Black Water ↠ Stiles Stilinski [Teen Wolf, Vol. One]

Car Trouble

Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.

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Chapter 2 – Car Trouble

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According to Lydia, the first day of school set to tone for the rest of the year. It served as some bizarre type of audition. Style your hair, make sure you have nothing but good angles—primped and polished. God help you if there's something stuck in your teeth. The way she spoke, Charlie had expected to find a TV crew stalking the student body in search of the next big reality show. Would it air on MTV or TLC? That didn't matter. Charlie's hypothetical reality TV show persona had no bearing on her first day of school.

The point was, according to Lydia, your wardrobe had to be stylish, your makeup immaculate, and your heels needed to meet or exceed the mandatory two inches. The higher the heel, the more serious the contender. Thanks to Lydia's tireless efforts—some of which may or may not have violated the Geneva convention—Charlie had lived up to those high standards. Unfortunately, that was about as far as she managed to get. The next 'suggestion'—arrive in style—wasn't exactly going to plan.

Charlie hunched over the wheel of her car, twisting her keys in the ignition.  "Come on girl, you can do it," she whispered.  "I believe in you—here we go." The combination of spluttering and groaning that issued forth from the engine offered her little encouragement. The goddamn spark plugs were breathing their last. Apparently the quick fix she had used a few days back—electrical tape on the arcing wires—wasn't lasting quite as long as she had hoped.

All signs pointed to the fact that she should let that car go, but she couldn't. It was just too damn pretty. It was her freaking vehicular soulmate—had been since she saw the posting on eBay: 1966 Chevrolet Impala, black, needs engine and body work. One look, and it had been love. She bought it for cheap and fixed it up with her dad—car up on cinderblocks in the sweltering summer heat. Sweat and rust, the smell of sunscreen and copper. After a few months of work, the hood gleamed and the engine had started to sing.

No, that was a lie. The hood never gave off anything more than a dull sheen. And that engine? It sounded like a Scooby Doo episode in there, the interior haunted by a bitter old ghost wielding clanking chains. Sure the car worked, but there always seemed to be one small extra project—one last thing that needed fixing. The passenger door stuck, the back seat belts didn't work, the fenders rusted through, and now the spark plugs were dying on her. Charlie preferred to think of it as the car forcing them to maintain a relationship. As long as she took care of it, it would take care of her. Symbiosis. And despite the multitude of issues, 'Gertrude' had never let her down before. The old bint sure as hell wasn't going to start today.

"Come on, baby," Charlie cooed soothingly.  She twisted the keys again only to receive a pitiful clunk in response. All of the sudden a pissed off Lydia entered her mind, smoke coming out of her ears and making it look like her head was on fire. The image was haunting. "Alright," she whispered again, "unless you want me to be beheaded by a freakishly intelligent social climber, you're going to start right...now."

On cue, the spluttering gave way to a loud, confident roar. Charlie smiled to herself and mouthed a silent 'thank you', running her fingers over the cracked leather covering the steering wheel. A couple of punched buttons and cranked levers later, music was blaring out the speakers, the windows were down, and she was backing out of the driveway. Gertrude would never let her down.

As Charlie drove down one of the infinite supply of heavily wooded roads that cut through Beacon Hills, her eyes fell on the tiny silver ornament that dangled from the rearview mirror, catching the sunlight. It was a Saint Christopher's medallion—the patron saint of travelers. She and her dad had never been religious—she couldn't remember the last time either of them had been to church, and she had probably been wearing pigtails at the time. Still, though, the first time she had climbed into that car on her own, her dad leaned in the passenger-side window and hung it there 'just in case'. He called it 'hedging his bets'.