Misfire

The First

"Elliott Michael Crosby! You better get down those stairs or you're going to be late for school. Make that your first day of the last week of your high school career!" I run my fingers through my long shoulder length hair.

I have fiery red hair, a faint brown mustache, and blue-gray eyes. I'm about average height, around 5'10," but I consider myself just a little bit short. People say that I'm cute, mostly girls, but I really don't believe it. The only thing that I really like is my hair.

"I'm coming, Mom! Jesus. I'm not ten anymore, I'm seventeen and I have my own car, thank you very much," I grumble at my mom, Susan Osbourne.

"You should really listen to your mother and be nicer to her," my step-father Brett Osbourne chimes in with a snarky tone in his voice.

"Whatever." I grab my backpack and walk out the front door, slamming it behind me as I make my way to the car of my dreams, my 1976 Chevy Camaro.

That car was given to me by my father as he was on his deathbed, dying from leukemia. A week before he died, he told me, "Son, this is my second most prized possession, right after my family. It's my old Camaro." He gave me the keychain. "If you sell it," he said with a weak smile, "I will haunt you for the rest of your life. Take good care of her."

"I will. I promise," I sob.

I made so many memories in that red and white dream vehicle, listening to Guns N' Roses, Poison, Ratt, and all of the other great 80s hair bands. It's a shame that a lot of people don't know who any of them are anymore.

I remember him teaching me guitar as a kid, showing me how to hold it and how to stroke the strings to make a note. It was one of the things that looked forward to do with my dad.

The next week, he died. Mom said that he actually signed some papers that told the doctors to pull the life-support plug because he was so drained from the radiation and was tired of suffering.

Not too long after Dad's passing, Mom, who I suspected the whole time that Dad was in the hospital, had a boyfriend named Brett. He was, and still is, pretty okay. He doesn't really tell me what to do, maybe because I'll be out of the house as soon as I graduate.

I get into my car, put the key into the ignition, and start it. Automatically, the radio starts blaring at full blast, "School's Out Forever" by Alice Cooper. "Not quite yet, Alice. Only two more days after this and I will be free as a bird, just like Lynyrd Skynyrd," I sigh as I run my fingers through my shoulder-length red hair, the color that I inherited from my dad.

I get to school and park my car. I see my friend Molly Hart at the front door of the school.

"Hey stranger," she says to me. I give her a hug. "You ready to graduate early this year, you lucky duck?"

Molly is the nicest person on the planet. She's been my best friend ever since I can remember. She is also in the same grade as me, but a year older. Molly is so cute. She has giant black glasses, freckles, and she is also a straight-A student. Molly Hart is the only person I've "come out of the closet" to.

I think that I've kind of always liked guys a little more than girls. I mean, all of the friends that I had when I was growing up were boys. I know that really doesn't mean anything important, but I remember that I had a crush on this one boy that I always hung out with. His name was Harrison. He was so cute and he would always hug me and run his fingers through my hair. It was fun.

My school day is about as average a block schedule can get. I have world history first hour, second hour is geometry, third hour is German II, and I have marketing fourth hour. I don't think that I would have a C in geometry without Molly.