“Who else asked you a weird question?”
“Some kid at school asked me if I’d heard of parallel universes. What were you saying about dreams?”
We’re nearing the parking lot now for the Department of Motor Vehicles, and I should be focusing on my test. Instead, we’re talking about dreams. This is not the way I thought this drive would go.
“If you had a dream, you’d want to pursue it, right?” Dad asks, keeping his eyes on the road. “Like how you love acting so much. You wouldn’t let anything stop you, right?”
“I don’t know, I guess not. Why? Do you know something I don’t know about the play? Tryouts aren’t until this afternoon.” Then my heart starts to pound faster. Did Mr. Polansky call home to tell my parents I wasn’t going to get it? Was my father trying to warn me?
We pull into a spot at the DMV, and Dad shuts off the car as my heart continues to pound. “No,” he says, “it’s not about you.”
I’m embarrassed, yet relieved. “Oh.”
“Maybe we should talk about this afterwards. You have much more important things to do right now than listen to me blabber on.”
Before I can argue, he hustles me through the doors of the gray brick building. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. Dad peers up at the different signs hanging from the ceiling and motions me to the far right line.
“Who has a dream then?” I ask as we make our way through the rows of hard plastic chairs. “Is this about Rob choosing which college to go to?”
He shakes his head. “You really need to focus now. Do you have your information?”
I dig through my bag and find the folder where I put my birth certificate and the card from driver’s ed saying I passed the written exam. Luckily three of the five people in line ahead of us were actually standing in the wrong line, so we reach the front in only a few minutes. The tired-looking woman behind the counter holds out her hand, palm up, and I give her the two documents. She enters some information in the computer and then goes to use the photocopy machine. She doesn’t appear to be an overly happy person. In fact, as I look around, nobody seems very happy to be here.
The woman returns and gives me my papers along with a small orange form with my name printed on top. “Give this to your instructor,” she says in a monotone voice and points me to a door on the other side of the building. “Wait there and someone will come get you.”
We do as we’re told and join two other kids and their parents. The girl is aggressively chewing on a cuticle. I’m afraid any minute she’s going to start gnawing on her entire finger. The boy is staring straight ahead, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again. It’s very rhythmic. Now that the time is almost here, my heart starts beating faster. I wonder if the swaying boy can hear it.
The boy’s mother asks me and the other girl if our birthdays were yesterday, like her son’s. The girl nods, still chewing, while I shake my head and tell her mine is today, Leap Day. I’m slightly disappointed when that evokes no reaction. A minute later a woman comes through the door and calls the girl’s name. She looks panicked and doesn’t move. Her father pushes her gently out the door. A minute later another woman comes and takes the boy and his mother. Now my hands are starting to get numb from anxiety. What if they can’t grip the steering wheel? I flex my fingers and turn to ask Dad more questions, but he is very absorbed in a brochure called
Teens and Driving.
A few minutes later an old man comes through the door and holds out his hand. Am I supposed to shake it? I hesitate and look at my dad. This guy is so old he probably gave my Dad
his
driving test! The man must sense my confusion because he sighs, holds up his clipboard, and says, “I need the orange form.”
I quickly hand it to him. The tag on his jacket reads instructor, and below it, joe.
“Follow me,” Instructor Joe says and shuffles back through the door. He leads us to the curb and starts to get in the passenger side of a light blue car. I don’t move.
“Aren’t you coming?” he asks.
“Don’t I take the test in my own car?”
He shakes his head. “Everyone uses the regulation cars now. Insurance issue.”
I look pleadingly at my father. How could I do this in a different car? Dad’s is the only car I ever practiced in besides the one at school, and that was so long ago.
“Isn’t there any way she can use mine?” Dad asks the man.
He shakes his head. “No, sir. This one or nothing.”
Alrighty then. I run around and slide in the driver’s side. My father waits on the curb with his hands clasped tightly in front of him. I put on my seat belt and stare at the unfamiliar dashboard. For a second everything blurs and I’m afraid I’m going to cry. And I’m not a crier.
“Take a minute to get the lay of the land and let me know when you’re all set,” Instructor Joe says, shutting his eyes.
I take a deep breath like the driving instructor at school told us. Steering wheel. Lights. Horn. Gas pedal. Brake pedal. Odometer. Radio, probably won’t need that. Emergency brake,
better
not need that. Rearview mirror. Side mirrors. Okay. I’m no longer on the verge of tears.
I tell him I’m ready and wait for instructions. He doesn’t say anything, and finally I look over. His eyes are still shut and he’s sitting very still. I wait another few seconds before it dawns on me that maybe Instructor Joe is
dead
! My hands start to sweat and I give the horn a little honk because I can’t think of anything else to do. His eyes pop open and he asks me if I’m ready, as though he hadn’t just returned from the grave. I wipe my palms on my pants and manage to nod.
The next few minutes are filled with:
Start the car, pull away from the curb, turn right, turn left, honk, turn on the wipers, do a K-turn, go in reverse.
I peek out of the corner of my eye at the marks he’s making on his clipboard, but he keeps it close to his chest. My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
The only thing left now is the parallel parking. “Please maneuver the vehicle between those two orange cones,” he tells me.
I approach the front cone and pull a half-car length ahead. I take another deep breath and slowly start backing the car into the spot. I realize too late that I’m about three feet away from the curb. I try to straighten out but it’s no use. As a last-ditch effort I back up again and —
yikes
— hit the cone. Maybe he didn’t notice? My heart sinks. I sit very still while he makes a lot of marks on the clipboard. I’ll still pass as long as I didn’t mess up anything else. I run the whole test back through my head. Did I remember to signal when I turned left? Did I check the rearview mirror before I backed up?
“You can drive back to the building now,” he tells me.
I pull up to the curb, where my father is waiting, still wringing his hands. Instructor Joe undoes his seat belt and gets out. I follow straight away.
“Well?” my dad asks. “Did you pass?”
“I don’t know yet.” I turn to Instructor Joe and wait for him to say something. He makes a mark on the small orange form and hands it back to me. I look down. The box next to the word pass has a checkmark in it.
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” I tell him, jumping up and down. Then, without really meaning to, I give the old man a hug. He doesn’t hug me back, but he seems to soften a bit. I didn’t let anyone down, that’s the important thing.
“I knew you could do it, honey!” my father says, swinging me around. “Congratulations!”
Together we practically run back inside the office and wait in another line to hand in the form and get my license. The boy who was waiting with us before is at the front of the line, but I don’t see the finger-chewing girl anywhere. I hope she’s okay. It certainly feels different waiting in line now compared to before. Not only do I feel relieved, but I actually feel
older.
Josie Taylor, licensed driver. One scary thing down, two to go. But if tryouts go badly, I’m sure I won’t even want to go to the lake.
When I hand in the form the woman types a few words into her computer. She double-checks my form again. “I’m going to have to manually type in your birthday, because the computer isn’t recognizing it.” She lumbers over to a desk and sits behind what must be one of the first typewriters ever made. I think of my leapmate Chris. No wonder his mother’s doctor thought it would be easier to give him a normal birthday.
A minute later she’s back and asks me to verify my name, address, height, weight, and eye color. I sign my name and she gestures for me to stand a few feet to the right to have my picture taken. Not surprisingly, there’s no mirror on the wall. That would have been too thoughtful. I hurriedly smooth my hair down and hope there’s no food in my teeth. Although if there was, it would have been there since breakfast, and that means no one would have mentioned it to me all morning and I’d be pissed.
I step onto the black
X
and before I even have a chance to smile, the woman clicks the button.
“Wait, can I try that again?”
She shakes her head. “Sorry.”
I don’t move off of the
X.
“Just one more time?”
The woman shakes her head and calls out, “Next.”
I grumble and move off to the side. The next woman on line must be getting her old license renewed because she’s at least ten years older than I am. As soon as she steps onto the
X
she breaks out into this huge smile. She clearly knows the score. While I wait for my name to be announced I call Katy and let it ring a few times to signal her. I sure hope she still has her cell on vibrate. Teachers will take your phone away if it rings during school. Five minutes later my name is called. I go up to yet another window.
“Congratulations,” the skinny man behind the counter says with a big grin. He is the first person here who’s in a good mood. He hands me the license. I’m afraid to look at it.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
I hand it to my father. “You look, I’m too scared.”
“Hey, this is a great picture!” he says.
“Really?” My heart leaps.
“No,” he says, stifling a laugh.
“No?” I grab the license from him and force myself to look. My face is flushed and one eye is half closed. My lips are kind of puckered. I look like a sick fish.
“Hey, at least your hair looks pretty,” he says.
I frown. “It’s really awful, isn’t it?” Then I start to laugh and my father leans over to look again.
“I’ve seen worse,” he says as we head out to the car.
“When?”
He pretends not to hear me.
On the way back to school I stare at the license, struck by how official it looks. It looks even cooler when I cover my picture with my thumb. “Hey Dad, if you want, I can drop you at home and take the car back to school with me.”
“No thanks,” he says. “Besides, you’re only insured to drive Grandma’s car.”
My parents still call the Shark
Grandma’s car
even though she died eight years ago. Sometimes, when it rains, I can still catch a whiff of her White Shoulders perfume. “You added me to the insurance before I passed the test?”
“I told you I knew you could do it.”
“I almost didn’t. Did you see that parallel parking job?”
“I couldn’t watch.”
“I wish the instructor hadn’t been watching.”
We pull up to the school and I check my watch. Physics class should be almost over. “Thanks for taking me, Dad,” I tell him, jumping out of the car. “Let me know when you want to finish that conversation about the dreams.”
“Soon,” he says. Then, “Wait, this came for you this morning from UPS.” He hands me a box about the size of a regular tube of toothpaste.
I turn the box over in my hands. The postmark says “Boston.” It must be from my leapmate Niki. I shove it deep into my book-bag. I’ll open it at home. It will give me something to look forward to. As expected, the halls are empty when I get inside and it’s a little spooky. Just me and the ghosts of students past. Maybe even poor Hunter Jr., who was lost before his time. I stop at my locker and grab my lunch. The door to my physics class is open so I peer in. The class is gathered around Mr. Lipsky’s desk, watching some pulley-and-lever experiment. I enter as quietly as possible and set my bag down on my desk. I join the group and stand next to Zoey, who I am happy to see made it to school after all. I should probably tell her about the smudge of orange on the side of her neck, but I don’t want to upset her.
As soon as she sees me she grabs my arm and asks in a loud whisper, “Did you get it?”
I nod, and she grips my arm even tighter and starts jumping up and down. “So the lake is on for tonight!” Between her fingers are more orange streaks.
“Yup.” I’m starting to wonder if my friends are looking forward to this initiation more than I am.
“Can I see your license?” she asks when the experiment is over. I quickly change the subject. “So I hear there was a self-tanning incident this morning?”
She nods. “I was as orange as, well, an orange. I looked like I came from another planet.”
“Welcome to my driver’s license picture.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“Trust me, it’s that bad.”
I open my notebook to get out my homework when Jeff Grand comes over and says, “So?”
I smile. “I passed.”
He looks confused and then says, “Passed what?”
“My driver’s test. What did you think I meant?”
His cheeks redden. “Actually I was talking about Katy. Did you tell her I wanted to ask her to the prom?”
Oops, I had totally forgotten about that. “I haven’t told her yet. But you should know that only juniors and seniors can ask someone to the prom.”
Again, he looks confused. “Oh, I didn’t realize that.” “There’s always the Spring Dance if you like her that much.”
“It’s not that I like her, exactly.”
“Then why do you want to ask her to the prom?”
Jeff is apparently stumped by what should be an easy question. He gives his head a little shake and goes back to his desk. And women are supposed to be hard to figure out?
10:35
A.M.
– 12:15
A.M.