My Name is Spade
A/N: Shalom! My name is Denali Prime and this is my first fanfic ever! Whoo! So just to clear things up, Spade is a girl in case you couldn't tell.
Rated M: Language, innuendo, language, language, language, mentions of drug use, language
Chapter 1- My Name is Spade
My name is Spade Witwicky.
Spade, not like the playing card. Just as a person. Yesterday, I turned 17 and five years ago, I was adopted after my parents died in a plane crash. I was taken into the family of the Witwickys: Judy, Ron, and their son Samuel, or Sam. Even though I loved all three of them to death, they were all still a little… strange.
Judy Witwicky is a dramatic, yet loving, fiery redhead with slight anger problems. Ever since Sam was born, she had an emotional attachment to him that went a little overboard. And ever since they adopted me, it had been the same thing. Ron, however, is the calm, negotiating, cheap one. While she had the temper, he had the serenity that balanced them out, except when people stepped in his grass. Together, they were the gardening, good cop–bad cop parents.
Then, there was their son, Samuel, or just Sam for short. Sammy, as I like to call him, is a social outcast. He uses most of his time gawking at the same girl at school that he's been in love with since birth or pawning off his great-great grandfather's old crap. And now, here he is, single. And broke. So for him, life is a lose-lose situation.
And finally, the newest and best addition to the family, me. My hair is dyed a light, neon-ish blue and went down to my butt. My skin was tanned just to the point that I liked. My taste in fashion was basic. T-shirts and sweatpants. My eyes were hazel, but the contacts I wore were purple. Even with the contacts, I felt the need to wear glasses with the lenses popped out. As for my body, slim and average. Not into sports. The thing I love most is music. Music is the passion of my life. No, no, no! Music is life. I'm in the orchestra at our high school in first chair cello (pronounced cheh-lo for those who didn't know). Nobody but me is allowed to touch him. Yes, that's right him. At the beginning of 9th grade, our conductor told us to name our instruments. So I named my cello Giuseppe. Because Italy rocks!
That's enough about me. Let's go back to present-day life.
Today's Monday, the day our family genealogy reports were due. Everyone, but Sammy had gone up to present. While they did their presentations, I sat at my desk, doodling a music note on some paper. Mr. Person, as I liked to call him (because I didn't give a shit about his name), told Sam it was his turn. "Okay, Mr. Witwicky, you're up."
He rose up out of his chair quickly with his heavy backpack full of his great-great grandfather's crap in tow. He spared a glance at me, and then at Mikaela Banes, who was paying no attention, before going to the table set up. He dumped everything out.
"Sorry, I gotta lot of stuff," he muttered. Distinctly, I heard Trent DeMarco, the top cock — er, jock, whisper to his girlfriend.
"Watch," he whispered.
"For my family genealo—" he stopped when something hit his neck because Trent had taken a rubber band and flung it at him. The class laughed slightly.
Mr. Person jerked out of his seat and said "Who did- who did that?! People…, responsibility." I rolled my eyes before scowling at Trent, taking the rubber band I had around my wrist, and repeating his action. It hit him in his face, making me grin. Trent growled while Mikaela smiled. It was small but I still noticed. The three of us turned our attention back towards Sam. He looked at Mr. Person, who nodded, giving him the OK.
"For my family genealogy report, I decided to do it on my great-great grandfather. Captain Archibald Witwicky, who was a very famous explorer." He picked up a map. "In fact, he was one of the first to explore the Arctic Circle, which is a big deal. In 1897, he took 41 brave sailors straight to the Arctic Shelf."
I shifted in my seat. I'd never heard the story before, so even I was a little interested. Then he continued "So that's the story, right? And here we have some of the basic instruments and tools used by 19th century seamen."
The whole class, including me, laughed. Poor Sammy. "This here is the quadrant, which you can get for 80 bucks. It's all for sale by the way. Like the sextant. $50 for this, which is a bargain. " Then he picked up some injured glasses. "These are pretty cool. These are my grandfather's glasses. I haven't quite gotten them appraised yet, but they've seen many cool things."
"Are you going to sell me his liver?" Mr. Person interrupted. He had a point. "Mr. Witwicky, this isn't show and sell. This is the 11th grade. I'm sure your grandfather would not be particularly proud of what you're doing."
"I know. I'm sorry. I just, you know, this is all going towards my car fund. It's on eBay, I take , cold hard cash works too. And the compass makes a great gift for Columbus Day!" Once again, we laughed. If someone had to define the world desperate and looked it up in the dictionary, a picture of Sam's face with a sextant in his hand would represent it.
"Sam!" Mr. Person called out, exasperated. I shook my head in mirth as he rambled on again.
"Right, sorry! So, unfortunately, my great-great-grandfather, the genius that he was, wound going blind and crazy in a psycho ward, drawing these strange symbols and babbling on about some giant ice man that he thought he'd discovered." Sam didn't get to finish because the last bell rang and we were free to leave for the day. The class got out of their seats fast and made their way for the door.
"There might be a pop quiz tomorrow, might not! Sleep in fear tonight!" he shouted to them. Half of them were already out of the door.
"Here, you want? 50. 40? 30?" Sam was still trying to get some of our classmates to buy the dusty crap that he brought in.
"Sam!" both of us said. He turned his head towards us and grinned sheepishly. He bounded over to Mr. Person's desk and shared a glance with me before asking him.
"Yeah. Sorry, sorry. Okay. Pretty good, right?" he asked. I was looking hopeful, while Sam was bouncing on his heels.
"Uh, I'd say a solid B-."
He dropped his hands to his sides with a minor look of disbelief. "A B-?"
"You were hawking your great grandfather's crap in my classroom!" he said.
"No, kids enjoy..." Sam began. I giggled before patting Sam on the back.
"I'll handle this," I whispered in his ear. He stepped back and allowed me to give my motivational speech. I looked Mr. Person in the eye and pointed to the window. "Can you look out the window for a second? You see our father? He's the guy in the green car."
He looked outside. "Yeah."
"Okay, I wanna tell you about a dream. A boy's dream. And a man's promise to that boy. He said 'Son, I'm gonna buy you a car but I want you to bring me $2000 and 3 A's.' He has the $2000 and 2 A's. Okay? Here's the dream. Your B-. Pff. Dream gone. Kaput." I dramatically paused to let it sink in, and then continued. "Sir, just ask yourself. What would Jesus do?" I said. Then I turned on my heels and walked outside of the classroom.
I waited by the door for Sam to come out. When he did, there was the biggest, goofiest, ear-to-ear, grin on his face. He hugged me and swung me around in the empty hallway. I struggled to get out of his grip. "Spadey, you are the best!" I yanked myself out of his arms and straightened my shirt. I scowled at him while he continued to grin.
"I know, but tell me why you think so." I retorted.
"You got me an A! It's an A- but it's still an A!" he exclaimed.
"You're welcome. Now, you owe me." I replied. He nodded. "Can you come with me down to the orchestra room so I can get my cello?"
"Sure! Then, it's car time!" he whooped. I high-fived him halfheartedly as we walked down the stairs. The whole time he was talking about how he could win Mikaela over with his new car.
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