I woke up on the 12th of June and did my daily routine.
I was slowly building up the volu, doing two sets of 50 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, and 50 leg raises instead of just one.
I lay on the ground in just my shorts, finishing my leg raises, when the door to my room opened.
I could see my sister's long, dark hair peeking out from the corner of the door.
"Happy Birthday, Jack." she said.
"Thank you..." I replied.
"Are you ready? Breakfast is on the table."
I picked up the water bottle next to on the floor and took a sip. "I'll be ready if you let put on so clothes."
Without another word, she ran away.
As I was putting on so clothes, I checked my phone. I had birthday wishes from Jacob and a few other's from school and I already had a missed call from Ashley and Grandpa.
'I forgot I put the phone in quiet mode' I thought.
I walked out of my room and into the kitchen and found my parents waiting for with a few presents laid out on the ground and on the table.
They smiled as I walked in.
"Happy Birthday," dad said.
"A very happy eighteenth birthday to you, son." My mom trailed behind.
My parents gave a few practical presents. A new ergonomic chair, so daily-use items like a set of kitchen utilities, a toolkit, and a cozy throw blanket.
"Just so things to help you settle in when you move out," mom said warmly.
Dad chuckled. "It feels like you've been giving us more presents lately than we could ever give you, but we hope you like these."
"Of course I do," I assured them, smiling.
"Your eighteenth birthday should be special," Mom added.
"It's okay. It's only a birthday; I have one every year." I grinned. "You've already given so many presents over the last eighteen years..."
I ate the special birthday breakfast Mom had prepared. As I was finishing up, Dad stepped out for a mont and ca back in with sothing in his hands: a red package of chocolates and a letter on top.
He placed it in front of . "It's written that it's for you," he said with a curious smile.
My sister gasped dramatically. "Oh! Jack has a girlfriend!"
I opened it and read the note inside.
It was an anonymous expression of affection.
The handwriting was neat and careful, with no hint of who might have written it.
I glanced at the chocolates and then back at the letter, wondering who could have sent it.
'Maybe Ashley?' I thought.
I shrugged, tucking the letter back into the envelope.
My sister leaned over, trying to get a peek. "What does it say?"
"It's anonymous," I replied.
She giggled. "Looks like soone has a secret admirer."
A few minutes later, my phone rang again. It was Ashley calling to wish a happy birthday.
I was actually skeptical that it was her who gave the chocolates. She lived quite far from my house. If anything, I would think maybe it was Chloe. Oh well.
I had a few things I wanted to do today.
I had a plan to open another brokerage account, this ti a margin account. But first, I had sothing else in mind.
It was my birthday, after all, and I decided I deserved a little treat. I wanted to buy myself a car.
Having a car was very important; it would open a lot of new possibilities.
After my parents left for work, I left the house and walked a few streets over to a used car dealership.
The lot was filled with cars of various makes and models, lined up neatly in rows. A big canvas cover was stretched out over most of them to shield them from the rain.
The shining sun made it so that the colors of the cars were popping against the canvas.
Two guys were walking around, looking at the cars closely. One of them, a tall man in his early thirties, was speaking to the other, who was nodding along.
I started looking through the cars.
I was searching for a specific one.
I ca across a used 1996 Ford Mustang Cobra that looked great with its bright red paint job and sleek design. I walked around the car, examining the undercarriage.
It was a good thing I did—parts on the lower half of the car were either bent, twisted, or missing.
As I scrutinized the car, a woman walked up to with a bunch of papers.
She was an attractive blonde with a pert disposition, slightly tanned skin and exotic eyes. She wore a white silk blouse and navy hip-hugging cotton pants. She looked like she was in her early 20s.
"Hi there, I'm Lynn," she said, greeting warmly with a smile. "Do you need any help?"
She was clearly the saleswoman.
"Yeah. What kind of mileage does this car have?" I asked.
She looked through her papers. "This one has... 39,000 miles."
I raised an eyebrow. "And the car wasn't in any accidents?"
"Nope, it's clean. No accidents." She said confidently.
This was suspicious.
If these damages were indeed caused by regular wear and tear over 39,000 miles, it seed likely that either the previous owner who sold the car or the dealership itself might have misrepresented the actual mileage.
"Could you show so other cars?" I asked.
"What kind of car are you looking for?"
"I want a Ford Mustang. That's the idea."
"What year and model are we talking?"
"Either a Cobra or a GT, and the year... anything between 1995 and 1998," I replied.
"Let check. I think we've got a couple of GTs from the mid-'90s. Follow ."
Lynn kept taking to see more cars.
I kept in mind that I should be careful about being scamd.
After examining several vehicles, I finally laid eyes on it—a 1997 Ford Mustang GT.
The price tag of $7,100 seed reasonable for its age, and from a distance, it looked well-maintained.
Approaching cautiously, I checked the doors and trunk. They opened smoothly without rust or damage. The exterior had a few scratches, but nothing that couldn't be buffed out.
I popped the hood and inspected the parts. Everything appeared clean and in working order.
I crouched down to examine the tires. The rear ones seed newer, but two front tires were worn out. They had decent tread left, but they were definitely older.
The previous owner might have cut so corners on maitanance.
"Finding everything okay?" Lynn asked politely as I was down on the ground.
"Hmm, two of these tires look older. But other than that, this GT looks great. Almost too good to be true," I chuckled.
Lynn smiled. "Why don't we take it for a test drive then?"
"Hmm, yes, don't mind if I do," I replied.
"Let grab the keys, and we can take it for a spin," she said, turning to head back inside.
She returned with the keys, and we climbed into the car.
"Every guy who sees driving with such a beautiful woman will hate ," I told her.
She laughed, "Ooh! A handso guy with a silver tongue! But I think you're a bit too young for ," she said as her face lit with a brilliant smile.
"Do you need to see my license?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied.
After verifying my license, she handed it back and offered the keys.
She proceeded to tell about the features of this particular car. It was easy to tell that Lynn was an aficionado of fine vehicles.
She even explained the difference between the GT and the Cobra, including the front bumper, the round fog lights, and the Cobra-specific wheels.
I started up the car, clutch pedal down, shifted into first gear, and eased out of the lot onto the streets.
I noticed a faint noise from the brakes. It seed like there might be an issue with the brake master cylinder or the brake fluid.
As I cruised through the streets with one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear, Lynn settled back in her seat and enjoyed the ride.
She seed to be comfortable with my driving because she was relaxing on the passenger seat with her legs spread out.
The car handled like a dream.
It was such a pleasure to drive that I almost wished I could remain behind the wheel a bit longer.
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