Steffanie stumbled down the steps while exiting the bus and almost threw herself out the door. Her brand new Sparkle Cat backpack sprang from her shoulder and skittered into the gutter sliding under the bus. She sank to her knees and scrabbled to snag the shoulder strap, yanking her now scuffed and dusty bag over the curb, safely into the grass, just before the wheels of the bus went round and round all over the only thing her real dad had ever gotten her.
She knew that, at seventeen, the brightly colored bag drew sideways glances from her peers, but it did not bother her. Her mom had raised her with no help from her dad; she had taught Steffanie to be strong willed, and independent. Not much bothered her. Except for her mom's new boyfriend Greg. He tried too hard. Her dad did not try at all. Strange as it was, Steffanie had a grudging respect for that. He did not try to understand his daughter, or try to change her, or bother her with fake sentiment. He just lived his life as best he could, leaving her mother and her alone to live as they saw fit. Steffanie was not even sure he knew about Greg yet, and she was almost certain he would not care. No skin off his nose, either way, Steffanie was soon to be not-his-problem. She turned eight-teen, next month. Not that it mattered because her mom and Greg were getting married in two weeks.
Greg's wedding gift to her mother had been to pay for her bachelorette party. She and four of her friends had left this morning, before Steffanie had even gotten out of bed, for a week long girls-getaway in Las Vegas. Greg had given her the tickets, kissed her on the forehead, and said something about sewing her last wild oats.
Steffanie picked herself up from the soft green grass, slung her bright pink bag, with the sequin festooned kitty cat, over her shoulder. She tugged her plaid skirt at the hem and smoothed it over her thighs, brushing leaves and bits of grass away, before stomping off toward the five story brownstone two blocks away where her mother, she, and recently Greg, occupied a tiny two bedroom, one bath apartment with a galley kitchen and a balcony just big enough for her mother's elephant ear plant, which Steffanie intended to move as soon as she got home so she could spread a blanket and get some sun in private.
She stumbled over the transition from grass, to sidewalk, but recovered before she took another nose-dive. After a few quick glances to check if anybody had seen her stumble, she dusted off her dignity and headed home.
She heard a loud engine roar behind her as a bright red Dodge jetted down the street and slowed as it got closer. Steffanie had no illusions as to her looks. She was cute. A little chubby maybe, but cute. Field hockey had kept her trim; firmed her legs and ass. Yoga had kept her limber, but done zilch for her balance. She was a bit of a tomboy. She kept her strawberry blonde hair cut short in what her mother called a boy cut. But, it was easy to take care of, and it fit her oval face and drew attention to her wide brown eyes. So it didn't surprise her when the car stopped near her, and the driver blew the horn, following it up with a wolf whistle. It didn't happen a lot, but it was nothing she couldn't deal with.
She ignored it and kept walking like nothing had happened. That usually worked. The few times disdain hadn't worked, a few sharp quips about their manhood always did.
"Hey cutie," the driver called out over the growl of his engine. "How's about you and me...dinner and a movie?"
"How's about you fuck off," she said as she whipped around and spotted Greg sitting in the driver's seat of the racing red Charger.
"Whoa...language..." he said, chiding her through a wide boyish grin. He was ten years younger than her mother, but he acted like he was only twelve most of the time. He was much closer to Steffanie's age at twenty-two, but had spent most of his adult life squirreled away in a small office he rented, developing very popular social media apps. He had, very successfully, ridden the wave of Facebook and Twitter. He filled a gap in social media by connecting them all and taking advantage of the abundance of personal information to play match maker to the digital denizens.
"Greg! Someday you're gonna get your ass kicked."
"Yeah," he grinned even wider. "But could it wait until after dinner? I'm starving, and if we don't go now we'll be late for the movie."
"Heartbreaker," he said.
"What movie?" she said, rocking forward on one foot.
"Well, I figured you pick the movie, I'll pick the restaurant.
"Yeah. No. You've got crap taste in food. And I'm not hungry right now anyway."
"Am I allowed to drive?" he said. "Or am I crap at that too."
Steffanie didn't answer. She trotted around to the passenger side and slid into the seat tossing her bag in the floorboard between her feet. The white leather seats grabbed her skirt and pulled it up so that she was sitting almost bare assed on the hot leather. Greg didn't notice her skirt hiked up, and she wasn't about to call attention to it by fiddling with it. She pushed her knees together and bit her tongue while buckling the over the shoulder strap. Greg wheeled away from the curb before she had settled in, and whipped the car hard to the left taking the turn back toward down town.
"Promised your mom I'd keep an eye on you," he shouted over the screaming engine. "Told her you could take care of yourself. Made me promise though so..."
Steffanie didn't feel like screaming so she nodded but otherwise sat silent. Maybe he wasn't all bad. Tonight would tell. She hadn't spent much time with Greg. He worked a lot, and when he was visiting he was either on the phone with someone, or in bed with her mother. The three of them didn't do much together. They did their thing; Steffanie did her thing.
