Definition: Strange - Steve Harrington

I'm boring. I know it. He's not. But he is strange.

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Jingling the keys, whipped from my back pocket, the car heaves into life. Just barely.

"This hunk o' junk your car?" he yelps over the spluttering engine, beginning to rummage through the cassettes haphazardly and lazily thrown into any-which side pocket.

Unamused, I grunt as it finally starts, beginning to roll over the gravelly bumps that make up my drive-way, "Yep. Aren't I lucky?"

Steve, now fully involved in snooping, whistles as he whips out a shiny looking one in shades of sapphire, a woman frantically dancing in the centre. "Cyndi Lauper?" he teases, "Really? Wow."

"Stop!" I groan, laughing, trying to smack it away from him whilst keeping both eyes stamped on the dim road, "That's totally my sister's."

"Oh, yeah?" he snickers, twisting away and checking the back for the track-list, before belting out "But what if girls just wanna have fu-un?"