Read Online Becoming A Butterfly (The Butterfly Chronicles) by Mia Castile - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mia Castile
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Mr. Watkins, and me in front of my car. It was a bit surreal.
“ The rules haven’t changed,” my dad said, as he held the keys just above my outstretched hand. “No careless driving, no texting, no cell talk while driving. Curfew is still ten-thirty.” I nodded. He dropped the keys into my hand, and I leapt into his arms.
“ Thank you, Daddy.” I squeezed him one last time before jumping into my new ride. The dealership had detailed it nicely for me, and someone put a pair of dice in the rearview mirror. I felt safe in it. It wasn’t a fiberglass car; it was heavy metal. I checked the GPS on my phone and plugged it into the mp3 cord to the radio, which looked original at first glance but was actually a vintage replica. I knew the street, but decided to use it for the exact address. Driving to Green Street and Dooley’s Garage, which sat just off the main thoroughfare, was my destination. After I parked, the tips of my fingers traced the steering wheel, almost not believing this was real, but it was. I felt it; it was mine. I got out and grabbed my school bag. One garage door was raised, and there were a few cars parked inside, one with the hood up, but no one was there.
“ Hello?” I called out, hovering in the doorway. The excitement from my car was overshadowed suddenly with dread. I didn’t want to spend time with Chase. Part of me hoped he wasn’t here.
“ Hey.” Wiping his hands with a dirty red rag, Chase walked around from behind the car in his standard ripped-up jeans with a blue work shirt over his white t-shirt. Then he looked out to the parking lot and my shiny new car. He nodded toward it. “How’d you manage that? I’ve had my eye on that car for six months.” His voice was thick with surprise.
“ I’ve been saving too, plus I know the owner, so I negotiated a deal when he first acquired it. So, you work here?” I asked, surveying the dust-covered area, trying not to turn up my nose. He watched me for a long moment.
“ Yeah, I work here. You can set up over there,” he said, pointing with the wrench to a counter on the other side of the car he worked on. I didn’t set my stuff down as I surveyed the counter. It was cluttered with oily tools, more dust, and dirty rags.
“ I don’t mean to be such a girl, but can I clean this off with something?” I asked, clinging to my bag with both hands. He just rolled his eyes and went into the waiting area. He returned with a spray bottle and some blue shop towels. He stepped in front of me and wiped down the counter to reveal a silver metal surface. Then he took it a step further and wiped down the tall chair.
“ Does it please the princess?” he asked in a fake British accent.
“ Funny,” I said, avoiding eye contact. He turned his back to me and went back to the car.
“ Where did we leave off?” he grunted as he used a socket wrench.
“ Track three.” I set up my computer and sat down on the stool delicately. I began to play it.
I’m outside, looking in
Wondering if you’ll let me win,
You said I had lessons to learn,
I said I had rubber to burn.
My cigarettes burn fast,
But my stride is slow,
And because of my past,
I don’t have anywhere to hide.
Could I just call you home?
I’m trapped inside, looking out,
As you run free to laugh and shout,
You said I had to learn my place,
But I saw regret line your face,
Could I just call you home?
“ You didn’t mix that track,” he said, bracing himself against the car with his back to me. I looked up, realizing I’d just sat there listening to the words.
“ Who writes your lyrics?” I asked, as I started the song over and began to mix it.
“ I do mostly. I wrote that song.” He walked around the car and messed with something else. Our eyes met, but I looked down.
“ That song is so sad.”
“ It’s about being lost, wandering. Have you ever felt like that?” Then he
“ The rules haven’t changed,” my dad said, as he held the keys just above my outstretched hand. “No careless driving, no texting, no cell talk while driving. Curfew is still ten-thirty.” I nodded. He dropped the keys into my hand, and I leapt into his arms.
“ Thank you, Daddy.” I squeezed him one last time before jumping into my new ride. The dealership had detailed it nicely for me, and someone put a pair of dice in the rearview mirror. I felt safe in it. It wasn’t a fiberglass car; it was heavy metal. I checked the GPS on my phone and plugged it into the mp3 cord to the radio, which looked original at first glance but was actually a vintage replica. I knew the street, but decided to use it for the exact address. Driving to Green Street and Dooley’s Garage, which sat just off the main thoroughfare, was my destination. After I parked, the tips of my fingers traced the steering wheel, almost not believing this was real, but it was. I felt it; it was mine. I got out and grabbed my school bag. One garage door was raised, and there were a few cars parked inside, one with the hood up, but no one was there.
“ Hello?” I called out, hovering in the doorway. The excitement from my car was overshadowed suddenly with dread. I didn’t want to spend time with Chase. Part of me hoped he wasn’t here.
“ Hey.” Wiping his hands with a dirty red rag, Chase walked around from behind the car in his standard ripped-up jeans with a blue work shirt over his white t-shirt. Then he looked out to the parking lot and my shiny new car. He nodded toward it. “How’d you manage that? I’ve had my eye on that car for six months.” His voice was thick with surprise.
“ I’ve been saving too, plus I know the owner, so I negotiated a deal when he first acquired it. So, you work here?” I asked, surveying the dust-covered area, trying not to turn up my nose. He watched me for a long moment.
“ Yeah, I work here. You can set up over there,” he said, pointing with the wrench to a counter on the other side of the car he worked on. I didn’t set my stuff down as I surveyed the counter. It was cluttered with oily tools, more dust, and dirty rags.
“ I don’t mean to be such a girl, but can I clean this off with something?” I asked, clinging to my bag with both hands. He just rolled his eyes and went into the waiting area. He returned with a spray bottle and some blue shop towels. He stepped in front of me and wiped down the counter to reveal a silver metal surface. Then he took it a step further and wiped down the tall chair.
“ Does it please the princess?” he asked in a fake British accent.
“ Funny,” I said, avoiding eye contact. He turned his back to me and went back to the car.
“ Where did we leave off?” he grunted as he used a socket wrench.
“ Track three.” I set up my computer and sat down on the stool delicately. I began to play it.
I’m outside, looking in
Wondering if you’ll let me win,
You said I had lessons to learn,
I said I had rubber to burn.
My cigarettes burn fast,
But my stride is slow,
And because of my past,
I don’t have anywhere to hide.
Could I just call you home?
I’m trapped inside, looking out,
As you run free to laugh and shout,
You said I had to learn my place,
But I saw regret line your face,
Could I just call you home?
“ You didn’t mix that track,” he said, bracing himself against the car with his back to me. I looked up, realizing I’d just sat there listening to the words.
“ Who writes your lyrics?” I asked, as I started the song over and began to mix it.
“ I do mostly. I wrote that song.” He walked around the car and messed with something else. Our eyes met, but I looked down.
“ That song is so sad.”
“ It’s about being lost, wandering. Have you ever felt like that?” Then he
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