Revenge

Chapter Two The Drive Way

After I finished getting ready for school, I grabbed my backpack and walked into the living room. I set my bag down in the same chair by the door, just like I had every morning for years. But today, something tugged at me.

This is the last time I’ll ever do this, I thought. The last morning routine before everything changes. Before I leave this house. Before I leave this town.

The thought made my chest tighten.

I walked into the kitchen. Everyone was already at the table except Mom, who was still at the stove. She turned, carrying a plate, and set it gently in front of me. Two sunny‑side‑up eggs, two sausages, two strips of bacon, and a country‑fried chicken Steak. My favorite. She always made it on big days.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” she said, serving the rest of the table before finally sitting beside me.

We folded our hands. The room fell quiet.

Our Heavenly Father… Her voice was soft, steady, but something in it trembled — pride, maybe. Or fear. As she prayed, I felt every word settle into me like warm stones. Gratitude. Guidance. Protection. Strength. All the things I’d needed this year.

When we finished, we all said, “Amen.”

My stepdad cleared his throat. “Tara. It’s your graduation, so you say it today.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes,” he said.

I nodded. “Let us eat.”

We started eating, but the quiet didn’t last long. A knock sounded at the door — sharp, loud, urgent. Everyone paused. Mom checked her phone, then turned the screen toward me.

My heart jumped.

My dad and my brother were standing outside.

“Go ahead and get the door,” Mom said.

I stood and walked — not ran, because running in the house was a rule that never broke. I opened the door and immediately threw myself at both.

“Hello,” they said together.

“Hi,” I breathed. “What are you guys doing here? I thought we were meeting at the school.”

“We are,” Dad said, “but we wanted to give you something before. If that’s okay with your mom.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Mom said from behind me.

I didn’t even hear her walk up. Suddenly the whole family was crowded in the doorway, watching.

“You have to put this on,” my brother said, holding out a blindfold.

“What?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Or I take it back.”

“No!” I yelled. “I’ll do it.”

I put the blindfold on. Their hands guided me down the stairs and out to the driveway. I could tell where we were by the turns, the slope, the smell of morning air.

“What is that car doing in my driveway?” my stepdad demanded.

Dad muttered, “Thanks for saying it.”

My brother pulled the blindfold off.

A Barbie‑pink 1965 Classic Mustang sat in the driveway, glowing like a dream someone forgot to wake up from.

My breath left my body. “Is it automatic?” I asked.

“Yes,” they said.

My brother walked me up to the car and showed me how to put the roof up and down. My hands shook as I touched it.

“This is sick,” I whispered.

He was showing me more when Mom’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Why did you get her that without talking to me first?” she yelled.

Dad turned. “I didn’t know that as her dad I had to do that.”

Something inside me snapped — sharp, hot, uncontrollable.

I walked over and yelled — really yelled — for the first time in my life.

“You need to stop your crap. All of you. It is my graduation, and you’re ruining it.”

They froze. Shocked. Confused. I had never raised my voice before. And the power of it… it felt good. Too good.

“Now you all apologize and stop it.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Mom said, but her voice wasn’t strong this time.

I turned and looked at her. Something in my face must have changed, because she and my stepdad backed up a little. Dad and my brother did the same.

“Thank you,” I said, calmer now. I hugged Dad and my brother. “Thank you for the car. But I need to leave for school, and you guys need to go.”

That’s when I saw it.

A brown car across the street. Parked. Still. Watching.

At first I thought it was just someone passing by — until I saw the camera. Huge. Professional. Pointed directly at us.

My stomach dropped.

Dad shoved me toward my brother and started walking toward the car. The engine revved, and it sped off the moment he took five steps.

Dad pointed the direction it went and jumped on his bike. My brother was already on his, chasing after him.

Dad hugged me quickly before leaving. “Go to school, Babygirl. We’ll see you there.”

“Okay,” I said, but he was already gone.

Mom asked, “What was that about?”

“I have no idea,” I said, “but I’ll be asking him later.”

I walked inside, grabbed my stuff off the chair, walked back out, hugged everyone, said “See you later,” and left.

But as I stepped off the porch, I couldn’t shake the feeling.

The brown car. The camera. The way it sped off. The way Dad chased it.

Something wasn’t right. Something was coming.