My Senior Year of Awesome (11 page)

1. Write that your teacher is hot on your test paper.

2. Decide to show said paper to your best friend who is completely clueless.

3. Get voted “Most Likely to Marry” someone in your class when you are not even dating that someone. Or have ever thought about that person in that way.

4. Try to come up with 10 totally impossible achievements to complete by the end of the school year when really you should be applying to colleges and writing your American Government term paper.

5. Agree to wear a leafy, green-sequined costume for the school musical.

6. Join the track team.

7. Notice boys with glasses who have bright blue eyes that sparkle when they smile.

8. Cut your hair into a chin length bob because you don’t feel like washing it every day. It takes years to grow out. I mean, years! Almost there, though.

9. Fantasize about your lab partner when you’re supposed to be taking notes, because he sure isn’t.

10. Fall in love with the wrong person.

I did not just write Mr. Drum is hot on my test paper.

Yes, I did.

Seriously. It’s like I carry a big bag of stupid around with me and continually pull stuff out of it.

As I cross back through town, putting as much distance as possible between me and the Driver’s Ed classroom, a sharp whistle knocks me out of my fog. Sidh calls my name from the opposite side of the road, where he’s walking with Andy. Discretely, I check for leftover patches of snow nearby.

When the light changes, they cross over to my side of the street.

“Don’t you two have anything better to do besides hang out in front of the bakery?”

“Not really,” Sidh says, shrugging off my question. “We were playing hoops at the open gym. AK and I rule the loser league.”

“What’s the looser league?” I ask, unable to make the connection between being loose and playing basketball.

“No. Loooo-ser,” Sidh drawls.

“The intramural league for those of us who can’t compete at the high school level,” Andy says, cluing me in on the real deal.

“Dude, we couldn’t compete at the third-grade level,” Sidh says. Andy smiles his good-natured smile, in total agreement.

“Ha-ha. I’m sure you guys rule the loooo-ser league. Since I’m here, does one of you want to throw something at my face?” I spread my arms, offering a wide target.

“Are you going to ride me about that until I die, Sadie?” Andy snaps. Wow. Angry Andy is a new experience for me. I wonder if his head is going to split in two and send his blond curls flying all over Main Street.

“Uh, no. Sorry. I’m done now. See you around.” I hike my backpack over my shoulder and continue on.

A couple blocks later, I hear two large sneakers thwacking the concrete sidewalk behind me. Before I can duck into the side alley, Andy calls my name.

“Yes, Andy?” I swing around and clutch it in front of me, an instinctive defense mechanism.

“I want to know something. What’s with your attitude? Was the snowball such a big freaking deal?” Patches of deep red appear on his cheeks.

“No. It wasn’t,” I admit.

“I thought we were friends again after the éclairs. And breakfast at my house.”

I swallow hard, feeling like a terrible person. “I thought so too. But you stopped talking to me.”

“You ignored me first,” he shoots back, sounding like a sixth-grader.

“Not on purpose,” I lie. “Maybe we misunderstood each other. And right now, you’re catching me after a really bad Driver’s Ed class.”

“What happened?” Half of Andy’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Did you back up over your teacher?”

“Gawd, no. I’m not even up to the driving part yet. And I never will be at the rate I’m going.”

“You haven’t passed the permit test? It’s the same ten questions every time; they just mix up the order. At least, that’s what I heard. I only took it once.”

“Of course you did. But I can’t even get to that point if I keep messing up the stupid class. I must have some type of mental block.” A mental block shaped like a former Army Ranger turned motorcycle dude who happens to be my instructor.

Andy looks ready to spit out some snarky retort, but wisely holds back. “I can help you,” he says instead.

“How so? Can you teach me to drive?”

“Sure. Or fly, even. I’ve been taking lessons at the Harmony airport. I have airtime scheduled this afternoon.”

“You’re piloting an airplane, and I’m still walking to school?” I shake my head. “I am such a total loser.”

“You’re not a loser. I’m just —,”

“An exceptional overachiever?”

“Something like that.” Behind his glasses, Andy’s blue eyes do that magical twinkling thing. He shoves his hands in his pockets and continues. “As soon as I was old enough for flying lessons, I begged my parents to sign the paperwork. They watched me build model airplanes and rockets for years.”

“Airplane-building is more Andy-style. Flying heavy machinery, not so much. I pegged you as a two feet on the ground kind of guy.”

“Yeah, but I need to know how to operate what I design. And, statistically, flying is completely safe. It’s just a bunch of math and physics.”

I nod in fake agreement. “Right. You would know.”

“Plus, I haven’t soloed yet. My instructor copilots until I pass the written exam. And I can’t take that until this summer.”

As he talks, he looks down at me, and I look up at him. Our eyes meet somewhere in the middle and we both pause as something uncomfortable passes between us. A bird chirps on a branch nearby, sounding loud enough to shake the earth. I spy a green bench ahead of me and head over to take a seat, breaking our connection.

Andy watches me toy with the strap on my backpack. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, considering. Eventually he joins me on the bench, stretches his long legs in front of him, staying as far away as possible. For a while we sit in silence, gazing at the cars churning up water as they cruise through a stream of melted snow.

“When I pass my permit test, I’ll call you for driving lessons,” I finally say. “You might be an astronaut by then, though.”

He grins. “I’m willing to take you today. How bad can you be?”

“Honestly? I’m terrible. Just sitting behind the wheel scares me.”

“What’s so scary? Can you steer? And press your foot on the gas pedal?”

“You mean at the same time?”

“Okay, forget I offered.”

“No, wait.” Before he abandons me, I scoot closer and circle my fingers around his wrist, feeling his pulse jump. “I need to conquer this irrational fear. I want to hit the open road.”

“How about hitting the back of the Towne Shopping Center lot?” He sounds more than a little nervous.

“Behind all those the stores? Yeah, that works.”

I release my grip, and for a second, I think Andy might make a run for it. But, he rises from the bench and tilts his head back in the direction we came.

“Let’s do it. I’ll ask Sidh to drop us off at my house.”

We circle back through town and find Sidh casually window shopping in front an electronics repair shop. He’s more than happy to oblige our request for a ride. Andy insists that I sit in the front seat of Mr. Eknath’s huge, top of the line Cadillac. Hmm. Maybe Jana and I should aim for a ride in the Eknath mobile instead of the Altomeri hot rod. But Dom’s car is so much sexier than this old man boat.

“Observe.” Andy pokes his head up front and points toward the gearshift.

“Observe what?”

“Sidh’s driving.”

Sidh flashes me an extra-bright smile as he putters down Andy’s block, looking everywhere but directly ahead. He rotates the steering wheel inch by inch, and brakes once every few houses. I’m willing to bet that the needle on the speedometer has never reached a vertical position.

“Doesn’t look so hard,” I say, watching Sidh expertly engage the left turn signal. He executes a clean, precise maneuver into Andy’s driveway, keeping one hand in the twelve o’clock position and the other on a can of Red Bull. Mr. Drum strongly recommends nine and three.

“Good luck, Sadie. Dude, it was nice knowing you.” As soon as Andy and I step out of the car, Sidh rips it into reverse and races away. I guess the slow-motion driving was all an act.

Once the dust from Sidh’s tires settles, Andy pulls a mini remote from his pocket and unlocks his car doors. “Ready to go?”

We stuff ourselves into the two-door hybrid. Andy drives to the shopping center.

“Pop quiz time,” he announces as we wait at a light. “What’s the speed limit on this road?”

“All residential roads in the downtown area have a twenty-five mile per hour speed limit,” I recite.

“Really? Is that true?” Andy’s eyebrows lift.

“It’s the first thing we learned in Driver’s Ed. Did you miss that day?”

“I didn’t take Drum’s class. I had a private instructor.”

“Of course you did.” I make a snorting sound and turn to gaze out the window.

“Something wrong with that?” Andy asks in an even voice. I swing my head back to look at him. Is he serious?

“Well, it’s just that your dad can easily afford a private tutor. And private flying lessons. And my dad …” Enough said.

We bend around a side street, and the Towne Center shops appear in front of us. Andy turns into a narrow drive, winding his way behind a long line of overpriced restaurants and fancy clothing boutiques. The back alleyway houses only a few dumpsters and the occasional UPS drop shipment. The perfect track for a new driver.

Andy shifts into park, hops out, and jogs around the car. I scoot over the center console to man the steering wheel. When he lowers himself into the passenger side, his knees bump the dashboard.

“Man, you’re short.” He jerks the seat back in a swift movement.

“I’m five three, only one inch less than the average American female.” This statistic I have committed to memory. “I’m just not freakishly tall like you.”

He passes his hand over my head, as if measuring my size. “There is no way you’re a hair above five two.”

“Okay, maybe I’m rounding up. But I’m pretty sure I have at least one more growth spurt in me. Can we start my lesson now?”

I place my hands at ten-thirty and one forty-five, hoping Mr. Drum would approve. When we practiced on a real car in class one day, he had difficulty comprehending that for those of us with shorter, non-tattooed arms, nine and three wasn’t comfortable. After hearing our protests, he loomed over us, cracking his knuckles and flexing his biceps, until we obeyed his orders.

“Move the gearshift into drive, put your foot on the gas and steer,” Andy says.

“That’s it?”

“Let’s see if you can handle that much without a catastrophe.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” I suck in a huge breath, pull back on the gearshift and switch from park to drive.

So, maybe I hit the gas pedal a wee bit too hard.

The car rockets forward, tires burning over asphalt.

“Stop!” Andy flings his arm in front of me, preventing my head from fracturing the windshield.

By the time I hit the brakes, the air smells like charred rubber. The car slides into a crazy skid, snapping my neck backward.

Holy whiplash.

“Not so fast!” Andy hollers. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I don’t know!” I throw my hands in the air. “Wait, did you just curse?”

Andy dives for the steering wheel. “Don’t let go! Are you trying to get us killed?”

“Sorry! Sorry! I told you I was a terrible driver.” Tears brim in my eyes and slide down my cheeks as I dissolve into a fit of hysterics. When I start hiccupping, even Andy caves to a tight grin.

“You’re a complete maniac.” He shakes his head from side to side. “Are you sure Evil Knievel isn’t teaching your Driver’s Ed class?”

“Who’s that?”

“Never mind.”

“Do you want to switch spots?” I ask, ready to raise the white flag.

“No. I want you to try again. You can do this.”

Andy’s blue eyes are clear and steady, despite his white-knuckled grip on the door handle. His right foot rests on the floor mat as if he’s prepared to press on an imaginary brake pedal.

“Sure you want to risk it?”

“No. Yes. No. Just do it, before I change my mind.”

So I try again. I lightly tap my foot on the gas, and the car inches forward. I panic and stomp on the brake. The car slams to a stop and our bodies ping-pong back and forth.

“Better,” Andy says through gritted teeth. “Again. Stop at the next dumpster.”

I start and stop four more times. Each time the car handles a little easier. Eventually, the forward and braking motions seem almost natural.

“I can drive!” I return the gearshift to park and slap the steering wheel with both hands. “I drove somewhere. In a straight line. And I’m still alive.”

“We’re both still alive,” Andy says, sounding pretty grateful about it.

“Thanks, Andy. You’re the best!”

Without thinking, I reach my arms up and around his neck. He freezes for a second before leaning into my embrace. I inhale the scent of his guy shampoo, mingled with sweaty T-shirt smell. His clothes are still damp from playing basketball, in addition to a new layer of perspiration added within the last five harrowing minutes. He doesn’t smell disgusting sweaty, though, but good sweaty, all warm and athletic.

His hand moves to my hip, as if he’s considering pulling me closer. For a second I forget about all of my preconditioned Andy notions. He’s not a nerd, or a genius, even. He’s a guy who risked his life to teach me how to drive. A guy with gorgeous blue eyes. I rest my head on his shoulder, and my cheek rubs against his neck. Then, I actually consider turning my face and brushing my lips against his flushed skin. When this idea flashes through my mind, an icy shiver runs down my spine. I shrug away from him.

“Um, can you take me home now? And I should call Jana. I kind of deserted her after the test.”

Andy nods, looking as shocked as I feel about what just happened. He removes his hand from my hip, uncrumples his body, and jumps out of the car, while I scramble over the cup holders, back to the passenger side.

As we drive away, Andy blasts the radio to cover our stunned silence. We travel the four blocks to my apartment without making eye contact. When he drops me off in front of my building, I shout a fast good-bye and sprint toward the entryway.