by Piper Banks
The second time Dex called, later that afternoon, I was sitting at the kitchen table in the beach house. I was trying to study for my driving test the next day, but was really just staring into space, contemplating everything in my life that had gone wrong over the past twenty-four hours and the very real possibility that it was going to get even worse tomorrow if I failed the exam. Which I was pretty sure was going to happen. This time when my phone rang, I was tempted to pick it up—my heart gave a small leap of excitement when I saw who was calling—but I hesitated, still unsure of what I should say to him.
Dex stopped calling after that, and instead began texting me.
I’m sorry, the first text read. Can we talk?
The second, which arrived five minutes later, read, Please stop ignoring me . . .
Then, a little while later, If I don’t talk to you, good luck tomorrow.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little childish?” Hannah asked, reading over my shoulder. I jumped. I hadn’t even heard her come into the kitchen.
“Are you training to be a ninja or something?” I asked, pressing one hand over my heart, willing it to slow back down to a normal rate.
“You have to talk to him eventually,” Hannah said, ignoring my ninja crack.
“I know,” I muttered. “I will.”
“When?”
“When I can think of something to say. Besides, I have my driving test tomorrow. I need to stay focused on that. I’ll talk to him after it’s over.”
“You’re not seriously worried about your driving test, are you? I don’t know anyone who’s failed,” Hannah said.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked.
“Yes. Doesn’t it?” Hannah asked.
“Not even a little bit,” I said.
Hannah went to the refrigerator, opened the door, and stared in. Then, somewhat sadly, she closed the door.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m hungry,” Hannah said.
“So eat something.”
“Can’t. I have a modeling job tomorrow,” Hannah said.
“Another casting call?” I asked.
“No, I’ve already been hired! Didn’t I tell you? Jojo, the photographer I worked with for the catalogue shoot, got me the job. It’s for an advertising campaign for UFO Computers,” Hannah said.
“Isn’t that a national store?” I asked.
My stepsister nodded happily. “It’s a really big deal that I was chosen. That’s why I don’t want to eat anything and end up with a tummy bulge.”
“That’s great about the job, but you can’t go the whole day without eating,” I said. It was a horrifying prospect. I get weak if I go more than three waking hours without eating.
“I’ll have a salad or something for dinner,” Hannah said vaguely. She got herself a glass of water and then sat down at the table across from me. Without asking permission, she picked up my phone and began scrolling through the messages Dex had sent me.
“Hey!” I said. “Those are private!”
Hannah ignored me. “If you’re not going to talk to him, you have to at least text him back,” she said bossily. “Hmm. What should you say? I know!” She began to type into my phone.
“Stop!” I said indignantly. I tried to grab the phone out of Hannah’s hands, but she turned one shoulder away, deftly moving out of my reach. “What are you saying?”
“Here, see for yourself.” Hannah handed me the phone.
Tx for the good luck! Let’s meet up after my test. Beach at 2?
“You didn’t send it, did you?” I asked.
“Not yet. Why, is there something you want to add?”
“Yes. I want to delete everything after good luck, including the exclamation point,” I said. “And instead put in that I’ll call him after my test is over. If I pass. If I fail, I’m going to spend the rest of my life hiding in shame.”
Hannah grabbed the phone back, before I could type it myself. “I’ll do it,” she said. But instead of deleting what I’d asked her to, she instead hit a few buttons, and the phone let out a familiar chirp.
I gaped at her. “Did you just send your message?”
“Yep,” Hannah said, tucking her hair behind her ears and looking generally pleased with herself.
“Without changing it like I asked you to?”
Hannah nodded. “It was better my way,” she said.
I grabbed my phone out of her hand, wondering if there was some way to undo what she had just done, but the phone chirruped again, notifying me of Dex’s response: I’ll meet you by the lifeguard shack. CU then! Love you. XXOO.
Hannah leaned forward, so she could read, too. “Look. He sent you hugs and kisses. That’s sweet,” she said.
“I can’t believe you!” I exclaimed, pulling the phone out of her reach and stuffing it in my pocket to prevent any further rogue texting on Hannah’s part. Even so, I couldn’t help feeling just the slightest bit better. And it wasn’t just the L-word. I was going to see Dex tomorrow. And no matter what happened, no matter what we ended up saying to each other, it had to be better than the horrible uncertainty I’d been feeling ever since learning that he was leaving town. Nothing was worse than not knowing what was going to happen.
“Now we have to figure out what you’re going to say to Dex when you see him tomorrow,” Hannah said. “What’s your goal?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going to ask him to give up his scholarship and stay in Orange Cove?” Hannah asked,
“No! Of course not!” I said. “I mean, I hate that he’s leaving, but . . . no.” I shook my head, resolute. “I would never ask him to give up such a good opportunity. I wouldn’t want him to.”
“Then why are you so mad?”
“I’m not mad. I’m just hurt that he didn’t tell me himself, that I had to hear it from one of his friends,” I explained. “And, yeah, I guess I’m also worried about what this will mean for us in the future. It’s like we just got together, and it’s been so great, and now he’s going away.” I shrugged, feeling tears start to prick at my eyes. “What happens now?”
“Do you think you’ll break up?” Hannah asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to, but maybe . . . maybe it would be for the best,” I said, feeling hollow.
“That’s exactly what you should tell him!”
“I should tell him I want to break up with him?”
“No. Tell him that you don’t want to break up, but you’ll understand if he does,” Hannah said. She leaned forward, her eyes bright. “Haven’t you ever heard that saying about having a bird fly away from you?”
I blinked at her. “Huh?”
“You know. That thing about how if you have a pet bird, you should let it out of its cage and see if it flies away?”
“That’s not exactly how the saying goes,” I said.
“What is it, then?”
“Something along the lines of if you have a caged bird, you should let it fly free. If it flies away and never returns, you know it wasn’t yours to begin with,” I said.
“Exactly. But if it returns to you, then you know it’s true love!” Hannah said, sighing happily. She took a sip of her water.
“Or that the bird got hungry, and didn’t know how to find its own food out in the wild,” I said. “And you do know it’s a metaphor, right? You’re not supposed to actually go around freeing birds.”
“Maybe I should be a relationship counselor. What do you think?”
“I thought you wanted to be a model.”
“I could be both! I’ll model for a few years, and then when I get too old, I’ll be a therapist. Just like Christy Turlington. Only she didn’t go into therapy. She went into yoga. But it’s practically the same!” Hannah said. “And look at all of the good work I’ve been doing around here. Speaking of which, have you heard from Charlie?”
“Yeah, she called last night. Luke asked her for her number, and Finn was really jealous,” I
said, even though I hated to encourage my stepsister in her meddling, especially after the texting incident.
“You see?” Hannah was delighted. “I have a gift for bringing people together! What do you have to do to become a relationship counselor?”
“I’m not sure. It’s probably something you have to go to college for. Maybe even get a postgraduate degree,” I said.
“Hmm.” Hannah looked thoughtful, tapping her fingers on the table. “It’s something to think about. That sounds like a lot of work, though. I don’t know if I want to be in school for that long. I don’t like studying.”
“Speaking of which,” I said. I waved my driving test manual at Hannah. “I have to read through this at least one more time before tomorrow. And then when Dad comes home, he’s going to take me out for one last practice session. Until I get this driving exam over with, I don’t want to think of anything but three-point turns and merging.”
“Okay,” Hannah said, standing. She picked up her glass of water and took one last, longing look at the refrigerator. “Do you think if I eat an apple it will make me look bloated tomorrow?”
“No,” I said.
“I don’t know if I should risk it,” Hannah said.
“That’s one thing in favor of a career in counseling—you wouldn’t have to starve yourself,” I said.
“That’s true. On the other hand, you also don’t get to wear designer clothes and have everyone tell you how beautiful you are all the time,” Hannah said. She gave me a broad smile, grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl on the counter, and swept from the room.
Chapter Twenty-six
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
RE: Driving is Overrated
Darling,
Good luck on your driving test today!
But if you should happen to fail, remember that you don’t need a driver’s license to get around London. You just take taxis everywhere! It’s much more chic than driving yourself.
XXXOOO,
Sadie
P.S. You are coming, aren’t you, darling? The suspense is killing me!
The examiner for my driving test, Mr. Greene, was a short man with a large stomach, hunched shoulders, and a head that was completely bald except for some greasy gray-brown fringe that looped from one ear around the back of his head to the other ear. Mr. Greene sat in the passenger seat of my dad’s car, clipboard in hand.
“When you’re ready, put the car in gear and head east on Ocean Drive,” he said.
I looked over at my dad, who was waiting for me on a sidewalk bench, as I’d refused to let him sit in the backseat of the car during my test. He gave me an encouraging thumbs-up. I smiled back, drew in a deep breath in an attempt to quiet the butterflies zooming around my stomach, and shifted the car into drive. I was very glad I’d given up trying to learn how to drive Dex’s stick shift car—this was going to be hard enough with the easier automatic.
I tapped my foot on the gas pedal a bit too hard, and the car jerked forward. Blushing, I compensated by pulling away from the sidewalk so slowly that a group of moms pushing jogging strollers blew past me.
Mr. Greene made a tick on his clipboard.
“What did you just check? I haven’t failed already, have I?” I asked, my voice high and squeaky.
“Don’t worry about what I’m writing,” Mr. Greene said, in the sort of desperately-bored-bordering-on-clinically-depressed tone that made me think he was regretting his career choice. “Just focus on your driving.”
“Okay. But do you mind if I ask what’s on your checklist?” I asked hopefully.
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes, you mind, or yes, I can ask?”
“Yes, I mind. Take a right at the stop sign.”
I managed to switch on my right-hand turn signal and then come to a complete stop without causing either of us to get whip-lash. I looked both ways to make sure there weren’t any cars coming, and then successfully made the turn. My self-confidence grew. I hadn’t hit anything yet! Or driven onto the sidewalk!
“Proceed to the traffic light and make a legal left-hand turn,” Mr. Greene said.
“Okay,” I said, wondering what exactly he meant by legal. Did that just mean I should wait for a green arrow? Or was something else involved? Panic welled up inside me, and I struggled to stay calm. I signaled a left-hand turn, moved over to the left-hand-turn lane, and waited for the light to turn. Next to me, Mr. Greene made another check mark. I desperately wished I knew what all of his check marks meant. Was there an automatic fail box? And if I did fail, would he tell me right away or would I still have to complete the test? And what would happen if I hit something? Or—even more horrific—someone?
“Have you ever had anyone get into an accident in the middle of their driving test?” I asked nervously.
“Yes,” Mr. Greene said.
“Have you ever had anyone hit someone? A pedestrian or a bicyclist?”
“Yes,” Mr. Greene said again.
I was instantly dying to know what had happened, but Mr. Greene didn’t seem like the chatty type. In any case, the green arrow lit up, so I gently stepped on the gas and edged forward into the intersection. Happily, I managed not to hit any pedestrians, other vehicles, or signposts while doing so.
Mr. Greene continued to give me commands in a depressed monotone. I completed a three-point turn, backed up fifty feet, merged into a lane of traffic, and pulled into a parking spot outside a dry cleaner. This last task caused me the most problems—I pulled in just a tad too far, and the front tires bumped up against the edge of the sidewalk—but it was hardly noticeable. Or, at least, I hoped so. Mr. Greene simply made another check mark on his list. Luckily, I didn’t have to parallel-park—the one driving task I’d never yet managed to do properly.
Mr. Greene finally told me to pull back up outside the Department of Motor Vehicles, where the test had begun. There were a few agonizing moments where he scribbled something on his clipboard with a ballpoint pen—What was he writing? What?—but then he capped his pen and then made rather a production out of blowing his nose on an old-fashioned cotton handkerchief. I had the feeling that he was enjoying himself—for the first time—by keeping me in suspense.
Well? Did I pass? Did I? I wanted to scream at him. But instead, I remained outwardly calm, my hands clenched on the steering wheel in the ten-and-two position, and waited while he tore off the top sheet of his pad. My dad was hovering anxiously outside on the sidewalk, peering into the car.
“You passed,” Mr. Greene finally said, handing me the form.
“I passed?” I gasped.
Mr. Greene nodded dourly. I was so excited, I almost lunged forward to hug him, but managed to get a hold of myself in time. He smelled like cough drops, and besides, I didn’t think he was the hugging sort.
“Thank you! Thank you so much!” I said.
Mr. Greene nodded again, and huffed and groaned as he climbed out of the car. My dad leaned forward into the car and looked at me. “Well? What happened?”
“I passed!”
“Yes!” Dad yelled, raising his hands in two triumphant fists. “You did it!”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” I said, but I was grinning, too.
Dad climbed back in the car and kissed me on the cheek. “Congratulations, sweetheart!”
“Thanks,” I said. I could still hardly believe it. I’d really passed!
“So? Now what?” Dad asked.
“Now I have to park, and then go inside and have them process the paperwork and take my picture. And then I get my license!”
“My baby is getting her driver’s license. It seems like just yesterday you were crawling around on those fat little hands and feet,” Dad sighed.
“Dad!”
“This is cause for a celebration. What do you say we go in, get your license, and then later the four of us will all go out to dinner somewhere?” Dad asked.
I hesitated. Dinner out with
Peyton was not my idea of a celebration. Dad seemed to read my mind.
“Or, if you’d rather, we can just go out on our own. Just the two of us,” he suggested.
But that didn’t seem right, either. And I had to admit that ever since Dad and Peyton had started seeing the marriage therapist, Peyton hadn’t been nearly as critical and unpleasant as she normally was. Weeks had gone by without her suggesting I needed a nose job or remarking on how large my feet are.
“No, we’ll all go together,” I said, forcing myself to sound cheerful at the prospect.
“Are you sure?” Dad looked hopeful. “It’s your celebration. We can do whatever you want.”
“I’m sure,” I said.
“Thanks, honey,” Dad said, patting my hand. “And for the record, I’m really proud of you. And I’m officially terrified at the idea that you’re now going to be out driving on the roads. I’ll probably never have a peaceful night’s sleep again.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
My dad offered to lend me his car so I could drive over to the beach to meet Dex. But the public beach was a little less than a mile away down the coast from our house, and I thought the walk would help clear my head. I tried not to mind how relieved my dad looked.
As I walked along the beach, my bare feet leaving a faint trail in the wet sand, lingering euphoria at having passed my driving test was quickly replaced by yet another bout of stomach-twisting anxiety. What was I going to say to Dex? What would he say to me? Were we about to break up?
I hadn’t reached any conclusions by the time I spotted the lifeguard shack set up high on stilts at the back edge of the public beach. Brightly colored umbrellas were dotted along the beach. Sunbathers lounged in chairs, their faces turned up to the sky, while young children scooped sand into buckets with shovels as the water lapped up over their feet. There wasn’t much wind today, and the waves rolling in were low and calm, so the beach was largely free of surfers. Only a few kids with boogie boards fastened to their ankles with Velcro cuffs were attempting to ride the gentle waves.
