffer for every wasted second it took getting there.

I was driving past the local Walmart, which by the way did you know that 90 percent of Americans live within 15 minutes of a Walmart? It's absolutely mindblowing.

I ease on the breaks as I come up to a red light, Adele's gorgeous voice booming through the speakers mixing with my horrendous voice. As the light lit green, the complete asshole on my right, in the RIGHT TURN LANE, zooms in front of my car almost scratching her. My road rage is almost always at a minimum because I'll just call them an asshole then get on with my life. What they don't know is that I remember the color and make of their car so that if I ever come across their sorry asses, they will feel my road wrath.

This is NOT a foolproof plan because I never remember the license plate, so those who receive my pettiness probably get it for no reason. Whoops.

I pull down Sam's smooth concrete driveway (jealous) and park right outside the garage. The chords for Justin Timberlake's I've Got This Feeling just begin as I turn the key and get out. No one meets me at the door when I walk in, so I head upstairs where I find Sam and Syd on their respective beds. Syd heard my apparently noisy stomps up the stairs so she noticed me first.

"Suh due?" I mimic in a stoner fuck-boy type of voice throwing Sam a peace sign.

"Oh my god, stop," she laughed.

I joined her on the bed and wiggled my eyebrows, "I always knew you'd be easy to get into bed."

She gasped with a smile, "Dae!"

I shoot her a grin and pull my phone out of my back pocket.

Syd speaks up just a beat too late, but not late enough that I had no idea what she was talking about.

"But you got in the bed."

Although it took me a few seconds to process, I shrugged in her direction. "Potato, potato."

Syd just shrugged back while throwing her pillow at Sam. Sam didn't even look bothered, which I'm not surprised, Syd does that a lot. I'm never really sure if they get along because one week they're stuck like glue and then the next they're snitching on each other and trying to get the other grounded. It's complicated I suppose.

Sam looked over at Syd with a question in her eyes. Syd then lifted her eyebrows while pushing her face forward, like "You know." Sam seems to get the message and lifts her head as an, "Oh" moment. While this is going on, I start to get a serious neck workout as I follow their exchanges.

Sam proceeds to look at me with a cheesy smile.

I don't even know what this is about, but I can already tell it's not good.

"Oh no. No. Nope."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!"

Chuckling I respond, "And I don't want to!"

Now see, Sam really likes to be dramatic, so almost every single time she needs something from me, she says my name as if it contains 70 A's.

"Dana."

I heave an over exaggerated sigh for dramatic effect, "FINE. What do you need?"