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We squeal and burn rubber, nearly fishtailing off the curb and down the bank as I overcorrect my mistake.
“You don’t know how to fucking drive!” James roars as I get the car back under control. Barely. “Where the fuck did you get your license? Clown Car University?!”
“Fine! I lied!” I screech, reaching my fucking breaking point. “I don’t have a license! But you’re fucking freaking me out! If you want to backseat drive, get in the fucking backseat!”
James gapes stupidly at me.
A straight path ahead of me now, I ignore his look and push on the gas, bursting forward.
We don’t have time for this shit, and it’s too late to go back.
He’s only making my anxiety worse with all his anxiety.
I can do this if he’ll just leave me be….
The car is silent for a few seconds, then Gabriel starts to laugh a great bit booming laugh. “Yeah, James, if you’re going to act like a pussy bitch, get in the backseat.”
James snaps his jaw shut and shoots a glare between our seats. “I’m not a pussy bitch.”
“Could have fooled me!” Gabriel snickers.
James leans back in his seat with a huff, but his hand grips the handle on the door, his knuckles white.
The trees around the road gradually begin to thin, revealing more and more signs of civilization.
Houses seemingly pop up out of the grass with winding driveways and large yards between them.
When I spot a four-way intersection up ahead, I ask, “Which way?”
“Straight,” James grumbles.
Gripping the steering wheel tight, I focus on the light at the intersection. My first true test.
It’s green, but as I get closer it suddenly shifts to yellow.
Feeling like I’m going too fast to come to a stop, I decide to hit the gas.
“What are you doing?!” James yells at me. “Slow down, it’s going to turn red!”
The last time he told me to slow down, we nearly skidded off the road.
So I push the car faster.
“Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” James groans as the light switches to red before I reach it.
And unfortunately, there are other cars waiting to go in the opposite direction.
Already committed, I grit my teeth and hope for the best.
We reach the intersection just as a white pickup to the left moves forward.
Slightly jerking the wheel to the right, I manage to scrape through just ahead of them.
Tires squeal and horns blast angrily behind us, but I made it.
I fucking made it.
Grinning from my success, I ask, “When’s the next turn?”
