The Real Story of Clyde McKee « My Fiction
The clattering jerks from Trent’s car engine were the only sound that accompanied our journey to school. Despite dating my mother for almost two years now, he had yet to enjoy the benefits of her wealth. Not that it bothered him, as he was far too busy continuing to enjoy her… other benefits.
Not wanting to think about that subject any longer, I forced myself to say something in order to take my mind off it. “You’re still picking me up after school, aren’t you?” Trent grunted. I’m not exactly sure it was a positive response, but I took it to mean he was still reluctantly taking me with him to mum’s book launch. I know you’re probably wondering why it is I still care, after everything that’s happened, but I have my (very convoluted) reasons.
The noisy engine suddenly clapped out as Trent’s car screeched onto the curb and came to a halt. “Out.” He grunted, once again.
“I hope you drop me off closer than this, tonight.” I noted, barely spying my intended destination far away in the distance.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Turning up late to your mum’s big event so you can blame it on me! Well, rest assured, we’ll be getting out of this car together, and walking into that room side-by-side; even if I have to drag you in by the mop on your head. Now, get out, before I shove you out.” Trent demanded.
“If that’s the case, then do we really have to go through this routine for another year? Everyone at school already knows you’re dating Mavis Daly – you made sure of it.” I sighed and rolled my eyes.
“Yes. But, not everyone knows Mavis Daly is your mother.” Trent said, as he choked the steering wheel with both hands, visibly frustrated with my lack of compliance.
“Thank God!” I said, opening the door and stepping out onto the pavement. Slamming it shut, I watched as Trent sped off and turned sharply into the school’s sixth-form car park (not bothering to indicate), once again detaching any relationship it appeared we had, and leaving everyone in that building none-the-wiser. If last summer had taught me anything, it was that I should indeed be thanking God that very few people were even aware Mavis Daly had a son; for my name, is Clyde McKee.