Motherless

46

I was sitting in the passenger seat of Amanda's tiny hatchback, tapping my fingers nervously against my leg. The smell of her peppermint gum mixed with the faint scent of her vanilla air freshener. My stomach felt like it was doing cartwheels.

"You know," Amanda said, pretending to adjust her imaginary glasses, "if you fail this driving test, I will haunt your nightmares forever."

I glared at her. "You don't even know where I'm parking yet."

"Oh, please," she scoffed, dramatically waving a hand. "I have visions. Visions of you hitting a cone, spinning in a perfect 360, and taking out a fire hydrant on Main Street."

"I'm not going to hit anything," I muttered, clutching the straps of my backpack.

Amanda leaned closer, her forehead almost touching mine, and whispered conspiratorially: "You say that now, but so did Napoleon before he got exiled. And so did the Titanic, bless its little iceberg-loving heart."

I snorted. "You are literally insane."

She shrugged with mock innocence. "I prefer eccentric genius. Besides, someone has to make this terrifying experience slightly bearable. Lucky for you, it's me."

We pulled up to the testing center, and my stomach did a full gymnastic routine.

"Okay," she said, turning off the car. "We're early, which is good. Gives us time to talk about the three rules of success."

I raised an eyebrow. "You made rules for this?"

"Of course, I did. I'm a nurse. I follow protocols for everything. Rule number one—don't hit the instructor."

I blinked. "Why would I—"

"Some people panic," she said seriously. "You flinch, you swerve, and next thing you know, you're both in a bush. Not cute."

I covered my face. "Auntie—"

"Rule number two," she went on, ignoring me, "don't flirt with the instructor."

I looked at her like she'd lost it. "I'm sixteen!"

"And some of them are twenty-one! Hormones are dangerous!"

I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. "You're unbelievable."

"Rule number three," she said, lowering her voice dramatically, "if you fail, we cry in the car, not in the parking lot. Got it?"

I nodded through my laughter. "Got it."

She reached over, cupping the back of my neck the way she does when she's being affectionate. "You're gonna be fine, baby girl. You're smart, steady, and stubborn. Channel all that Winslow energy, okay? You got this."

"Thanks, Auntie," I whispered.

When my name was finally called, my legs felt like noodles. The instructor looked serious but not mean kind of like one of those substitute teachers who secretly root for you.

I remembered Auntie's rules especially number one and kept both hands glued to the wheel. My signals were clean, my turns a little wide, but no cones were harmed. When we pulled back in, he smiled.

"Congratulations, Miss Winslow. You passed."

I froze. "Wait—what?"

"You passed."

Auntie Amanda screamed before I could. "That's my niece! I told you, baby! I told you Winslows don't play!"

Everyone in the waiting area looked at her like she was auditioning for a reality show, but I didn't care. I was too busy laughing and maybe crying a little while she danced around the car.