"Your mom is an awful driver!" Jeremy Well whispered.
"I know," I replied unfaithfully. We were in my mom's cheap, rusted minivan, giving my best friend Jeremy and his snotty little sister, Sarah, a ride back to their parent's house, right after six long hours of devastating school.
"Hold on," my mom burst out, "I need to stop for gas. Meanwhile, you can go to the store!" She ended with a childishly enthusiastic voice. All three of us in the back rolled our eyes in embarrassment and in annoyance. "And, David," my mom added. "Remember your spending limit, okay?"
I scowled in response. I have never, once in my life, have ever exceeded the budget. I remembered back in 4th grade when I spent $80 at a Family Dollar. Never questioned; never was yelled at.
We arrived at some 7-Eleven on the bad side of town. Jeremy and I hopped out from the backseat and allowed Sarah to crawl out. We entered as a group because the crime rate on this side of town was extremely high. Nearly everyone watched us take our long, slow, steps, almost as if they could smell the fear emanating from us.
We somehow reached the door unscratched, and inside we listened to the buzzing of the old lamps. The bleach cleaner on the floor smelled awful, our noses to flaring up in disgust as soon as we stepped inside. The cashier peered over at us like he hadn't seen kids in a decade. I immediately grabbed a bag of potato chips. Sarah grabbed some Pringles and Jeremy stared blankly at the cashier. He was a big, bulky person who looked like he can easily lift 200 pounds and was the most feared person in the store.
We quickly paid for everything we grabbed and got back to the baby blue minivan as fast as our legs could take us. I jumped into the front seat, slamming the door as fast as possible. As the boom of our door slams echoed across the gas station, a man wearing a stained white undershirt with bunches of crazy tattoos on his arms stared at us, blowing a cloud of smoke to hide his sneaky grin as we looked from inside the van, as if he knew everything about us. That smirk gave me shivers down my spine.
My mom drove us out of the gas station, and we headed back on the freeway. I kind of zoned out as we passed ramp after ramp since I wasn't the one driving.
"Mrs. Smith! You just missed my exit!" Jeremy exclaimed. I looked out the window to find indeed, we had missed his exit. Typical of my mom, anyway.
"Did I? I am so sorry, darling," she said. "I'll take the next exit, okay?" Jeremy looked upset, well, at least to me.
The next thing I remembered was a car pulled into our lane on the interstate, hitting our back bumper, causing the minivan to spin out of control.
We were hit by someone, I think. I'm not sure since I was listening to my iPod, but the car went spinning out of control. I think he hit the right side, the side Jeremy, my brother, and David Smith, his friend, were sitting on. I heard David's ear-piercing scream, and I remembered seeing blood, but I couldn't tell if it was mine or if it was my idiot brother's or his friend's.
The car was hit again, then it flipped over, again and again. We skidded upside down on the interstate for countless seconds, but eventually, the car came to a stop.
"David, Jeremey, Sarah, are you okay?" Mrs. Smith asked us. David's screaming had come to a stop as abruptly as the car had. I realized my eyes were glued shut, so I attempted to open them. Looking around, my eyes stung from the blood streaming on them from my nose.
"I'm okay," I meekly responded. I moved my fingers and found they worked. Same for my feet, though my left leg hurt when I moved it.
"David, Jeremy?" David's mom persisted. "David, you alright?" Neither David nor Jeremy made a sound.
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