Horns blare all around us.
“Why isn’t it starting?” She pushes the button again.
“Is your foot on the brake?”
“Why does that matter?” Her voice trembles as she slams the button.
While I’m pretty sure I could’ve driven with more grace and skill at the age of seven had I stolen a vehicle without any prior practice, I have to remember the most important thing: staycalm. My driving lessons with my dad over a decade ago weren’t without a few trials, but what I remember most is his calm demeanor. Nothing riled him—though I’m sure teaching me to drive wasn’t pleasant. His unbothered facade never cracked, and I think that helped me get the hang of the task at hand more quickly. No one learns best in a stressful environment, so getting riled up won’t help anyone.
A dick in a silver Volvo passes so close to my door I think he’s going to sideswipe us. Instead, he pounds his horn and flips us off.
“The gear shift needs to be in Park, and your foot has to be on the brake to start the truck,” I repeat the earlier instructions.
“Oh, right.” Miranda bites her bottom lip. Her eyes dart to the gear shift to make sure it’s in Park as she plants her foot on the brake. She pulls in a long breath and hits the ignition one more time. This time, the truck roars to life. She exhales.
“Great. Now, with your foot still on the brake pedal, slide the gear shift into drive.”
She nods and, slower than I thought possible, follows instructions. Before I can warn her about the minivan barreling toward us, she hits the gas, and the truck lunges into oncoming traffic. In a panic, Miranda slams on the brakes. She screams, her hands leaving the wheel to cover her mouth.
I brace for impact as the squeal of the minivan’s brakes burns the pavement. It stops just inches from my truck. The woman inside pounds her horn and flails her arms, shouting what I can only assume are obscenities in our direction.
“Make sure the coast is clear, and let’s get out of this intersection,” I urge.
Miranda flicks her head to either side and stomps on the gas. We lunge forward and leave the intersection with multiple middle fingers waving behind us.
“How about you turn in here?” I suggest that as we pass a high school.
Miranda pulls into the empty parking lot without using her blinker, but I’m so relieved to be off the main roads that I don’t bother to correct that. I point at a row of parking spaces and tell her to park.
The truck straddles the yellow line, taking up two spaces, but it’s Sunday and the lot is empty, so I keep my mouth shut. Once the truck’s parked and turned off, Miranda and I both step out.
My legs wobble—probably a trauma response—as I make my way around the truck toward her.
She bites the side of her lip and looks at me with furrowed brows. “I knew I wasn’t ready for the road,” her voice quivers, and her eyes fill with tears. “It was too soon. I’m so sorry. I’m completely awful at this.”
It’s hard to tell if she’s genuinely upset or if her body is coming down from the massive surge of adrenaline. Hell, my heart is hammering so wildly I could probably cry if I wanted to.
I reach her and take her hands. “No, you did fine.”
She pulls her hands free and places them on her hips. “Be so for real, Miles.”
My voice rises an octave. “What? You’re learning. No one’s perfect the first time.”
“We’ve been practicing in empty parking lots for weeks,” she says, throwing her hands out. “This was hardly my first time.”
“Well…” I search for the right words.
She points her index finger at me. “Don’t lie to me. I suck.”
I shake my head. “You don’t.”
“Miles,” she exhales, exasperated. “You know I do. Just admit it. I’m pretty sure a well-trained golden retriever could’ve done better than me. I literally almost killed us.”
“I wouldn’t say?—”
“Be honest.”
I choose words that won’t crush her spirit. “I mean, you’re learning.”
