World War II. Hmmm, what was the cause? Wait! Is that a bazooka? Those things are sweet! Stop it Sophie! Focus, cause of World War II...

My eyes bored onto the paper on my desk in front of me. They slowly drifted to the picture of an American soldier in World War II firing a bazooka at who knows what. Behind him, a soldier had a smaller version of the bazooka, known as an M72 LAW. Those were pretty hot too. I needed to focus!

"RING! RING!" the sound of the bell screeched in my ear. And students started to pass their papers over to Ms. Ward, my history teacher. When my paper was in her hands, she looked down at it and frowned, as she noticed that the guns in the black and white picture that had been printed next to the questions, had been labeled. Only five questions had been answered.

"Not proud Miss Witwicky," Ms. Ward mumbled then shooed me away with her hand. The old hag could care less about me. As I walked out in the hall, a kid shouldered past me and made me drop my books. "Hey!" I snapped, the boy turned on his heel looked at me, then shrugged and tried to walk away, until I grabbed him by the shirt collar and slugged him good in the nose.

He groaned and fell to the ground, kids walked past me in silence and watched pitfully at the kid I had just beat up. The guy was probably shocked that a twelve year old girl had just slugged him good, I could see purple growing on his cheek.

A smirk slipped out my mouth, he would get better so what did it matter? I walked out the school onto a trail that lead to my house. Soon enough I was there, dad was waiting in his car.

"Were gonna be late to pick up your brother! Where were ya?" he snapped. I simply sighed and walked into the green old school convertable that dad for some reason, appreciated. He took my backpack and tossed it in the back seat, then we were off to Sam's school, Tranquility High. The most lame, boring, simple school on the Earth. In the most lame, boring, simple suburb area on the face of the Earth.

Sam

"All right Mr. Witwicky! You're up," Mr. Hosney, my social studies teacher, boomed out of boredom. The genealogy project was lame if you asked me. Mr. Hosney said it was district requirement though. I ran up to the front of the class and started dumping ancient tools on to the presentation desk. Then looked up at a half-asleep Mr. Hosney. He nodded at me as in to say, "Get it over with now."

My eyes shifted down at the table for a seond, only to feel a rubber band slap against my neck. The class erupted into smirks. "Hey! Who did that? Who did that? Rules! Remember rules," Mr. Hosney snapped, carelessly, then plopped back into his chair. He nodded at me again, and I looked up at the class of utterly bored students.

"So...for my genealogy report, I picked my great-great-grandfather Captain Archibald Witwicky. One of the first guys to ever to sail north of the Arctic Circle," I said, like I was actually intrested in the project. My eyes drifted to the back of the class to see the school jock, Trent DeMarco, lean over and whisper most likely, a harsh comment into my dream girl, Mikaela Banes', ear.

She smiled slightly, then went back to pretending to focus on my project. I tried to ignore it, then went on. I grabbed a beaten up map of the Arctic Circle and pointed to the middle of it, "So yeah, that's pretty cool. Um-" I looked down at the presentation table,"These are some of the tools from nineteenth-century seaman," I ignored the giggles, and continued to pull up ancient tools, "This here is the quadrant. Worth about seventy-five bucks today. This one is called the sextant-" more giggles, "-a steal at fifty bucks. Great Colombus Day gift, also would look great on your desk," as I spoke, my hand moved from object to object, then I picked up the cracked glasses.

"And these are my grandfather's glasses. They see pretty cool things. The price is negotiable-" but then Hosney interuppted, "Are you going to sell me his liver? Mr. Witwicky, this isn't show and sell, this is the eleventh grade. Plus I don't think your grandfather would be particularly proud if he saw you selling his stuff," he sighed. Usually, that dissaproving tone was intimidating, but I decided to speak up, "I know, This is going to my car fund. I take or cold hard cash is reasonable too-" I started, "SAM!" Mr. Hosney began.

"Right. Sorry, anyways, when he came back he went blind and crazy and started drawing these strange symbols," I said, holding an even more beat up newspaper and pointing to scribbles of strange symbols on the old printing. Then the bell rang for the end of school. As my classmates walked past me, I yelled out prices, "Fifty? Forty! THIRTY!" I pleaded, "SAM!" Hosney snapped.

Mr. Hosney bellowed out his favorite goodbye, "Might be a pop quiz tommorow! Might NOT be a pop quiz tommorrow!"

Soon, the class was empty as I started to toss the tools into my bag. As soon as I was done with that, I put on an innocent grin and walked up to Mr. Hosney, "So, what's my grade?" I asked, usually something I wouldn't bring up, but I needed to know today. If I got an A on this there would be car shopping for me. If dad decided to be generous maybe he would get me a Cadillac, or a Mercedes, or even a Porsche!

Mr. Hosney groaned boredly, "I'd say, a solid B minus," My innocent face fell to total shock, "B minus," I choked. All those hours of polishing, cleaning, and even fixing those ancient tools, were for a B minus?

"You were hocking your grandfather's crap in my class-" he started, but I interuppted out of anger, "Mr. Hosney listen! Look out the window," my finger pointed to my dad who was parked in front of the school with my little sister Sophie, next to him biting her nails out of boredom.

Hosney rolled his eyes, "The man in that car is my father, and the girl is my innocent little sister who was so excited to go car shopping. But my dad had requirements, he had looked me in the eye and said, 'Son, I'm gonna buy you a car. But I need two thousand dollars and three As,' your B minus-" My hands made an explosion motion, "-Dream gone," I snapped. Mr. Hosney leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes.

Now I was getting desperate, "Just think...what would Jesus do?"

Sophie

My teeth were now chewing my skin. What was taking Sam so long.

Soon enough, good old Sam was running out the tall brick building holding up a paper screaming, "IT'S AN A! IT'S AN A!" I was happy for him, but seriously, I was feeling temporarily embrassed to believe I was related to the geek. He nearly pushed me in the back seat and I tweeked, then punched the jerk in the shoulder. Sam looked back at me as he took my spot in the car and pinched me in the knee. Soon, we were hitting eachother abusively.

"Hey! Break it up!" dad snapped, Sam was off me and went right back in the front seat, my eyes glaring daggers at the douche bag. Then Sam proudly showed his review paper to dad. It had a scribbled out B minus and then a shaky A minus right next to it.

Dad sighed, "It's an A minus, but it's still an A!" Sam piped up in defense quickly.

"It's an A," he replied sadly. I lifted an eyebrow at Sam.

"You didn't,"

"I did,"

"No,"

"Yup,"

"Why?"

"Only way sis!" Sam said, giving me a noogy on the top of my head. Had he really used me and Jesus for a ticket to a stupid car? He had done it with dad once. I was about five and Sam was ten. We were in Target and the 'runts were protesting against getting Sam a fifty dollar Legos Star Wars ship, and Sam had first said that I would want to play with it to, while I had been in the back of the isle shooting a Barbie that mom gave me, with a plastic pistol, dad told Sam that was bullshit, then Sam went religious and asked what Jesus would do.

Dad fell for it. After about a week the Lego ship was forgotten, and the little Lego people that had come with it soon became my BB gun targets.

Anyways, dad started the car quickly and we were off to vehicle shopping. My dad is pretty awesome, like at that moment when he pulled a trick on Sam and decided to drive through a Porsche dealer lot. Sam's mouth formed into a glowing, happy, really excited smile. Did he really believe that there was such thing as a four thousand dollar Porsche? Or had dad not told him how much money he was putting in this whole shinannigans? And didn't Sam know how cheap dad was? He bought twenty percent of our groceries from the freaking dollar store!

"Oh god. You gotta be kidding me!" Sam cheered happily. From the corner of my eye, I spotted an old yellow and black striped Chevy Camaro driving around the displayed Porsche cars as if choosing which one to get, or maybe it was waiting for somebody...

Dad's stupendous laugh made me break my concentration, and I looked at him, "I am. You're not getting a Porsche," he chuckled. A laugh flowed out my mouth and Sam glared at the two of us, "That's not funny," he muttered. I was nearly ready to roll out the car of laughter, but held that much in.

"I...Ha! I can't believe you fell for that! Don't you know how cheap dad is?" I choked. Dad swung around and glared at me. My mouth shut and suddenly, I gained an intrest in the sky.

But then I could hear the rusty engine of the old Camaro, and spotted it going around us and parking quietly next to a dusty Volkswagon Bug that had a sticker on it's windshield that said, "EXTRA CLEAN!" which shocked me. We drove into the used car dealing lot, which a sign notified that it was called, "Bolivia's Auto Resale" in crappy cursive.

A man was standing at the entrance dressed in clown suit that had seen better days. On the man's face was smeared face paint. I felt bad for the guy personally. He held a sign that said, "CHEAP WHEELS 4 U" which was just sad. We parked in front of an old fashioned gas pump and Sam snapped out of true fury.

We got out the car and stood in front of a set of two cars that had probably been pretty sweet in the eighties, but now were just pieces of shit.

"This place? Nonononono! I thought you would buy me half a car dad! Not half a piece of crap!" Sam exploded, so he had known dad's part of the bargain. "Well when I was your age I would've been happy just to have had four wheels and an engine," dad lectured. Sam kept on complaining.

My mind drifted from them and I decided to go check out the Camaro. I hadn't seen anybody walk out of it or anything, so curiosity got the best of me. As I walked over to the car, an ostrich stuck it's head out of a fence that had sign over it that said, "BOLIVIA'S PETTING ZOO" in five year old hand writing. A gasp choked out my mouth, but I quickly continued running off to the Camaro.

Finally, when I got there, the car seemed like it had had better days, like the man's clown suit. It was dented in multiple areas, the paint was chipped everywhere, and there was a window that was cracked. For some reason, I felt pitty for the battered up car. It seemed tough and worthy for a strong person.

But then I realized the car was empty. But how? I had just seen it drive around. A shiver went up my spine, but curiosity was still heavy inside me and I opened the driver's door then sat in the crusty leather seat. The horn was caked in mud and instead of a Chevy symbol, there was some sort of face. My thumb started to try rubbing off the dirt for a more clear sight of it, but suddenly, the radio turned on and Tom Cruise's voice snapped at me, "Get out!" Mission Impossible?

Suddenly, I could hear a hefty voice talking about cars picking drivers and something about bonds. Immediately, I jumped in the back seat and pressed against the back of the driver's seat. I started believing the car was alive. Or atleast had some sort of personality. Because the door opened and somebody hopped in the driver's seat.

A grunt went halfway out of my throat, the rest I thankfully held back, but suddenly, the seat jerked an inch or two forward thankfully. Sam gasped in shock for a second. Sam?

Oh yeah. Sam. My head popped up into the front seat, and Sam yelped in shock. "Hi! You should get this car!" I nearly shouted. Suddenly, a slightly plump man with a small sun hat looked through an open door and eyed me, "Who are you?" Sam looked at me, then the fat guy, me, fat guy, "My little bitch of a sister," he grumbled. My elbow plunged into Sam's ribs and he let out an irritated grunt.

"Where did you come from?" chubby said. My eyebrow lifted, "My mom's stomach. You?" I smirked. Dad was next to Chubby in minutes glaring at me, "Please excuse my daughter for trespassing the cars, plus, her attitude," Dad glared at me, "Sophie, this is Bobby Bolivia, the owner of this-"

"Dump? Mr. Bolivia. Do you notice how mistreated your cars are? For example. This Camaro is used yes? But right now, it looks also abused and you couldn't even care to even replace the cracked windshield? Or maybe should I note your miserable worker?" my hand pointed to the clown, "He will get a heat stroke because you were too cruel and greedy to let him walk around in a normal pair of clothes!" I snapped. Bolivia gawked, and I felt a hand wrap around my mouth.

"What she means is that she's stoned or something," Sam snapped, as I struggled out of his grip, then bit him. My braces helped a lot.

Dad and Bolivia started talking about stubborn ass teenagers and all that other shit. Then dad popped the question, me and Sam swung around.

"How much?" Bolivia eyed the Camaro for a second, then muttered something about his "mammy" then announced loudly, "Well, considering the semi-classic nature of the vehichle, slick wheels and custom paint job-" Sam ticked, "The paints faded!"

"Yeah, but it's custom," Bolivia shot back.

"Custom faded?"

"What do you expect for your first car? FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS!" Bolivia boomed. Dad sighed and shook his head. Me and Sam looked at eachother in pure shock. "Sorry, nothing over four thousand dollars," dad replied.

Bolivia eyed us, "Okay kid, out of the car,"

"Nonono, you said cars pick their drivers!" Sam snapped. Wow, Sam believed he was chosen by a beat up Camaro? Just wow.

"Well sometimes cars pick a driver with a cheap father," Bolivia muttered. I nearly lunged at the guy in anger but Sam grabbed my arm and shook his head. Sam sighed and got out the drivers seat, I was about to open the passenger door, but suddenly, it locked as if to say it wanted me to stay. I tried to crawl out the driver's seat, but Sam didn't notice me and slammed the door shut, angrily.

The passenger door suddenly flung open and slammed against the Volkswagon Bug, denting the "extra clean" car. Then, I realized Bolivia had been in it.

"You alright?" dad asked, seeming to really not care. Bolivia nodded, "MANNY! COME OVER HERE AND FIX THIS BABY UP!" then he got out and eyed another car. A gasp escaped my mouth as I noticed radios tuner and volume knobs started twisting, until the radio was saying simething rather fuzzy, like,"We don't need your manny," but I really couldn't tell. Suddenly, the volume became ear shattering, and I ducked down plugging my ears, expecting the windows to shatter.

The sound of glass breaking and car alarms going off erupted in my ear along with the disgusting radio sound. I poked my head up to see Bolivia looking scarcely at all his precious cars, every single one of them had broken windows, flat tires, and alarms going off...except for the Camaro. Then I knew, the car wasn't normal. It had to be alive or something.

"Thank you," I whispered, placing my hand on the dashboard. Bolivia whimpered for a second. He knew we couldn't buy anything but the Camaro now, "Four thousand!" he announced, holding up four shaky fingers.

"Smart car," I chuckled.