The FightI sat down heavily at the dining room table. "You know," I said, "All of my friends have cars..."
My mother cast a knowing look at my father. They knew what was coming. "No, you can't have a car, Amy," she said, and sighed. "You know how we feel about that. We should wait until you are at least seventeen."
"But sixteen is when people get a driver's license and a car!" I protested. My mother shook her head.
The phone rang. "Hold on," my father said, and went to the phone, then walked into the hallway.
"Please? I'll be very careful!" I pleaded. My mother was getting impatient; she was biting her lip.
"We cannot afford another car right now!" she said through gritted teeth. "We are trying to buy a house at the moment, away from this... this..." I could tell she was struggling not to use a curse word. "This wretched place! This house is falling apart, Amy Johnson, and you know it! The neighborhood is a wreck, and I won't raise my daughter here."
"I can pay for it!" I insisted. My mother rubbed her forehead. Finally, she spoke in a threatening but quiet voice.
"The money you saved in your bank is for college," she said. "You don't need a car, and your father and I cannot waste money for something that is not an absolute need!"
I would have preferred if she'd screamed at me. When my mother spoke that quietly, that meant that you'd better hold your tongue.
"Fine!" I slammed my palm down onto the table in exaggerated anger. I stormed out the door and into the night air.