the ironic adventures of Denver and Margret: 1st addition

First, you realize you have no idea what ‘fam’ means. Maybe she means frame. You can afford to miss one of your mother’s odd group framing sessions. Or maybe she means fame. You aren’t famous, though your mother wishes you were. Is this photo shoot another one of her ways to make you a superstar? Boy, your mother sure is strange.
Then a thought occurs to you. What if ‘fam’ stood for family? Yes, that must be it. But you have already spent 5 minutes debating over the definition of ‘fam’. Curse this infernal txt spk. You stick your keys in the car.
Luckily, your house isn’t too far away. Still, there is no way you could make it in time. Oh well, your mother can wait a few measly minutes, so long as you stay calm. Road-rage is the number one cause of— aw fuck.
A kid jumps out at you from nowhere. You slam the breaks but you efforts are in vain. The front of the car crunches and you wince away, not wanting the see the damage you have caused to that poor boy. You hold a moment before looking up to see the kid standing in front of you, perfectly unharmed.
You leap out of the car. “Oh my god, are you okay?”
The boy is still shielding his face. He opens his eyes, and notices you. “Oh, yeah, you actually didn’t hit me.”
That’s when you see the front of your car. It’s smashed. “Holy crap, then what did I hit!”
“Um, a tree I think— hey can I get a ride?”
“How the hell could I have hit a tree? I was driving straight down the middle of the road.”
“You hit a tree? That’s a shame. Can I get a ride? I don’t really know what’s going on here and I’d really like to leave.”
The boy looks around nervously. How his still wanted a ride with you, you cannot fathom. You did just hit a tree after all. The boy’s a lot older than you originally thought. At least in high school, maybe a freshman in college. You yourself are a sophomore, back for the summer but happily living in Yamah Alpha Omega Impa, or better known as YAOI house, during the school year. Needless to say, it’s not a normal sorority.
Back to the boy. He’s got style ,too. Kind of an Urban Outfitters meets Hot Topic meets Think Geek magazine look. He has well dyed blue hair. Wears a brony tee with skinny jeans and doodled on converse. A light sleeveless jacket and a necklace with the symbol for Cancer on it that kind of looks like a 69. You always thought that men with jewelry looked girly but it works on him. But looks aren’t going to get this kid anywhere. There was something fishy afoot, and you are going to get to the bottom of it. “Sure,” you answer politely to his request for a ride.
The kid smiles and jumps shotgun. You slam the gas, car racing forward before the kid even has his seatbelt on. He doesn’t seem to mind. “You drive fast,” he says as if he’s commenting on the weather.
“Got a problem with that,” you say. Truthfully you are driving especially fast to scare the kid, but you are a bit of a speed racer normally. Your mother always says driving will be the death of you. You always thought the death of you would be cheesecake on account of a croak dream you had when you were ten. It had the cosmic owl and everything.
The boys smile turned wicked. “I like that, but you might want to pick it up a bit.”
“Why?” you ask but the kid doesn’t need to answer. You can already see the flashing blue lights behind you.
“Fuck the police!” the boy yells in excitement. This kid might be even crazier than you are.
“I can’t do that.” You mean you can’t outrace the police. Not that you can’t have anal sex with the police, not that you can do that either, considering that you are a girl. Well, maybe you could find a way, after taking the police out to dinner and buying them flowers or something, but you really don’t want to think about that right now. You apply the brakes gently.
“What are you doing? You’re slowing down,” The boy yells in disappointment. You ignore him and pull to the side.
“Wait, you have to keep going.”
“And why do I have to do that?” you say confidently. You have finally found something that gets under this boy’s skin.
“If they find me they’ll— they’ll—”
The kid cuts off. You realize what he’s doing too late. The world around your car morphs suddenly into cliffs and trees. The pavement under your car turns into gravel. You loose steering and swing out of control stopping inches from the side of a cliff. “The Fuck!” you shout. Your voice echoes off the mountains. The boy says nothing.
You turn to him swiftly, using all of your energy not to slap the kid. “Where the hell are we?”
The throws up his hands in front of his face and says quietly, “West Virginia, I think,”
“WEST VIRGINIA!?!?!”
“West Virginia? Is that where we are? Wow, how did we get here?”
You point a finger. “I am not falling for that one again. Tell me what is going on NOW!”
“Alright, alright,” the boy is shielding his face again. “Hey what’s your name?”
You calm down for a moment, realizing that you haven’t introduced yourself yet. Teleportation and general weirdness aside, you really should have started with that. “Margret,” you tell him, keeping a hint of disgust in your voice, “and you?”
“Denver. Now, Margret,” Denver leans in close. You forget your anger and let him whisper in your ear. “I think your car is magic.”
You toss him out of the car and shift gears to reverse. He tumbles twice before settling on the ground. You slam the gas before the kid has time to get up. Tiers rotate, but the vehicle doesn’t move. The wheels are stuck in mud.
You beat the horn in frustration and get out of the car. “th-there are worse places to be stranded,” Denver stutters crawling backwards until he hits the cliff side, “the sceneries nice. Secluded, no crowds.
“to hear you scream.” You grab him by the shirt. “Take. Me. HOME!”
“Um…I don’t want to do that…”
“WHAT!?!”
“I mean I can’t. These things just happen to me sometimes. I don’t know why they do. I don’t know how I do it. I’m sorry. I can’t take you home.”
There was a perfect cliff ten feet away. It would be too easy to throw him off it. He is defiantly not in the position to stop you, cowering behind his hands again. But you know you can’t do that. He’s just some highschool kid that happened to teleport without warning every now and again. It wasn’t his fault you are stuck here. With a sigh, you let Denver down. He gets up quickly and straightens his shirt. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you wave, “help me get my care out of the mud.”
You both circle around back and start pushing (that’s what she said). “So, Denver, where are you from?” you ask the kid.
“Jupiter.”
“What?”
“Florida,” he finishes quickly, “Trust me. If I was just from Jupiter things would be much simpler.”
“I don’t think Jupiter has a surface. It’s all gas,” you say, connecting to some distant science section of your brain.”
“Okay, maybe not that much simpler.”
“You could be from one of Jupiter’s moons. Apparently there’s one covered with just water and ice that scientist think might hold life, you know, with chemosynthesis and all that.” Yes, yes, you learned about this in astrology, or what your mother called ‘scopes for dopes’.
“That would make me a fish. I don’t want to be a fish.”
“I think it would be cool to be a space fish. You could, like, breathe under water and stuff.”
Denver laughed. People tended to do that around you. “Yeah fish tend to do that.”
You decide quickly that you like Denver. He’s not so bad when he wasn’t teleporting you off mountains, and I guess you really didn’t go off the mountain anyways. You leave the kid to push the truck on his own for a second, just to get a glance at the mountains. He was right. They are beautiful. Some part of your brain remembers the promise to your mother. The promise that you would be home in ten minutes for the ‘fam’ photo. ‘Oh well,’ you think, helping Denver push the car out of the mud again. The wheels finally come loose. Your mother can wait a few measly days.