Hey, You!

Teenage Runaway

The day I got my driver's license, I immediately drove to my boyfriend's house in Corona del Mar. He lived at the end of a cul-de-sac. After we hung out, I thought it would be fun to test my new skills by peeling down the street while he waved goodbye. Your brand-new blue Jeep Grand Cherokee, parked on the side of the street about halfway through my turn, thought otherwise. I tried to hit the brakes, but—go figure—I hit the gas pedal instead. Then, instead of leaving my insurance info and contact number on the windshield of your half-totaled car, I just drove off. Eventually, you found the car and probably wondered who the hell smashed into it. Now you know: A 16-year-old girl who just got her license and didn't want to lose it that same day. If it makes you feel any better, my parents gave me hell for scratching up their car when I got home.

Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/o OC Weekly, 1666 N. Main St., Ste. 500, Santa Ana, CA 92701-7417, or e-mail us at letters@ocweekly.com .

 
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