Transformers Fan Fiction ❯ Golden Yellow ❯ A New Car ( Chapter 2 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: silverbug 
Non Anime: Transformers Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.06.2007 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 602 | Status: Work In Progress
Non Anime: Transformers Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.06.2007 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 602 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: I don’t own Transformers. Neither the 2007 movie nor the cartoon series, Hasbro/Takara do.
.oOOo.
Golden Yellow
Chapter Two: A New Car
“Samuel, dear!”
The shrill cry along with the beeping of his alarm clock woke up sixteen year old Sam Witwicky.
Groaning, Sam got out of bed and hurriedly dressed.
“I’m coming, Mom!” he called, desperate to stop her calling of his full name.
He hated his full name, ‘Samuel James Witwicky’. He much preferred to be called Sam. His mom didn’t seem to get that, though.
Excitement suddenly overwhelmed him. He was going to get his own car today. His dad was taking him to a car shop. He had been saving the money for as long as he could remember, well, really since his birthday…
“You’re going to be late for school, Samuel!” His mother’s voice reached him in his room.
He quickly brushed his teeth, grabbed his backpack, and ran out the door.
“Have a good day at school, honey!” his mother called after him.
“I will, Mom!” he called back, already heading for the school bus.
.oOOo.
"Pssst, Sam!"
Sam jerked his head over to Miles, his best friend since preschool.
"Huh?" he asked, his eyes half open.
"Did ya' get your report for History done?"
Sam grinned. "Yeah, I'm going to do it on my Grandpa Witwicky."
Miles grinned too. "Good thinkin'!"
The school bell rang, interrupting their conversation.
"Well, we'd better get ready for a boring day at school," Miles joked, walking off.
.oOOo.
"So, in conclusion…"
Sam moaned slightly, sitting up a little straighter in his History class. It was almost his turn to present his report.
“Very good, Mr. Miller.” His History teacher said. “Now, Mr. Witwicky… Come up to the front of the class and present your report.”
Sam got to his feet, making sure he had the box with all of his grandfather’s old things in it.
“Well,” he began, glancing around the class. “My report is on my Grandpa, Archibald Witwicky… He was a great explorer… He found a lot of neet stuff… You know, old family airlooms… He was exploring the Arctic Circle, and he had these glasses…”
He held up the glasses for emphasis.
“So, does anyone want to buy them?” he asked. “I have a whole box full of his old stuff…”
“Mr. Witwicky,” the History teacher cut in. “This class is about history, not selling your family airlooms. I suggest you take this out of my classroom, unless you want to end up in the office?”
Sam quickly shook his head. “No, Sir. I just need money for my new car…”
“I said take it out of my class, Mr. Witwicky. I’ll be forced to give you an F and a detention if you don’t watch your step.”
“But, Sir!” Sam cried. “I have to have an A! If I don’t, I can’t get my new car!”
“I’m giving you a B, Mr. Witwicky.” The History teacher said, glaring at Sam. “I should give you an F, Mr. Witwicky, for not being prepared to present your report.”
“But, I was prepared!” Sam nearly shrieked. “I have all my pictures and the report’s already written! I can’ get a B, I need an A!”
“Do you want a C, Mr. Witwicky?”
“No, Sir,” Sam replied, finally dropping his gaze and putting all of his things in the box.
Some people laughed.
“That’s enough, class!” The History teacher bellowed. “Settle down, the bell’s about to ring. Those of you who didn’t give your reports will give them on Monday, remember that!”
.oOOo.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” Sam muttered continuously under his breath. “I can’t have a B! I have to get that new car… Oh, Dad’s gonna kill me…”
He reached his house and walked inside, dejected.
“Samuel, sweety,“ his mother, Judy called. “Your father’s home, and he wants to see your grades.”
“I’m busy, Mom!” Sam called as he ran up the stairs.”
“But, Samuel!” Judy called after her sun.
Sam ignored her.
He would get to that car shop, no matter what…
.oOOo.
He felt in his pocket for the hundredth time. There it was, all the money he had saved up just for this occasion. He didn’t need his father to get a car, he could buy it on his own!
The bus pulled up at the car shop, and he got off, accidentally forgetting to pay the driver.
.oOOo.
“Welcome to Bobby Bolivia’s car shop, young man!” Bobby said jovially. “What can I help you with, sun?”
“I need a new car,” Sam said, glancing around.
“Well, follow me, Mr.…”
“Sam,” Sam said helpfully, meeting the other mans gaze.
“Well, Sam, as I said, follow me.”
Bobby lead Sam into a car park, filled with cars.
“Now, Sam.” Bobby said. “The driver don’t pick the car, the car picks the driver. It’s a mystical bond between man and machine…”
Sam continued to star around, before he felt an odd tingling shiver pass throughout his entire body.
He had spotted a beat up looking yellow Camaro, just sitting there. It had black racing stripes going along the hood.
“Hey, Bobby?” he asked. “How much is that one?”
“Five grand,” Bobbye said immediately, glancing at the car.
“But I only have four,” Sam said, pulling out his money.
“I said five grand, and that’s final!” Bobby said.
“But, you said that the car picks the driver!” Sam protested. “That car picked me!”
“Look, Sam.” Bobby said, a little more patiently. “You don’t have enough money right now. Why don’t you save up and come back some other time?”
“But…” Sam protested feebly. “I need that car…”
Suddenly, all of the windows in the other cars exploded in shards of glass. Glass flew everywhere, and Sam moved to avoid the flying pieces.
“What the…?” Bobby stammered.
“Please,” Sam begged, recovering from his shock. Something inside him told him to trust this car, strangely enough. “I need this car.”
“All right, you can have it.” Bobby said, shaking slightly.
“Yes!” Sam cheered.
He handed Bobby the money, then accepted the car keys as they were handed to him.
“You be careful now, Sam.” Bobby warned. “There’s something weird about that car…”
Sam nodded, climbing into the car. “Thanks, Bobby. I’ll be careful, I promise…”
He sped out of the parking lot, knowing that he was in major trouble for buying the car without his father’s permission.
The shivering feeling returned, and he absently stroked the steering wheel.
He didn’t notice the slight shudder that passed through the Camaro as he drove home.
.oOOo.
Golden Yellow
Chapter Two: A New Car
“Samuel, dear!”
The shrill cry along with the beeping of his alarm clock woke up sixteen year old Sam Witwicky.
Groaning, Sam got out of bed and hurriedly dressed.
“I’m coming, Mom!” he called, desperate to stop her calling of his full name.
He hated his full name, ‘Samuel James Witwicky’. He much preferred to be called Sam. His mom didn’t seem to get that, though.
Excitement suddenly overwhelmed him. He was going to get his own car today. His dad was taking him to a car shop. He had been saving the money for as long as he could remember, well, really since his birthday…
“You’re going to be late for school, Samuel!” His mother’s voice reached him in his room.
He quickly brushed his teeth, grabbed his backpack, and ran out the door.
“Have a good day at school, honey!” his mother called after him.
“I will, Mom!” he called back, already heading for the school bus.
.oOOo.
"Pssst, Sam!"
Sam jerked his head over to Miles, his best friend since preschool.
"Huh?" he asked, his eyes half open.
"Did ya' get your report for History done?"
Sam grinned. "Yeah, I'm going to do it on my Grandpa Witwicky."
Miles grinned too. "Good thinkin'!"
The school bell rang, interrupting their conversation.
"Well, we'd better get ready for a boring day at school," Miles joked, walking off.
.oOOo.
"So, in conclusion…"
Sam moaned slightly, sitting up a little straighter in his History class. It was almost his turn to present his report.
“Very good, Mr. Miller.” His History teacher said. “Now, Mr. Witwicky… Come up to the front of the class and present your report.”
Sam got to his feet, making sure he had the box with all of his grandfather’s old things in it.
“Well,” he began, glancing around the class. “My report is on my Grandpa, Archibald Witwicky… He was a great explorer… He found a lot of neet stuff… You know, old family airlooms… He was exploring the Arctic Circle, and he had these glasses…”
He held up the glasses for emphasis.
“So, does anyone want to buy them?” he asked. “I have a whole box full of his old stuff…”
“Mr. Witwicky,” the History teacher cut in. “This class is about history, not selling your family airlooms. I suggest you take this out of my classroom, unless you want to end up in the office?”
Sam quickly shook his head. “No, Sir. I just need money for my new car…”
“I said take it out of my class, Mr. Witwicky. I’ll be forced to give you an F and a detention if you don’t watch your step.”
“But, Sir!” Sam cried. “I have to have an A! If I don’t, I can’t get my new car!”
“I’m giving you a B, Mr. Witwicky.” The History teacher said, glaring at Sam. “I should give you an F, Mr. Witwicky, for not being prepared to present your report.”
“But, I was prepared!” Sam nearly shrieked. “I have all my pictures and the report’s already written! I can’ get a B, I need an A!”
“Do you want a C, Mr. Witwicky?”
“No, Sir,” Sam replied, finally dropping his gaze and putting all of his things in the box.
Some people laughed.
“That’s enough, class!” The History teacher bellowed. “Settle down, the bell’s about to ring. Those of you who didn’t give your reports will give them on Monday, remember that!”
.oOOo.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” Sam muttered continuously under his breath. “I can’t have a B! I have to get that new car… Oh, Dad’s gonna kill me…”
He reached his house and walked inside, dejected.
“Samuel, sweety,“ his mother, Judy called. “Your father’s home, and he wants to see your grades.”
“I’m busy, Mom!” Sam called as he ran up the stairs.”
“But, Samuel!” Judy called after her sun.
Sam ignored her.
He would get to that car shop, no matter what…
.oOOo.
He felt in his pocket for the hundredth time. There it was, all the money he had saved up just for this occasion. He didn’t need his father to get a car, he could buy it on his own!
The bus pulled up at the car shop, and he got off, accidentally forgetting to pay the driver.
.oOOo.
“Welcome to Bobby Bolivia’s car shop, young man!” Bobby said jovially. “What can I help you with, sun?”
“I need a new car,” Sam said, glancing around.
“Well, follow me, Mr.…”
“Sam,” Sam said helpfully, meeting the other mans gaze.
“Well, Sam, as I said, follow me.”
Bobby lead Sam into a car park, filled with cars.
“Now, Sam.” Bobby said. “The driver don’t pick the car, the car picks the driver. It’s a mystical bond between man and machine…”
Sam continued to star around, before he felt an odd tingling shiver pass throughout his entire body.
He had spotted a beat up looking yellow Camaro, just sitting there. It had black racing stripes going along the hood.
“Hey, Bobby?” he asked. “How much is that one?”
“Five grand,” Bobbye said immediately, glancing at the car.
“But I only have four,” Sam said, pulling out his money.
“I said five grand, and that’s final!” Bobby said.
“But, you said that the car picks the driver!” Sam protested. “That car picked me!”
“Look, Sam.” Bobby said, a little more patiently. “You don’t have enough money right now. Why don’t you save up and come back some other time?”
“But…” Sam protested feebly. “I need that car…”
Suddenly, all of the windows in the other cars exploded in shards of glass. Glass flew everywhere, and Sam moved to avoid the flying pieces.
“What the…?” Bobby stammered.
“Please,” Sam begged, recovering from his shock. Something inside him told him to trust this car, strangely enough. “I need this car.”
“All right, you can have it.” Bobby said, shaking slightly.
“Yes!” Sam cheered.
He handed Bobby the money, then accepted the car keys as they were handed to him.
“You be careful now, Sam.” Bobby warned. “There’s something weird about that car…”
Sam nodded, climbing into the car. “Thanks, Bobby. I’ll be careful, I promise…”
He sped out of the parking lot, knowing that he was in major trouble for buying the car without his father’s permission.
The shivering feeling returned, and he absently stroked the steering wheel.
He didn’t notice the slight shudder that passed through the Camaro as he drove home.