We're Not Related Anymore...

Driving Lessons

Maddie: Three Years Ago

The first thing my dad does after he gets back from his honeymoon is teach me how to drive. Apparently, he won't let me 'get out of it' any longer. Hey, it's not my fault I have a fear of driving. Have you seen the way people drive on dirt roads?

I'm in the car, trying my best not to reverse into a lamppost when he breaks my concentration.

"Have you received any letters from the colleges you applied to," he asks, gripping his seatbelt with dear life as I inch the car backward.

"Yeah, I got a few rejections," I say, keeping my eyes on the rearview mirror. I stall the car again and he whips his head to me, frustration in his eyes.

"When are you going to get this right?" He sighs, looking more terrified than I've ever seen him. I shrug apologetically and start the car again. "Why didn't you tell me about the rejections?"

"I didn't think it was something one should broadcast proudly," I explain as I'm able to reverse into the narrow parking lot without stalling this time. I clap my hands triumphantly, proud of myself. My dad rolls his eyes, not giving me the satisfaction of even a hint of a smile.

"I guess I can still get the admissions team at-"

"Stop," I tell him, annoyed that he's bringing this up again. I don't want to get into a college solely because he pulled some strings for me. "Mom's taking me to New Jersey to talk to a guy she knows from Princeton."

"Take us back home," My dad says impatiently. "I don't know what's worse, Maddie. That you'll use your mom's connections to secure a place at a college but not mine or that you think you're Princeton material." I huff. It's not like I'm going to strongarm this guy into giving me a place. I'm just going there to meet him and talk to him. But I don't tell my dad this, knowing he'll twist my words to suit his narrative.

"It's simple. If people know you're my dad they'll know how I got in. If Princeton likes me, they won't know my mom's friends got me in. Plus what's wrong with dreaming big?" I ask, bullshitting my words, so distracted by our conversation that I don't pay too much attention to my surroundings as I start driving on the road again.

We were practicing in the almost abandoned parking lot outside an old Chucky's. And now that I'm on the road, I have to lower my sunglasses as the late afternoon starts to hurt my eyes.

"You're a B student at best, Maddie. And your best subject is English."

"What's wrong with being good at English?" I demand, offended. It's one of the best subjects to ever grace a school's curriculum. That and History. Unfortunately, there are parts of History that I find boring. I wish they'd teach us things like the rise and fall of dynasties and not harp on about the same American revolutions we've been taught since Elementary school.

"You speak the language," my dad mumbles and I take my eyes off the road, for just a second (I swear) to glare at him when he shouts at me, "Maddie, look out."

I was going just slightly over the stipulated speed and in my effort to slow down, we come to such an abrupt stop that my seatbelt digs in painfully to my chest.

I look out at the windscreen, staring with wide eyes at the young man who's put his hands out to stop the car that's brushed against his calves. At least I stopped before I did any damage.

"Um, whoops," I say sheepishly, not looking over at my father who I know is giving me the most intense stink eye. The young guy moves over from the hood of the car to lean near my window. He knocks on the glass and I roll the window down agonizingly slowly.