"Honey, this is silly. You need to come into the motel RIGHT NOW. I already checked it out and it looks fine. Now come on."
You whine to yourself and to your parents but get out of the car anyway. You knew your parents wouldn't understand. Parents never do. Especially your mom. She doesn't believe in that hocus-pocus negative vibes stuff.
You grab your bags and head to the door of your room. The numbers on the door look old and rusty--they read "13".
"Oh, great. What luckier number could we get?" you say to no one in particular.
"C'mon, dear. Superstitions aren't real," your mother says, pushing you into the room.
"Oh right, Mom, I forgot--you're ALWAYS right," you say sarcastically.
"Don't talk to your mother that way," your father snaps. You see your little brother Jordan jumping from one twin bed to the other. "Jordan, get down honey," your dad says. Jordan is only three and doesn't talk much.
"See, isn't this nice?" your father says, putting his hands on his hips and letting out a large breath. With his red checked shirt, large muscles and posture, he looks a little bit like a lumberjack. This makes you chuckle to yourself.
You put your bags down by one of the beds.
"Mom, can I go get a soda?" you ask.
"We have soda in the cooler, honey," your dad says, also putting away his bags.
"But all we have is Diet Coke, Diet Caffeine Free Coke, Diet Coke with Lime, and Diet Coke with Lemon," you say. "Those are totally nasty."
Your mother walks over and hands you four quarters. "Be back in five minutes," she says. "There's a soda machine down the walk a little bit."
"Thanks mom."
"Come straight back! Don't talk to strangers!" your dad calls as you slam the door shut.
"What a loser," you say to yourself.
On your way to the soda machine, you meet: