Stall.
Again.
Stall.
I rested my forehead briefly against the steering wheel. “We’re getting to know each other. This is going to take a little time. I can do this.”
I started it once more and focused on my feet, the pressure, the timing. The truck shuddered but stayed alive a second longer this time before dying again.
I repeated the process, over and over, until I could inch out of the garage. Just as I was about to add some gas, I lifted my foot off the clutch too fast and it stalled again.
I flinched, hands tightening on the wheel, and took a breath through my nose.
“I am learning,” I informed the dashboard. “You do not need to announce every mistake.”
The engine remained silent.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone step out of the inn and come to stand beside Dad. Inwardly I groaned. I didn’t want more people seeing my bad attempts at figuring out how to lift my left foot and depress the gas with my right foot at the same time. I always had bad coordination. In sports, I was a total clutz.
“Is that the truck?” Jane’s voice carried across the lot, hopeful and worried in equal measure.
“Yes,” I called back. “Everything is fine.”
That was a lie, but it was an optimistic one.
The engine turned over again, rough but alive. I eased the clutch up slowly, carefully, the way Dad had told me to. The truck shuddered like it was considering cooperation, then stalled again.
“Oh,” Kitty said brightly as she joined Dad and Jane. “You stalled.”
“I noticed,” I replied.
Jane standing a safe distance away, hands clasped in front of her, her face a study in concern. Kitty hovered beside her, arms crossed, clearly invested. Meri sat on the steps near the side entrance, a book open in her lap, her legs stretched out like she had every intention of settling in and watching the show.
“Do you want help?” Jane asked.
“No,” I said immediately. “I want silence.”
Jane nodded. “Of course.”
Kitty leaned forward. “You’re supposed to give it more gas.”
“I am not,” I said.
“Yes you are,” Kitty insisted. “I watched a video once.”
“I am begging you,” I said, “to stop watching videos.”
Meri did not look up from her book. “She’s overthinking it.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“She always does,” Meri added.
I restarted the truck and tried again. The clutch came up. The truck rolled forward a foot.
I gasped. “Did you see that?”
Jane clapped softly. “Yes!”
