“Man, I can’t believe you're turning 17 in a couple of days,” Brooklin said applying her tan foundation. She looked over to Lyric and shook her head, letting her bleached dreadlocks sway side-to-side. “And you still don’t have your driver’s license.” Lyric shook her head while curling her eyelashes. She opened her mouth to speak but heard the front door of her house slam.
“We’re here, y’all!” Tuscan, a friend of the pair, walked into the house with his girlfriend, Ilena. Lyric smiled and threw her makeup into her bag, running down to see her friends.
“Tusy!” Lyric yelled, using the pet name he hated. Brooklin came down the stairs and watched her curly-haired friend jump into the boy’s arms. Lyric’s dark brown hair bounced and her green eyes lit up as Tuscan set her down. “Guess what,” Lyric said with new found energy. “I won’t be the only 16 year-old now!” Lyric exclaimed with a bright smile on her face, looking around at her friends. “You can’t call me a baby anymore!” The four teenagers walked out into the hazy weather of their great town, Seattle.
“Imma drive,” Tuscan said climbing into his car.
“Of course your gonna drive. It’s your car dude,” Brooklin smirked. “You won’t trust anyone else with your baby,” Brooklin continued, emphasizing the word baby. Brooklin and Ilena were deep in conversation, Tuscan was watching the rainy road trying not to crash, and Lyric was looking out the side window watching the tall buildings go by with rain slowly pouring on top of them. It should have taken them ten minutes to drive to the party, but with the storm getting worse every second, the traffic slowed them down to a 25 minute drive. Then out of nowhere there were blinding red and blue lights. They kept flashing as Tuscan tried to find a safe place to pull over, without disturbing the heavy traffic flow. Lyric watched the flashing lights, thinking about how mesmerizing they looked. The car became suddenly quiet. No one was talking, and Drake’s voice was no longer blasting out of the radio. Tuscan and Ilena put their hands on the dashboard, while Brooklin and Lyric put their hands on the back of the front seats. Lyric watched the cop get out of his car in pure terror. She began praying that nothing bad would happen. The cop got closer to the car and all Lyric could focus on was the gun sticking out of the cop’s belt. Quickly, Lyric looked up to the cop’s face. She memorized every angle, crease, and wrinkle. He got to the front of the car and tapped on Tuscan’s window.
As Tuscan rolled down his window the officer started talking, “Sir, are you,” he glanced down at the paper in his hand, “Tuscan Phillips?” The officer glanced at the others in the car.
“Yes, I am, sir.” Tuscan tried to show no sign of panic, something his mother had taught him at a young age.
“I was heading to your house and saw you pulling out of your neighbor’s house so I followed you but you guys don’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. I’m here to inform you that your mother has been severely injured in a car accident. I didn’t mean to scare you and your friends.” Tuscan removed his hand from the dashboard and put them onto the steering wheel. He gripped the steering wheel until his dark knuckles were as white as his skin tone would allow. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the car and took a deep breath, letting the rain fall down his face to calm him down.
Tuscan turned around to face the officer, “Thank you, Officer,” not knowing what to call the officer.
“Smithe, Officer Smithe,” Smithe answered.
“Thank you, Officer Smithe,” Tuscan said, shaking his hand. He climbed back into the car with his loving friends and drove off into the hazey night, to care for his mother.