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1983───── ❝ Wʜᴇʀᴇ'ᴅ Yᴏᴜ Gᴏ, Kɪᴅ? ❞ ─────☆

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1983
───── ❝ Wʜᴇʀᴇ'ᴅ Yᴏᴜ Gᴏ, Kɪᴅ? ❞ ─────

Brandy Mullins is many things. A racecar driver, speed demon, and petal-to-the-metal teenager aren't on that list.

Except for today.

She's driving Sandra and Todd back from Sherry Davis's house. It's a nice drive across town when Brandy's passengers aren't breathing down her neck with complaints.

"Curfews a thing, Brans." Todd, her impatient and overly emotional friend whines from the backseat. "My mother is strict on it." He continues. His hands hold onto the two front seats, disregarding any road safety laws or concerns. He's never been strict on those, despite his uptight nature.

Brandy takes her eyes off the road to squint at Todd. She looks through the review mirror before slapping Sandra to prompt a response.

"So are seat belts," Sandra deadpans, her attention fixed more on the radio than anything else. Her untamed strands of hair fall into her face as she leans forward, trying to find the perfect station for Brandy's liking.

Sandra is Brandy's twin— an obvious trait to anyone who meets them. The two were never separated, and they're basically alike from the way they dress to the way they act.

Except for one thing; Brandy has always been more harsh and opinionated, while Sandra takes the opposite. She's soft-spoken and open-minded.

She also enjoys seventies music.

After finding the perfect station, Sandra sits back in her seat. "You are driving slower than grandma."

Brandy raises an eyebrow— a skill that took her years to learn— as a thought pops into her head.

Floor it.

Sandra snaps her hand back into the window as Brandy slams her foot to the gas, her loose brown strands spinning in the wind.

"Now we're talkin'!" Todd laughs as he grips onto the front seats.

Brandy's veins pump with adrenaline, eyes lighting up as a smile stretches across her face. On this quiet, two-lane road, going sixty miles an hour with her two pestering best friends, Brandy finally let loose. She breaks the rules, disobeys the law, and turns reckless. Pure exhilaration; that's the only way Brandy can describe this rash experience.

She pushes back against her seat, elbows locked out on the wheel, her foot compressing the petal as much as it could. Brandy lets out a little whoop as she looks over to a giggling Sandra, then to a surprised Todd in the back seat. She grins at him from the review before turning her attention back to the straight road.

Just as quickly as it came, that exhilaration and joy fade away, replaced with a severe sense of fear and panic. The radio spits out static. The headlights on her car slowly flicker out to nothing. Her hands grip onto the wheel so tight her knuckles turn white.

𝔓𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢 ⇢ 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘰𝘯 Where stories live. Discover now