Dedicated to Bailey (who prefers the name Juliette) because she made the gorgeous banner on the side and left lovely comments on this story c:
Twenty-Nine: Rebellion.
“I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble.”
-Suzanne Collins, Catching Fire
There are some days when the only thing that feels right is just driving around aimlessly, endlessly, knowing nothing except that you have a full tank of gas to waste and hours of time to kill. Saturday was one of those days.
So maybe I don't like driving. So maybe I'm paranoid of being behind the wheel. So to hell with maybes, it had to be done.
I picked you up in my uncle's car, a convertible, and we scouted the city streets with the top down and the radio blasting. For once, we were those annoying teenagers playing music so loud that the car pulsed. We were coasting through suburbs and bustling avenues with the wind in our eyes and our hearts in our throats.
At some point before noon, when the sky was dusty and the air was cold, Total Eclipse of the Heart began to play. We were in Beaverton, a quiet part of town, but that didn't stop you from unbuckling your seatbelt and kneeling on the passenger seat and throwing up your arms and belting along to every single word.
“Ellery,” I panicked, “my God, sit down! You're gonna fall out the window or hit the windshield or—”
You turned to me as Bonnie Tyler's voice gave way to music, your hands on your hips and your bottom lip jutting out.
“Sam,” you scolded, “come on. Live a little!”
I blinked at you out of the corner of my eye. “But I'm driving!”
“So? There's no law that says you can't sing while driving!”
“Uh, maybe not, but there is one that says you can't randomly unbuckle your seatbelt in the middle of the freaking—”
I didn't get to finish my sentence, because you suddenly threw your arms into the air and screamed out lyrics with more enthusiasm than I'd ever seen. You couldn't sing, but that didn't faze you.
“Ellery,” I began, still nervous about your precarious perch on the seat.
“Turn around, bright eyes!” you shrieked in response.
“Can you please just—”
“Every now and then I fall apart!”
“Ellery—”
“Jesus, Sam, either sing the along with me or shut hell up!”
You were on a roll, singing in the middle of a suburban street, dizzy from the energy of that little rebellion, and I knew that there was no stopping you. You were a powder keg, a fire hazard, shooting off sparks onto the asphalt. You were unbeatable in those four minutes and thirty seconds.
It was a lost cause, trying to control your energy. I really didn't think I wanted to, not when it was so beautifully contagious. And anyway, that song really was catchy...
~
“Where are we?” you asked me, your hair catching the wind as you stuck your head out the window.
“Not sure,” I replied calmly, staring out the windshield.
It probably should have scared me, the not knowing. But it didn't. It felt more like freedom; complete, total freedom that was addictive and intoxicating and wild.
