Author Games Compilation [Cycle 2]

Audition Task: Checking In [MH]

SCREAM: CAMP WATTPAD - AUDITION

The second Momma Haverin flung the lever into park and turned the keys to shut the car off, the whole damn trap hitched downwards, settling upon its wheels and hissing as it released the last of its exhaust from the pipes down under. Both passengers, driver and shotgun-rider alike, waited - bellies tense and hands gripping the seats - for everything to finish, for everything to quit moaning like the old aching woman it was. Even after things'd stopped moving, they waited, silence passing through the musty air between them.

And then a pine needle slapped the windshield. And then Mickey flinched. And then Momma laughed.

And then they were fine.

With a great expulsion of air, Mickey leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and said, quite enthusiastically, "You're gonna kill my sorry ass and I don't think I'm gonna mind so much because that means this thing dies with me."

"Oh, shut it." Momma talked without looking, preoccupied with tossing keys in her purse and checking for the third time since parking that everything was in its rightful place. She was particular that way. "If anything's gonna kill you it'll be me. 'Specially if you don't quit whining and get out my goddamn car."

"Y'know what - forget what I said about the car. I love her. Now give her some love yourself and turn her back on and we can go right back home and forget we ever came here!" Mick smiled brightly, a winner that his mother had yet to see.

Rather than looking up, she turned the other direction, hooking her fingers around the handle and popping open the door. "And have wasted all that gas? Not today, honey. Get out."

With a dramatic flaring of his nostrils and a weakening of his grin, he kicked his own door open - it always needed a good push - and hauled himself off the seat, groaning heavily. "I'm a grown man," he said, slamming the thing shut (another "push"), "and a woman who thinks a cantaloupe is an animal is making me go to summer camp."

"Damn right I am!" She caught his gaze on the other side of the car and wrapped her arms across the top of it, leaning her chin down and grinning wickedly. Her wrinkles creased deep, but never took away from how pretty she really was even at forty-three. "Plus," she said, drumming the metal with her nails, "I've already paid the fee so you're not backing out now. I worked extra shifts to make this happen. You always wanted to go to summer camp as a kid, so here you are, my wonderful, beautiful little boy." She puckered her lips at the very last bit and found herself quite amusing in doing so.

Mickey craned his neck up to the trees (trees that were bigger than his future) and rolled his eyes into the back of his head, groaning at the back of his throat. There's gonna be mosquitoes and frogs and they're gonna nibble and ribbit all over my vulnerable body and I am not here for this.

He finished quickly, rolled his eyes forward, lowered his head. "I wanted that when I was in fourth grade. And didn't have friends. Or a phone to occupy my lonely existence. You're a little late on the train, mom."

"But where's my thank you?"

Exhaling, Mick began to shamble over to the trunk, biting into his lip. Despite the lateness of the situation, and the general dislike of the circumstances that were to come, he knew his mother did everything for a reason. And whether that reason was based upon making up for what he'd missed out on back in that lonely existence that was the fourth grade year or just to have the house and facial masks to herself for a while, he very much appreciated her effort in making it happen. So, yes, even though he huffed and he puffed while trying to pry open the trunk of that burgundy piece of junk, he said, with genuine feeling, "Thank you, momma."