AN: hello everyone, welcome to Ink On Paper. First thing first: This story is OC centric, and there will be a Canon/OC pairing. Also, before I forget: I would really like a beta reader for this story, so if you're interested, please PM me.
One more thing: there is an important AN at the end, so please don't ignore it. And I will try to reply to reviews in the beginning of every chapter.
Cover photo is what my OC looks like.
I don't own Transformers, only my OC; enjoy!
Part one: Battle for the Allspark
"Alright; good morning children! Welcome to grade one!" The teacher chirped happily, clapping her hands once. I stood in the doorway, watching the rest of the children settle down in their chairs, laughing and talking away and chirping with glee.
I, on the other hand, stood in the doorway like a statue, not making a noise, staring at all of them in horror. I couldn't do it; I couldn't walk in there and talk to anyone. So instead, I turned around and inched away from the door and out into the hallway…
... Only to be grabbed by the arm. "And where do you think you're going?" the teacher says in that annoying sing-song voice. "Come on, let's go!" she sings, pulling me back inside. I trail after her reluctantly, keeping my gaze on the tile floor. "Come on now, take a seat. Here, you can sit right next to this lovely boy right here. I'm sure he won't mind," she tells me, sitting me down in front of a desk.
I turn to the brunet boy next to me. He gives me a small, shy wave and I turn my face away in embarrassment, feeling my cheeks turn pink. I didn't look at him or anybody the whole class, but I felt guilty just ignoring him like that. He was trying to be nice to me, and I was neglecting him. It was very rude of me. I didn't want him to think that I was mean; I wasn't.
"Hey," I whispered with my hand over my mouth. "I have some candy in my lunch bag, you want one?" I asked, my hand muffling my words. He turned to me, a wide smile on his face. He nodded his head happily, and I noticed that one of his front teeth were missing.
When he saw that I saw that he didn't have a tooth, he quickly put his hands over his mouth, looking embarrassed. I knew that he felt awkward with a tooth missing; especially at the front. Everyone makes fun of you when you're missing teeth. I didn't want him to feel bad, so I leaned in and mumbled "I have a secret. Want to know it? But you have to promise to not tell anyone." With my hand still over my mouth, the words were muffled and hard to make out.
He nods so I cup my hands around my mouth so no one other than him can see, and give him a big smile, showing both of my missing front teeth, an big gap where they used to be, only two weeks ago. I close my mouth, covering it with my hands again, and look down at my lap, my face red.
But the boy smiles at me, a big smile. "I'm Sam. You want to be friends?" My eyes widen. I never had a friend before. I never talked to anyone because I was afraid that they would make fun of me, so I never made friends. I always played by myself all the time.
"Do you really want to be friends?" I ask Sam, who nods. "Ya, it'll be fun! We can play hide and seek together!" he chirps happily, and I smile, still covering my mouth.
"OK, let's be friends. I'm Raven."
"So how about it? You in?"
"A lake party…? I… I don't know… maybe…? It's tomorrow, right?"
"Sam, Keala will be there, and I'm invited, and I'm inviting you; come on, it'll be fun." I didn't even need to mention that last part; I knew that the moment I said Keala will be there, he'd come. He's had a crush on her since seventh grade. It's really quite adorable.
"Uh… ya… I'll go. But I need to get a car first. How am I supposed to get this A with a crazy relative?" To tell the truth, sometimes, I wish I never offered Sam that Kit Kat that first day of school; more so in the past few days. This project is all Sam has been talking about for the past week. It's quite a big project, especially for the beginning of the year, and he couldn't talk about anything else. We'd sat in his room all evening, for several days, working on this. We looked through old journals and sailing records and everything, trying to make this as interesting as possible. And to be honest, it was pretty cool that his ancestor was the first to explore the North Pole, but he was crazy! It's really hard to get an A if your relative is crazy.
I did the project, but I didn't care about it. I just slapped a few things together with no care or worry for the mark. I could have made it brilliant presentation that would have gotten an A+, but I didn't. I'm not bragging, but I can work wonders with words on a page if I really want to. I wrote several short stories that I actually published; but I didn't bother now. I really don't care about the mark I get. I have only one future, and I don't need to get good marks in school for that.
I never really cared about my marks, and ever since becoming twelve, I had no one to look over my shoulder to ensure I was doing homework or drive me to school every morning to make it curtain that I was actually going there. So in conclusion, I couldn't care less how I did with this project – mainly because I really didn't give a shit about history – and spent my time helping Sam.
"Sam, relax; breathe," I tell him, inhaling through my nose, and exhaling through my mouth, and motioning for him to follow. "Yes, there you go; inhale..." breathing in, "and exhale…" breathing out. "There, see? You'll be just fine. We worked on this with you for two weeks, sometimes even into the night, and for the past three days, you've been practicing the presentation on in front of me and your bathroom mirror nonstop. You'll do great," I assure him cheerfully, with a smile.
"Besides, you have the whole day to mentally prepare for this." I make it sound like he's heading for an execution.
"Ya, either that or chicken out." I give him a look, raising my eyebrows – I never learned to rise one at a time. "Sam, are you kidding me? Aren't I the one who's afraid of being made fun of?"
"You're underestimating yourself. You haven't been like that for over three years." Ya, he's right. I use to be so shy that I couldn't say a word to anyone I didn't already know. But that all changed when Sam read some of my short stories and suggested I post one or two online. So I did and they got such great feedback that I got into it. And after a year, Sam got me to actually publish them – yes, I went public with them thanks to Sam, even though I kept myself anonymous. After that, I realized that I really didn't have anything to be afraid of. I had a talent with a pen and paper – not really; I typed everything on a laptop, but you get the point – when I really wanted to, and I had a few fans at my back, and my best friend to. People had my back, and anyone who wanted to make fun of me for anything could write it in a nice and neat little letter, roll the letter up, and shove it up their ass because no one cared.
Just then, the bell rang. "Come on Sam, you'll be alright."
"Ok, ya, you're right. Hey, when I'm going to be buying my new car today," Sam says, pride and excitement filling his voice, "you wanna come? You can help me pick out a car." I give him a glare at him for that, but he just laughs. "No, I can't. I'd really like to, but I have things to do," I say. I had to clean the house – for once, just for the sake of making it look like a human lives there, not an ape. And then… I mentally shrug. I honestly don't know what then. I'll probably get on my laptop and write another chapter for my Buffy fan fiction – don't say a word; I started with fan fiction before anonymously becoming well known.
"Ok, whatever you want, but you just give me a call if anything, K?"
"Ya, sure. I gotta get to class," I say, hurrying off. I'm not sure why I left like that. I just ran away like I didn't want to talk to him. I instantly feel guilty about it, but keep walking to my first class: advanced computer science.
"Move; you're in my way." I turn to the left, giving Maggie a mockingly caring look. "Oh, I'm so sorry. You can wait until I'm done." I turn back to my locker, opening the door to a full ninety degree angle, so I can't see her. She just opens my locker door further, so I can see her. Rolling my eyes, I turn to the blonde; her hair yet again dyed a different shade. Today, it was honey blonde, and curled with what I believe to be a three inch curler. She is such a princess – and I don't mean that in the good way.
"What do you want?" I ask in a bored tone, and wishing to be anywhere but here.
"For you to move away from my locker, geek." I get my gym bag and shut my locker, turning to face her. I can't say I hate her or anything, and it isn't like I'm the only one she picks on. And besides, if she wants to be bitchy, than sure, whatever, I'll live, but she's just so annoying! "What's your problem, Maggie? What did anyone do to you, to make you such a pain? Can't you get over whatever insecurities you have and be a human being for once?"
"Mind your one business, little geek, and move out of my way," She sneers. What, 'geek' is all she can come up with? "Maggie, you've been calling me a geek since grade three; can't you come up with a better name?" She can't call me slut because I wear jeans and T-shirts or middle sleeved shirts, and that's usually what she goes with, to largely bring down self-esteem and make you feel like a teas or whatever.
She glares at me like a lion, spotting its prey. Not a very good look to get from her. I know that next week is going to be a nightmare.
"-I'm all ears," I interrupt stupidly, and instantly regret it. 'Listen here' is supposed to be intimidating, and in all honesty, with that glare, it is; like seriously creepy. And I already know that if I say another word, she'll beat me up big-time. And her cousin is a kick-boxer, so I shrink into myself against the locker, trying to make myself invisible. My brave act fades away, and my heart rate goes up as she stares me down. I give a small nod, getting the hint and, with a barely audible whimper, power-walk away with my head down, nose to the floor.
Why did I have to act all brave? I mean, I can act brave, and I can be brave… well… braveish, but not with her and her cousin. Jen already beat me up once, and it's not an experience I'd like to repeat.
My head bowed, I head to gym. I can't wait to get home and get my hands on my writing. I love writing and I write all the time in my spare time. I actually skip school sometimes, just to stay home and write all day. And then the school calls and I have to pretend to be mom and talk to them. And they ask why I miss so much classes and I have to give them some lame excuse.
It's no bother though. I'd been doing that since I was twelve, so it's all practiced.
Argh! Why did I have to talk back to Maggie? She's a kitty with one sharp set of claws. She's not the person to mess with and I should know that by now! Why am I such an idiot?
I shove the door open for the third time, and it finally opens. So suddenly, though, that I end up on the floor in a second, my bag open, and my stuff all over the carpeted floor. With an irritated growl, I push myself off the ground, picking my stuff up, and kick the door shut with my foot as hard as I can. However, it still gets stuck half way into closing, so I have to lean on it with all my weight to close it shut. It's always been getting stuck like that. It's ridiculous, really, and a little funny, after seven years of living in this house. I never bothered to get it fixed. And why should I? It's only a minor, beyond annoying inconvenience; not like I can't handle it.
I sigh and drop my school bag on the floor next to the front door and look around the microscopic living room. The living room is smaller than my bedroom – which is a shoebox – and it's even smaller now. Clothes on the floor and couch, shoes and socks lying wherever there is space, several layers of dust on the TV, the remote nowhere in sight; old newspaper laying everywhere it can, and the window is spider-webbed with cracks from those blasted kids and their habit of playing soccer right in front of my little shed of a house.
I kick my jean Converse off, leaving then in front of the door and place both hands on my hips. Not to state the obvious, but this is the messiest living room I had ever seen: scribbles on the wall from when I was ten, bottles of coke crumpled up and thrown at the wall, leaving marks on the yellow-stained space over the TV from my little target practice.
Biting my lip, I walk down the hall, to the kitchen, which looks no better. If anything, it looks worse. Fruit and vegetable peals on the counters, along with paper, used paper towels, half-eaten bread, cookie crumbs, bitten up apples, week-old juice, and a sky-high pile of dirty dishes in the sink; egg shells from breakfast on the stove, and pans.
I scratch my head slowly. I need to clean this up. Yes, I'll clean it up… tomorrow. Ya, I'll do it tomorrow. How many times had I said that I'd clean up tomorrow? More than I can count.
So instead, I go back to the living room, swing my bag over my shoulder, and tug on the door handle… and yet again nothing, so I push put my foot on the wall, and push off.
My butt hits the floor painfully as the door wildly swings open. Getting up with a pained grunt, I brush myself off I shake my head. Oof; that didn't tickle.
I leave the house, forcefully pulling the door shut behind me, and head to the park. It's a good three miles away, and that's good. The farther it is away from this trashcan of a neighborhood, the better; I really wouldn't prefer my house to be found by anyone I do or do not know.
I leave left the old, single-bedroom, poor excuse for a residence and I'm mid-way down my front lawn when I stop and turn around to look at it.
Dirty, chapped, white paint, covered in stains varying on color from vomit-yellow, to coffee-brown – don't even ask about that one. The roof falling apart and covered the leaves the huge, old tree in the yard has shed. The windows are also in desperate need of a cleaning and so is the screen door. The yard is untended; weeds growing everywhere you look and the flower bed in under my bedroom window is beaten and turned upside down by the neighbor's dog. They keep scolding Ripper for digging up my tulips, and chewing up the doormat like a cat, but I always tell them to leave it. I don't have time for tending my property, so once every few months I have to hire someone to do it for me. But no matter what they do, they can't get the blobs of whatever it is off the exterior walls of my house, for fix the cracked cement stairs leading up to the front door.
Even Sam doesn't know where I live; I was keeping it a secret from him especially. I can't let him know I live in a place like this. We have our secrets, obviously, and our lies. It isn't like we tell each other everything there is to know about the other. And I know that lies will only lose you friends – especially if Sam is my only friend; I don't have the guts to get more – but he just can't know.
I clean my mind of any though, and walk the five miles to the park.
Back… and forth… back… and forth. I swing my legs back and forth, the swing going back and forth with them. The sun beat down at my back, burning my neck as I swung – for the past hour. It was already like eight in the evening, but it was still really hot outside. Earphones in my ears, I sing along to a song. And by some unearthly sorcery, tears were steadily rolling down my cheeks with every word leaving my lips. I hadn't cried in years, but I was crying now, in the empty swing park, in the setting sun. I was crying for no reason, yet every reason in the world.
"When I was younger… I told my mother… I said 'one day, I'm gonna make you proud'." I can't believe this. I can't believe how accurate that is. I told her that I'd grow up to be the best I can be. I said that she would be the proudest mom ever. I said I'd be daughter of the year. I'd have good grades, and many friends. I'd get over my insecurities and find the guts to do something.
"Now that I'm older… it's so much harder… to say those words out loud." I never achieved any of that. I never became a model student or model citizen. I never got good grades or made any friends, and my only friend that I'm brave enough to have doesn't even know where I live. I get into fights and get suspended; I get in trouble with the law and get in with all the wrong people. My house is a mess; my life is an even bigger mess. I can't hold a job, I can't test well. Admit it: it won't be too long before I go into drugs and alcoholism. I'll never be able to look mom in the eye. How can I, after what I'd promised her, and miserably broke ever word I'd given her?
"You're growing taller… a little smarter… and one day, you're gonna leave home." I'm not always going to live in this trashcan of a place. But when I do leave my parents' house, where am I gonna go? I'm gonna be stuck in just as much a hellhole as I am now, if not worse. If I leave, I'm bound to throw my life away, trading it for alcohol, to find closure, after what my life – which could have been good – turned out to be.
"Or will you look like… your mother's father… oh when you are fully grown?" My dad's side of the family was always fortunate, all the way back to my great-great-great-great grandfather. My mom's, on the other hand, wasn't like that. She made something of herself, but her dad was more like what I am right now. He couldn't hold a job, slept till noon, and smelled like a rat. Her mother got her out of there, away from that man, but that's beside the point. The point is, right now, I look an awful lot like him. I'm a disaster of the highest order.
"When I was younger… I asked my father 'why are we so human?'." I couldn't understand many things, like why, even with all our money, we lived where we did. Why we never bothered to look better and lead better lives. We had the opportunity, but we never took it – well… they never took it, I didn't have much of a say in the matter.
"Now that I'm older… I think I figured it out: We're just doing what we can." There is only so much they could do. It isn't that they could afford anything as much as that they simply couldn't afford the time. Taking care of a big house wasn't an option, so they had to think small. They had to keep everything to a minimum, in order to fit their lives into the ever-so-tight schedule. They just couldn't do anything about the way I lived because their plate was full as it was.
But I wanted to be better than that.
"Because I won't… I won't let you down, I won't let you… I won't… I won't let you down, oh now… I won't… I won't let you down, I won't let you… I won't I won't let you down." I promised to never let either of them down; promised to be the best I can be and climb out of this. I made a promise, and I promised to never let them down. I wanted to be better.
"When I was younger… I told my mother… I said 'one day, I'm gonna make you proud'." Be that isn't an option; not anymore.
I let them down so badly. Look at me: I'm the world's biggest lair.
I jump, and buy doing so, lose grip on the swing, and crash to the sand, my face buried in it. I get up on all four, shaking my head, and wipe my face before turning around.
"Thought I'd find you here!" It takes me a moment to understand, but reality catches up with me and my face lights up like a Christmas tree. "SAM!" I shout joyfully, all traces of sadness gone. I turn off my music and stand up my full, not too tall height. "You got it! You got a car!"
"I got a car!" he shouts back, his voice full of joy and pride, as he gets out of the car, arms out in either direction, and I run into them and we jump up and down as we did when we were little kids when something awesome happened. I squeal like a little girl, from happiness. "Oh my god! Sam, I told you you'd get it! See; there was nothing to worry about!"
"I got my first car!"
"You got your first car! Oh my god, did you test-drive it yet?!"
"No! I wanted to do that with you!" I freeze in mid air, my feet hitting the ground, but not leaving it again. Since we're in an embrace, this stops Sam's jumping as well, and I look up at him in wonder. "You… you really wanted to test-drive it with me?" I ask in disbelief. I know we're best friends, but I didn't really expect that our friendship was like this. Sam was so excited to drive the first car – he saw it as a special moment, which I guess it was (I don't have a car, I bus to and from school) – but I didn't expect he'd want to share that with me. "Of course, silly; what did you think? We're best friends, remember?" I give him the most brilliant of smiles, my heart singing. It's not like I thought I was unimportant – I know my worth, thank you very much – I just didn't know our friendship really meant this much to him. We joked about being brother and sister all the time, but I thought those were just jokes.
Clearly not, and I couldn't be more grateful to that.
"Ya, and before we test-drive it, we need to refill the gas. Come on, you'll love it!" Sam exclaimed in glee, tugging on my arms as he lead me to the passenger seat.
"Sam, wait… what kind of car is this?"
"What? Oh, right, uh… it's a Camaro. It's from the mid-seventies, I think."
"Wow… it's almost old enough to be my dad. That's one old car; antique, very nice… I think. Are these racing stripes or something?"
"Ya, apparently, it's been in a race."
"No way! Oh god; it might be an old car, but if Trent finds out that it used to race, he's gonna turn blue from jealousy!" I squeal. He has a really nice car, like… really nice, but it's never been on a racetrack. If Sam's car has been racing… "That's awesome!" I jump up and down, clapping my hands at the same time.
"M' lady," Sam says with a deep bow as he holds the door open for me, gesturing for me to enter. I give a curtsy, and get in the car, Sam closing the door behind me, and I let out a playful giggle. Sam gets into the drivers seat, turning the key, and the car revs to life, almost eagerly, and we pull away from the park.
"How did you know you'd find me here?" I ask.
"Raven, I know you well." Sam, if only you knew how wrong you were. Actually, on second thought, keep your knowledge limited to what it is right now; it's better than way. "And besides, you told me you came here when you were upset, a few years back. And this morning, you didn't look in a very good mood, and after school, I called your name, and you didn't turn around. You don't do that unless something serious happened." Wow, he does know me. And… he remembered what I said about the park? Wow.
"Um… thanks. And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ignore you today."
"It's ok; we all have our days. You just know that I'm right here of you need me," I assures me. I look at him, and he's already looking at me, sincerity in his eyes. I give him a grateful smile, nodding.
"Thanks." Sam doesn't push it, asking me what happened. He knows me that well that he knows I won't tell him, no matter how much he asks. I can't believe I'm friends with him.
Sometimes, I feel that I don't deserve him. I mean, I can't even be honest with him. How can I deserve his loyalty if I can't even tell him where I live or what's going on in my life? Am I even a good friend? Friends trust each other with anything, and he's proven himself loyal and trustworthy countless times, and yet, I still can't bring myself to tell him.
He makes me question myself on a daily basis, but I never find the answer.
Suddenly, I wild, and so-very-random idea pops into my head. "Hey Sam?"
"Yup?" He asks, not getting his eyes off the road. "After that tank, can you take us out to the highway? I wanna try something," I say with a grin. This is the worst idea ever.
AN: OK, guys, this story depends on you! No, I mean it. I have the plot planed out, but it branches out two ways.
First option: this is a Sam/OC story, which is not something that is common.
Second option: this is an Optimus/OC story.
I have both plots planed, but I want to know what kind of story you want to hear. You can vote in the reviews or by PM, and I will post the results every chapter. I'm thinking to make the vote four of five chapters long, and I will update once a week, so vote fast, if you want the story turn out your way!
Anyway, I hope you like the chapter, have a great (time of day goes here). *waves and a cheesy smile*