The Chance You Won't Return (17 page)

“We don’t have to exchange high fives,” I said. “Jim and I just had lunch.”

“Since when are you and Jim Wiley having lunch? I know he stood up for you and all, but I didn’t think you exactly hung out.”

“We didn’t. Until now.” I wasn’t sure how to tell Theresa about what had been going on with Jim and me — or even what to tell her without making my mom a part of that. “He’s been helping me drive.”

Theresa’s eyebrows disappeared under her bangs. “You’re actually driving?”

“Mostly in straight lines,” I said.

“So he’s, like, your secret driving coach? Why would he do that?”

I rolled my eyes. “Because he wants hook up with me in the driver’s ed car. That Volvo is a major turn-on.” I eyed Theresa. “Actually, we kind of made out during the football game.”

She stopped in her tracks. Since our arms were still linked, I jerked to a halt. “Are you kidding me? And you’ve been holding on to this since Friday? Who
are
you? This is why people invented texting, Winchester! Where were you guys, under the bleachers?”

“We’re not freshmen,” I said. “We went to that grassy hill behind the library.”

“Are you guys together now?”

“No, that’s basically been the extent of it. That and lunch today. So I don’t even know what’s going on.” It should have bothered me, not knowing where Jim and I stood — were we going to hook up again, or were we dating, or were we just friends and the making out had been kind of accidental? But somehow I didn’t want an explanation just yet. A boyfriend would expect to come over and hang out sometimes, meet my parents eventually. For now it was better to keep our relationship — whatever that might be — as far away from home as possible.

“You should invite him to Halloween,” Theresa said. “It’s coming up, and Josh wants to do something. Horror movies, maybe. Do you think your parents would let us stay over?”

“Um, my dad has to get up early —”

“Oh, right, the mail thing,” she said. “Wherever, then. Invite Jim and see what he says. Then maybe you can tell what’s going on between you guys.”

“Right.” Even without my mom, I wasn’t sure if I wanted Jim and my friends to all hang out just yet. For now, being with him was like my own secret thing. I liked having a small part of my life that wasn’t anyone else’s and wasn’t messed up in some way.

“Don’t worry,” Theresa said. “We’ll figure something out.”

I unlinked my am. “Right. We’ll figure it out.”

Caroline Lavale was practicing reversing by a curb when Theresa sold me out. “Hey, Mr. Kane, you should let Alex try.” She glanced at me with a little smile, like I should have thanked her when really I was wondering why she wanted to torture me.

On my left, Edward Baker grabbed for the door handle and made like he was going to roll out. “Oh, no,” he said. “This time she’s going to drive into a brick wall.”

“Edward, stop being a drama queen,” Mr. Kane said.

“She’s been practicing,” Theresa said.

“Just a little,” I said. For a second, I was afraid she’d specify the person I’d been practicing with, whom Mr. Kane probably wouldn’t consider a great driving instructor, but Theresa just kept glimpsing at me with those half smiles, like we had this great secret.

Mr. Kane looked at me through the rearview mirror. Caroline had stopped the car and put it in park, like she wasn’t sure if she should let me have a turn. If this had been two weeks ago, before he met my mother, Mr. Kane would have been glaring. But now his eyes were softer and kind of hopeful. “Have you been practicing, Alex?”

I squirmed against the seat belt. “Kind of,” I said. “Just forward and backward, mostly. Nothing really impressive.” For the last couple of weeks, I’d been happy to sit in the backseat and watch everyone else pull off three-point turns and parallel parking and other magnificent feats of automobilery. And even though I’d managed to drive a few times without killing anyone, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to do the same thing here, in the driver’s ed Volvo, with Mr. Kane feeding me instructions instead of Jim. But the idea of driving with Jim was that someday I’d be able to drive other places, with other people. On my own. I thought it might be nice to tell Jim that I’d successfully driven four feet without him in the passenger seat.

“I want to try,” I told Mr. Kane, staring into the reflection of his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“All right. Caroline, you’re out.” Caroline turned off the engine so she and I could switch places. She gave me an encouraging smile as she slid into the backseat.

I hadn’t been in the front of the driver’s ed car since the day I drove onto the football field. For a second, I had trouble breathing — was it inhale and exhale or the other way around? I imagined everyone in seventh-period classes leaning against the rows of windows, waiting for me to screw up.

“Don’t worry, we’re not going to try anything fancy,” Mr. Kane said. “Just a little forward motion. Straight lines. Easy, right?”

I gripped the key and turned it. The engine whirred. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on everything Jim had told me. I was listening to his steady voice when Mr. Kane said, “With your eyes open, preferably.”

In the back, Edward muttered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I was just getting ready,” I said. Beside me, Mr. Kane looked a little less hopeful, like he was about to suggest that maybe I should wait until the next class to try driving. I wanted to show him that I didn’t need pity. With my hands grasping the wheel, I released the brake and pressed my foot against the gas.

It was a little too hard. The car jumped forward and I hit the brake again. “Sorry!” I said. “Sorry.”

“That’s all right, Alex,” Mr. Kane said, his voice shaky. “Try again.”

“You got this,” Theresa said.

I breathed deeply and tried to imagine the back roads with Jim — the sunset, the stars, the breeze, the quiet. Maybe it was what Amelia Earhart had liked about flying solo. I touched the gas, gently this time, and the car rolled forward.

“There you go,” Mr. Kane said. I didn’t look, but his voice sounded like it came from a mouth that was just starting to smile. “There you go.”

We drove in a straight line to the end of the parking lot. If anyone had been watching from their seventh-period class, they would have seen the driver’s ed car go about five miles an hour but not hit anyone or anything. It would have looked like anyone scanning the parking lot for a good spot. When there wasn’t anywhere else to go, I pressed my foot against the brake and put the car in park.

“Alex!” Mr. Kane said. For a minute, I thought he was going to hug me. “Look! You’ve progressed!”

In back, Caroline applauded, and Theresa, who was usually above that kind of thing, joined her. She didn’t even look too smug that it had been her idea I drive. Edward rolled his eyes. “Great, she can go twenty feet. So exciting.”

Mr. Kane ignored him, scribbling notes on his clipboard. “I can work with this.”

After class, Mr. Kane asked me to stay behind. The way he was smiling, I thought he would start weeping with joy over the fact that I wasn’t turning out to be his greatest academic disappointment. “I’ve got to say, Alex, I’m impressed. I really am.” He hugged the clipboard to his chest. “I wasn’t sure you were ever going to stay cool behind the wheel. It just takes a little practice, right? And I know it can be tough with all your classmates in the car — like stage fright.”

What I’d felt was worse than stage fright; it was a crushing phobia. But I didn’t tell him that. “Right.”

He took a breath. “All right. I still don’t think I can pass you for the semester. You just don’t have the time to learn enough, especially when you consider I’ve got other students in the class to think about.”

“Right.” It was fair enough, but it sucked that my progress couldn’t get me through the semester.

“But,” he said, “
but
. . . if you pass a special exam at the end, I can give you an incomplete instead of a failing grade and let you take the class again.” He made a note on his clipboard. “Unless, of course, you’d rather just pay for outside instruction.”

I didn’t think my dad would count Jim’s teaching as outside instruction, and even though I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to start a career racing stock cars, I didn’t want my time driving to have been for nothing. I imagined holding a freshly laminated license in my hand, showing it to Jim.

“No, that sounds great,” I told Mr. Kane.

“Keep studying the book and keep paying attention in class, and we’ll make a driver out of you yet.” I expected him to break into song about it, but instead he smiled broadly and strolled away.

Theresa had been waiting for me. When she saw Mr. Kane leave, she ran over. “Hey, what’d he say?”

I frowned and swung my backpack over my shoulder. “He’s not going to fail me.”

“Good thing,” she said. “It would be the suckiest thing ever to fail driver’s ed. That stuff goes on your record, too. Plus, you’d just look like the biggest loser ever.” I started to walk away, but she kept talking about how great it was that I’d been able to pull it together and drive, and that I’d done a good job, and wasn’t it great that she’d basically forced me into it so Mr. Kane could see? “I knew you’d never do it yourself, but I knew you could if you just got behind the wheel already, so I went for it. I knew you’d be happy about it once it was over.”

“Yeah, fine,” I said. She followed me inside the school and we dove into the crowded hallway. “But how’d you know for sure I’d do it? What if I freaked out again and killed somebody?”

“If you killed somebody, hopefully it would have been Edward. And besides, you
just
told me you’d been practicing with Jim. So either you’d been using ‘driving’ as a euphemism for sex or you’d actually gotten yourself behind the wheel. And you totally would have told me if you guys had sex.”

“But it could have been different with Jim. I’d never driven in front of other people until now.” Theresa looked so smug about everything. I wanted to yell at her about it, but as we headed for the stairs, kids pushed by us on their way to last period.

“But you did it,” she said matter-of-factly. She kind of laughed. “Look, it all worked out, so why worry? You can thank me when you get your report card and don’t have a big F on it.” Without waiting for my argument, she ran up the stairs, on her way to French.

That night, I told Mom about driver’s ed. It was after I was sure that Katy had fallen asleep. Her breathing was deep and steady when I got out of bed and crept across the floor of our room, escaping into the hall. I didn’t even question that Mom would be awake. And sure enough, there she was again, at the kitchen table, maps spread out around her. But this time they were real maps, not taped-together ones from the Internet, of what looked like the U.S. She must have found them in a drawer somewhere, from various car trips. And on top of the maps was an old clock radio, one that Katy and I used years ago and forgot to throw out once it broke. Mom was humming to herself and fiddling with the bottom of the clock when she saw me.

“Got to keep your instruments in top shape,” she said solemnly, waving the screwdriver in my direction.

I perched on one of the kitchen chairs. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

She stiffened. “Of course I do. As if I don’t know how to keep my own plane in working order.”

“Sure you do,” I muttered. “But if you electrocute yourself, I’m the one who has to call an ambulance.”

I didn’t expect her to even respond, but she let her screwdriver drop, clattering against the table. She stared at me, eyes hard. “What kind of a thing is that to say? We are just fine here. When have I ever let someone get electrocuted? No one is getting hurt, and I am in complete control of everything.” She gripped the edge of the table, the maps crinkling under her fingers.

“All right,” I said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

She drew a few deep breaths, and her face relaxed. Satisfied, she returned to her work. For a few minutes, I watched as she turned the clock over in her hands, shaking it every so often as she tried to figure out how to remove the bottom. I didn’t want to upset her more by pointing out that it was just a clock radio, not a special aeronautic instrument. And maybe it would help her if she learned how to do things. Maybe she just needed to figure out enough stuff as Amelia Earhart to become Mom again. And I remembered how nice it was to drive that first time, with Jim — how gratifying to glide across the parking lot and have conquered one stupid little thing.

“Aha,” she said, pulling the plastic shield off the bottom of the clock. Her face brightened.

“Can I see that?” I said. She handed it over, and I weighed it in my hands. I didn’t want her to stick the screwdriver anywhere she might get shocked. But it wasn’t plugged in, and there didn’t seem to be any batteries, so I thought it would be safe enough. I handed it back. “Looks good.”

She sighed and picked up the screwdriver again. “We’ll see.”

“I drove today.” She looked up from the clock radio, her face patient and hopeful. “In front of other people. It was a class. I did pretty well, too.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said. “Where were you headed?”

“Nowhere far. But my teacher doesn’t think I’m such a spaz anymore.” I shrugged. “It’s nice not to feel so stupid in front of everybody.”

She put her hand on mine and squeezed. “It’s hard, isn’t it?” For a moment, I thought she might be Mom again, who knew I was having trouble in driver’s ed, but she kept going. “People think just because women wear skirts that we’re incapable of working with any kind of machinery. As though all we can do is make a home and have children.” She drew a deep breath and didn’t exhale for a moment. I wasn’t sure if she was thinking about the baby who died. I waited for Mom to cry or say more, but she shook her head and smiled with her lips tight. “It’s nice to prove them wrong, isn’t it?”

“Right,” I whispered.

“And I’m sure you’ll come up against a lot more opposition in your career,” she said, her voice filled with gravity. “But you keep working. Just keep flying. You’re all alone up there, anyway.”

“Right.” I slipped my hand away from hers. “I mean, I just want my license.”