He pulls the car into park, and we both exit the car to exchange seats. The sun is hot on my neck as I slide into the driver’s seat, and I feel almost giddy with anticipation. I roll my shoulders back and move the gear into drive. In my periphery, Kush shifts in his seat to better observe me.
“Let’s go around five miles an hour to start,” Kush says. “Super light on the accelerator. And brake slightly when you make your first turn.”
I nod, following, eyes on the road. I press gently on the gas and the car jerks forward.
“Even lighter,” Kush says.
We trudge forward at a snail’s pace. I remember to switch my blinker on as I make my first turn, and Kush gives a nod of approval.
“Good pace,” he says. “Keep at this, but let’s adjust your lane positioning.”
I frown. “There aren’t any lanes.”
“If there were, you’d be driving into traffic,” he says. “As a general rule, you should stick to the right, even in a parking lot.”
I tilt the steering wheel right, and the car lurches to the side, crossing a few white parking space lines as it does.
“Okay,” he says. “Well, now you’d be hitting the bike lane.”
My frown deepens. “There is no bike lane,” I say.
“If there was,” he says, a mirthful note to his voice, “every biker would be dead.”
I don’t find this nearly as amusing. I’m about to reply when suddenly a large, furry form dashes by in front of us. It takes me a second to hit the brakes, and we both pitch forward against the dashboard. I let out a sharp yelp as the steering wheel scrapes uncomfortably against my ribs.
“Jesus,” I breathe, heart pounding.
The goldendoodle runs on, oblivious, and a visored white lady follows behind, palms raised in apology. I put a hand to my chest, foot still pressed hard on the brake.
“Woah,” Kush says, leaning back in his seat and unwinding his seat belt where it got tangled in the fuss. “Maybe we should take a pause.”
“It’s fine,” I say, dazed but returning to myself. “That dog should have been on a leash.”
“Even so,” Kush says, voice uneasy. “A pause can’t hurt.”
“It’s fine,” I repeat. Behind me, a car honks, and I realize that I’m once again in the center of the road. A few fair-going cars have accumulated behind us.
“Rani, pull over,” he says, and his voice is firm.
It’s a command, not a request. Mouth tightening, I pull into an empty spot, hating the severity in his tone. Lost in my thoughts, I accidentally press the gas instead of the brake. The car jerks against a parking block. I hastily slam on the brake, but the damage is done.
Silence fills the air.
“Oh no,” I whisper. I move the gear into park and quickly unclip my seat belt to jump out of the vehicle to see for myself. The front bumper is badly dented. “Ohno,” I repeat.
Kush has come outside too. He surveys the scene, mouth agape, then blinks at me, meeting my horrified face. “Hey,” he says, collecting himself. “It’s all right.”
“It’s not all right!” I say. For some reason, his calmness is intolerable. I fix him with a glare. “Why aren’t you upset?”
He furrows his brow, bemused. “Why would I be upset?” He lifts a shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s your car.”
“It’s Ajoba’s car,” I say weakly. “Oh no oh no oh no,” I repeat, very much a broken record. My hand goes to my mouth.
“Maybe the next time I want to review which pedal is the accelerator, you allow it,” he says.
“That’s not helping,” I whisper.
How did I mess up so badly my first five minutes behind thewheel? I feel heat poke behind my eyes. I try to wipe the tears away before they fall, but Kush notices. Of course he notices.
