Mom met me at the dinner table the next evening. "Savannah, I'm really disappointed in you," she began. "I have no idea how you turned out this way."
"How I turned out what way, mom?"
"You're skipping school, your grades are horrible, you stay out all night -- Vannah, we didn't raise you like this. I made sure you got all the toddler skills, me and your dad and your Aunt Margaret -- we tried to do things right."
"You don't get it, do you, mom?"
"Oh I absolutely get it. I'm taking the keys to your car."
"You're skipping school, your grades are horrible, you stay out all night -- Vannah, we didn't raise you like this. I made sure you got all the toddler skills, me and your dad and your Aunt Margaret -- we tried to do things right."
"You don't get it, do you, mom?"
"Oh I absolutely get it. I'm taking the keys to your car."
I rose up from my chair. "What? Mom, you can't do that! Daddy bought me that car for my birthday."
"You'll get your car back when you stop skipping school and get your grades up." Mom took a deep breath. "I've got to go to the school in the morning."
This is the car in question. It's a midnight blue Toyota Prius. Daddy got it for me for my teen birthday and, well, I'm seldom out of it, really. Most days I even take it to school instead of the huge unsightly orange buses. How am I gonna survive without my car?
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