Chapter One: The Deal

The day was warm. The sun was out most of the time, with only an occasional streaky cloud getting in the way of it. Today was no day to be in school. It was a day to be spent outside swimming, tanning, or playing volleyball, not taking an Algebra test.

As it was, Samantha was currently occupied and less than thrilled.

Mrs. Ferrenforn sat in the front of the room. Her worn gold rimmed glasses sat at the end of her nose. She looked over them mockingly every so often to install a twinge of fear into them. To the dismay of Mrs. Ferrenforn, better known as the creature teacher, Miss Samantha Witwicky was sitting in her seat smiling.

Sam was a rather determined student, aimed on getting an A in every class this semester. There was a good three more minutes before the end-of-school-day-bell would ring and she was on her last problem. Poor Henry next to her kept mumbling under his breath, "I only got to number four."

This last problem however gave her much trouble. It was one of those know-nothing questions asking, "If one train is leaving Boston at eight-hundred hours going at a speed of thirty miles per hour and another train is leaving at nine-hundred hours from Chicago going at sixty miles per hour, how far is the ice-cream shop from the point at which they will collide," or something along those lines. She had never been one much in favor of mathematics coinciding with English in the form of worded equations over-top of simplest numeric equations.

It took every second of those three minutes to finish that problem. In the end, the answer looked wrong, but it didn't matter. The test consisted of fifty questions and one four point question wasn't going to keep her from getting that A she so desired.

The instant her pencil tip lifted off of the mark circling the answer she had come to the bell rang. Mrs. Ferrenforn stood up. Her knotted red hair was up in a bun. An ancient looking dress with a bold floral print lay across most of her body, along with worn out clogs on her feet.

"That's it. Pencils down." The 'creature teacher's', as she was so fondly called behind her back, voice was loud and stern. "Come forward in a single file line and I will grade your papers."

Most of the students scowled, moaned and groaned. There were a total of eight kids in the ninth period class. As it turned out Sam was the last in line. It took all her spare energy to get poor, poor Henry out of his chair. He really did only make it to question four and as it looked what he had finished he got wrong. She fought between the urge to laugh outright or pat her classmate's back in sympathy.

By the time he had reached the teacher's desk, his head was practically dragging across the floor. Mrs. Ferrenforn looked up over her spectacles and sighed. "Unimpressive, Mister Watson. I fail to see how you can pass this year if you do not study."

"I'm sorry Mrs. Ferrenforn." His black hair was gelled to a few dozen points on the top of his head which Sam personally found quite attractive in a man. Short hair was always a turn-on with her. Unfortunately brains also mattered to her and Henry wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the box. His current test was a prime example of that fact.

"Go Mister Watson. I expect the next test to be at least a sixty-five."

"Yes Mrs. Ferrenforn." Henry left, feet dragging against the floor in a resigned way that was oh-so common throughout high-school. Sam watched after him, shaking her head. The faint murmur that reached her from the door made her chuckle, though she was certain that she was not meant to hear the self-depreciation from her fellow sophomore. "I can't believe I only got to problem number four."

Mrs. Ferrenforn coughed in a way that demanded attention be brought to her from behind her wooden desk. Samantha turned immediately. The teacher grinned almost maniacally. "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you from something Miss Witwicky."

Samantha smiled wickedly. In a sarcastic tone she stated, "Apologies accepted Mrs. Ferrenforn." She let her test booklet and answer sheet fall onto the woman's desk. She had often taken to mocking the teacher when nobody else was around in order to get the idea across to the elder woman that she was not incompetent. She couldn't help but think that her teacher secretly liked getting along with her students. Sam was one of the few that never referred to the spectacle wearing woman as the 'creature teacher'. For an institutional employee she wasn't half bad.

The woman huffed as if she were truly insulted, which she knew she wasn't, and scanned over the answer sheet comparing the correct answers logged on a separate sheet to her student's. When she was finished, she pulled out a red pen and wrote down the numbers nine and three on the top of the page and circled it. She then put the papers on the stack of others and smiled sincerely at her pupil.

"Very well done, Miss Witwicky. You have gotten the highest score on that test out of all my students."

Sam smiled smugly. "Thank you Mrs. Ferrenforn." Sam pulled a twice folded piece of paper out of her side bag and handed it to her teacher. "Now for your part of the bargain. I promised to get an A in this class along with all of the others for every single homework, quiz, test, and exam in exchange for your signature as well as that of my other teachers to ensure to my father that I did so."

"Very well, Miss Witwicky." The teacher signed and dated the sheet of paper willingly. When she had finished, she handed the paper back to Samantha. "I wish you luck with your father. Enjoy summer break."

With that, Sam darted out of the classroom. She ran down the halls, the three stairwells, and out the front door. She didn't get far, though. At the base of Jefferson High's stoop sat the captain of the baseball team. Jeremy Foxx was one of the school's hottest guys and the current fan of Samantha Witwicky. Hell, how many guys at her school weren't?

As she hurried to hop onto her blue Moped, Jeremy grabbed hold of her arm. "Well, hi there. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Sam smiled and patted him on the cheek, then pinched it…hard. He bent over in a sad attempt to reduce the pull on his skin. Apparently the elasticity there only went so far. She'd have to remember that for anatomy class next year. She let go of his cheek and began to put her helmet on.

"You think of that yourself did ya?" She inquired with a smirk, her tone coquettish. She wasn't a flirt normally, but she did so love pulling on Jeremy's strings. The damned prick deserved it after the way he dumped her best friend after screwing her in the back seat of his truck. True it was partially Miley's fault for letting herself get suckered into going down on the jock, but the ass didn't have to just push her out of his truck once he had reached his orgasm to walk the three miles in the dark at night back to her home.

Before he could have the opportunity to answer her Sam was on her way. She looked back once to see the other jocks punching his arm jokingly, obviously ribbing him for missing his shot at her once again. With a single-digit salute to the jocks, a gesture that would very well have had her grandmother boxing her ears, Sam turned back to the road before her to head home.

Samantha navigated her way through the streets of her childhood easily. The homes she passed were the same as when she first rode a tricycle. The yards were a pure green, cars sparkling clean, and homes at the peak of efficiency. She lived in one of the more gated communities in Tranquility thanks to her father's online business, though they were a far-cry from being truly rich. They were more upper-middle class than anything.

A mere two driveways away from her home she stopped and looked around. Nothing ever changed. She'd grown up with the same people, never really getting to meet anyone new. Tranquility was no sleepy little town, but it was also no metropolis. It seemed that once you settled down in Tranquility you didn't leave.

To herself she thought, One day. One day I'll find adventure and get out of this bore hole. Heck, maybe I'll sign up for the foreign exchange program next year instead of taking my advanced courses. Preceding that thought, she started her Moped back up and turned into her driveway. Her father's Ford S-Max sat in the driveway, collecting dust.

Knowing there would be no rain Sam leaned her Moped against the garage door and walked up the pathway to her red front door. She knew better than to step on the grass. It wasn't grown there naturally. It was artificial turf bought special and shipped in, therefore highly expensive. She wasn't permitted to walk on the grass like most people. She'd joked with her father more than once that he should just give it up and buy a 'KEEP OFF THE GRASS' sign and be done with it. The house was a two story white colonial in excellent condition. The yard and house itself were immaculate thanks to her weekend chore of 'exterior home maintenance'.

As she unlocked the front door, she yelled out for her father, Ronald. "Hey Daddy, I'm home." She let her bag fall to the floor except for her signed slip. All of her teachers had signed the sheet and she was eager to show her father what she had accomplished.

An aging deep voice came from the family room. "I'm in here, angel."

Samantha hurried into the living room from the front hall to find her father sitting on the sofa with his laptop on the coffee table before him beside a glass of scotch. She had to smirk a little at the sight of the liquor. Both her parents loved their booze. If her mother were here and not out visiting her sister in Denver then she would have the matching glass at her side as she skimmed through the latest issue of Home and Garden.

"Hi Daddy." She kissed his cheek as she sat beside him to look at the screen. He was checking out his current price charts and marking the various turns in profit. She'd seen him do this before, even helped him with it when he'd burned his hands trying to lift a recently baked lasagna pan off of the counter to bring to the dining table a year ago.

"Hello, angel." Ron beamed widely as he turned his head to kiss his daughter's temple. She was a total daddy's girl and she knew it.

She looked at her father closely. He was an average looking man with nearly shaggy brown hair and chestnut colored eyes. His lips were thin over-top of a square chin. He had not let age fatten him up like some men, though is six-pack was no longer prevalent upon his form. She'd seen pictures of him in his youth and couldn't deny that her father had been a handsome man. He still was, but in more of a subdued manned. He fit the bill of a parent and businessman. She had inherited her straight nose from him. The rest she got from her mother.

Judith, otherwise known as Judy, Witwicky was a strawberry blonde woman with a tall frame and daring curves. She was pleasantly round, not entirely muscular, but by no terms chubby. Her mother always wore her curly shoulder-length hair down and dressed in matron-wear. She tried to get her mother to dress-up more because the older woman was undeniably beautiful when she did, but Judy wouldn't hear of it unless she and her husband were going out for a special event. Judy never looked old, but she certainly didn't like to emphasize her beauty.

That did not mean, however, that Samantha was permitted to do the same. Oh no, Judy took pride in her daughter's exotic beauty. Sam had taken much from her mother; her five-foot-eight inch frame, flaring hips and bust, golden skin, and full, naturally parted coral pink lips. She was athletic and only faintly rounded, the muscle aplenty beneath her very thin layer of deceiving fat. She had also inherited her long, golden locks and lavender eyes from her great grandmother. People often swore that depending upon her mood that her eyes would either be more red or blue than lavender. Judy also made sure that her daughter wore appropriate attire for a growing young woman, dress-pants, skirts, and fancy blouses. They had a running deal that three times a week, unless required otherwise, that Sam would wear her mother's 'proper young lady clothes' while at all other times she would wear her own choice in clothes. Sam favored her bell jeans, peasant tops, and sandals over anything.

Samantha had known since a very early age when her mother forced her to enter beauty contests that she was attractive, verging on sexy as she grew older and filled out properly. She did gymnastics and dance for recreation and that was an apparent turn-on for guys. She couldn't count how many dances she'd been invited to since middle school and how often she stopped by the dance studio in downtown to practice.

"So, have you got something for me?" Ron asked even as he continued to peruse his charts marking them up.

"Of course." She flicked the signed sheet of paper open and set it down onto his keyboard. After a second more of observation he set to work staring down the sheet as if looking for forgery or similarities in pressure or style to indicate that she had committed fraud. She leaned in with a smirk on her lips even as her father's twitched slightly to contain his grin. "So…am I grounded?" She giggled.

Ron took her into a one-armed hug and kissed her temple once more. "No, Sam, you're not ground this time." He chuckled.

"This time? Are you saying that you expect me to make you ground me another time?" She elbowed him gently before pulling away. "Are you going to stick to your side of our deal?" She demanded of her father, her eyes stern. He sent back a half-hearted glare.

"Don't start with me, Samantha Jane." Ooh, middle name. Not good. She averted her eyes to her lap in submission knowing that she'd pushed her father too far by insulting his honor. If anything, Ronald Witwicky was a man of his word. One didn't question that. "These grades must be maintained. Any slips and your keys will be confiscated and you're going back to your Moped or hitching a ride with one of your friends. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir." She assured him while keeping her head down.

"All repairs, gas, and insurance is yours to take care of as well. You will also have your phone on you at all times. I will not risk my little angel getting stuck anywhere. I also want you to promise me that you will be responsible and safe."

"I will. I promise."

"Then," Ron began once more and she could hear the smile in his voice, "by the power invested in me as your father and man of this house, I give you full permission to buy your car."

Sam squealed with delight before practically pouncing on her father to give him an outrageous hug. She kissed his cheek three times before sitting back to watch his laughing face.

"Thank you Daddy!"

"I'm going with you, though. I want you in something that won't break apart on you in the next few years." She nodded quickly. With a sigh her father turned back to his laptop screen and waved her off. "Go on and meet up with Miley. I know that you're itching to spill the news."

"Thank you!" She repeated before dashing off to her Moped once more to head to the dance studio where she cleaned and assisted in teaching. Miley worked there as well with the little girls wanting to be ballerinas. She didn't work this particular day, but her little sister Stacy had lessons from three until four. She'd be there.

Samantha strode joyfully into the dance studio minutes later. Miley knew instantly by the smug look on her best friend's face that she had been approved her car. Mily darted up from the two-story bleachers to run and embrace her friend. Sam hugged her back wholeheartedly, all but jumping with glee.

"You got the green-to-go, right?" Miley inquired with a Cheshire cat grin as they pulled apart. "I'm not mistaking that look for good sex, am I?"

"Miley!" Sam hissed, slapping her best friend's shoulder. Miley had never been one to censor herself. Sam snuck a glance to the girls tap dancing, oblivious to what the older girl had just said, before dragging her back to the bleachers farther away from the group but still within sight. They sat and Sam scowled at her pre-school best friend. "You know I don't do that."

"I don't know why not!" Miley groaned in exasperation. "You can have any guy you want and you still shoot them all down. I mean, jeeze, you haven't even had a committed relationship before."

"You know why I don't go for guys, though." Sam accused, her arms crossed, all joy at being approved for her car having washed away. Miley raised her hands in surrender.

"I know. I know. I get it." She shook her head slowly, almost sadly. "That prick shouldn't have done that to you. I mean now you can't even enjoy a good make-out session like a normal seventeen year old thanks to him."

Images of that night flashed back in her mind. She'd been at a party with her cousins when she was fourteen with the other tweens in the main house watching a movie while the older kids partied in the pool house. A few times people would come into the main house to get more food or drinks, usually alcohol. Most of them had been plastered. Thanks to her 'prettiness' Sam had been ogled even at that age. She'd gone to the bathroom at one point only to be jumped by one of the party guests, a twenty-three year old that was drunk off of his rocker. He'd nearly raped her. If it hadn't been for a fellow tween, Michael Banes, she'd have lost her virginity instead of just acquiring a notch in her left ear.

She still liked guys, could even have them touch her now, but she couldn't handle anything sexual anymore. She'd managed pecks on the cheek or forehead to boys that she was close to, her father included, but even hugs were out of her control. She got panic attacks when a guy embraced her no matter how close they were to her. She could hug them, but the second they hugged back she felt trapped. Her father, after a year or so of working at it, had managed to get her to tolerate a one-armed hug.

"You know, I think Mike likes you."

Sam rolled her eyes. She didn't think. She knew. Mike had always been a good guy. She'd even given him one or two kisses on the cheek in the past, but he was still a jock. He was still a heck of a lot stronger than she was. She didn't trust men and Mike was well on his way to being one. She wasn't going to risk herself to a night of drinking.

"So?" She shot back.

"Come on." Miley grumbled, her auburn hair tumbling in front of her face. "Can't you at least give him a try? He really is a sweet guy."

Sam remained silent, keeping a vigil on the tap dancing girls.

In her mind Samantha was recalling the image of Mike. He was a big boy, just over six feet tall already and muscle-packed. He was a tanned boy with baby blue eyes and spiky coal black hair. Many a high school girl had a wet dream about Michael. He was an interesting, perfect mix of Channing Tatum and Brad Pitt. Simply put Mike was considered sex on a stick.

The unfortunate downside to this whole shtick is that though Mike was undoubtedly gorgeous and kind-hearted, he was also a first class man-whore. That's right. Mike was known for picking a girl up, having her falling head over heels for him, and then gently letting her down after she'd given up everything to him that she wasn't the one.

Samantha had little doubt that she'd discover that she wasn't the one either.

So she stayed away from the tender, delicious, and perfectly stunning boy that had rescued her from a horrible situation so long ago.

"I know that." She mumbled into the open air after a long few minutes. With a sigh Sam swept her hand over her face before turning to Miley once more. "So, where are we going for our first road trip in my car?"

Note: This is my version of the 2007 Transformers film. I just always liked the idea of Sam as a girl and decided to go for it. I'd appreciate reviews. There will be quite a few similarities to the film in my story, but I'm also adding bits to go along with additional outside pieces that I've written that will come after this. This story shouldn't be very long since it's somewhat movie based and I hate repeating everything.

Be aware that in the first several chapters that Sam's character is slightly Mary Sue. It will improve in later chapters as she reveals her smartaleck side.

Please if you like this review. It'll be finished regardless, somewhere between ten and fifteen chapters only. Then I'll put in the placement pieces that come between the two movies and the related two books I've written.

I appreciate any commentary, just so long as you aren't volgar in your language. (Don't cuss me out. If you have a complaint I will take it in stride, I just don't want you cursing at me.)

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or anything in relationship to it. I only lay claim to my spin and ideas formed into this story.