Parallel Parking (4 page)

The door burst open, and Mads’ little sister, Audrey, bounced in. “What are you doing, your dumb Web site thing?” she asked,
jumping onto Mads’ bed and spilling popcorn all over it.

“Get out,” Mads said.

“Mom told you not to say that to me anymore, remember?” Audrey said. “You’re supposed to say, ‘I need my privacy, so please
leave the room for now. You may come back later when I’m not busy, and we’ll bond like sisters should.’”

“Yeah, and you’re supposed to knock before you come in.”

“Say it,” Audrey insisted.

“Get out,” Mads repeated.

“Make me.” Audrey lay back on the bed and crossed her ankles, certain of her eventual victory.

Mads stood up, grabbed Audrey by the feet, and tugged. Audrey grabbed the bedspread. As Mads slowly pulled Audrey off the
bed, the spread came with her.

“You’re making a mess,” Mads said.

“You’re
making the mess,” Audrey said. “I’m just innocently lying here.”

Mads dropped Audrey’s feet so they clunked to the floor. “Fine. You want to stay here? Stay. We don’t care. Right?”

“Doesn’t bother me,” Lina said.

“Has anyone been looking for me?” Audrey asked.

“Why would they?” Mads said. “You don’t go to our school.”

“Some cute boy might have seen me on campus while I was with Mom, picking you up or something.”

“And fallen instantly in love with you?” Mads asked. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Why not? I’m only eleven, but my style is at least fifteen.”

“That’s debatable,” Mads said.

Audrey hopped up and read the computer screen. “See, that one could be about me. ‘Red-haired cutie in cutoffs reading
The Catcher in the Rye
on the front lawn.’”

“You haven’t read
Catcher in the Rye,”
Mads said. “And you’re not a cutie.”

“I am, too. And I wear cutoffs sometimes.”

“But you don’t have red hair,” Holly said. Audrey was more of a strawberry blonde. “This ad says the cutie is a redhead. Personally,
I think it’s Kate Bryson.”

“Could be Abby Kurtz,” Lina said. “Her hair’s red now.”

“I don’t think he means fire engine red,” Holly said.

“He doesn’t specify,” Lina said.

“Whatever, it’s not you, Audrey,” Mads said.

Lina read the next ad, then froze.

“Look at this,” she said, reading the ad out loud. “‘Friday afternoon at Vineland. You: Black-haired beauty in a black dress
and boots, silver rings on your fingers, drinking coffee with a friend at the corner table. I really want to meet you but
I’m too shy to approach. Me: Boy, eleventh grade. If you’re curious, e-mail me at Box 4435.’”

“Is that you?” Audrey asked Lina.

“I’m not sure,” Lina said. “I was at Vineland with Ramona on Friday afternoon. We sat at the corner table. And I was wearing
a black dress and boots.” She held up her right hand, which had silver rings on two fingers. “And rings.”

“It’s got to be you!” Mads said.

“Maybe,” Lina said. “But think about it. What does Ramona wear almost every day?”

“Black dress, black boots, tons of silver rings,” Holly said. “And she’s got black hair, too.”

“By freakish coincidence, I was wearing a black knit shirtdress, and she was wearing a long black chiffon thing,” Lina said.
“But all Box 4435 says is ‘black dress.’”

“Do you think the ad could be for Ramona?” Mads said.

“Wait,” Audrey said. “Is Ramona that Goth girl who writes creepy poetry and is always sneering at everybody?”

“That’s her,” Holly said.

“It can’t be her,” Audrey said. “This boy likes you, Lina. Case closed.”

“Not necessarily,” Lina said. “Everyone has different taste.”

“Not that different,” Audrey said.

“No, really,” Lina said. “What if this boy is Goth, too? He could be totally into Ramona.”

“Did you see any Goth boys there that day?” Mads asked. “Or any boys checking you out?”

“It was really crowded,” Lina said, struggling to remember. “I don’t remember anybody in particular….”

“Audrey’s probably right,” Holly said. “Chances are, this guy likes you, not Ramona. I mean, let’s face it, to the vast majority
of guys you’re the more attractive one. You’re pretty, in great shape, you dress nicely, and you don’t wear clown makeup to
school.”

Lina didn’t know what to say. She was a modest person, but deep down she knew she was cute, that boys liked her, and that
most boys would probably choose her over Ramona. But as soon as she had that thought, she felt uncomfortable and brushed it
away. She didn’t want to be conceited or assume too much. It wasn’t impossible that the ad could be meant for Ramona. She
kind of hoped it was.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” she said. “I’ve got Walker, and I’m not looking for a new boyfriend. So even if this guy likes
me, I’m not interested.”

“And even if this guy likes Ramona, she probably won’t like him back,” Mads said. “Doesn’t she kind of hate everybody? Even
her friends?”

“I don’t think so,” Lina said. “That’s just a pose. I mean, she’s a negative person, and she’s very critical, but…”

Lina wondered if Ramona
would
be interested in this guy, whoever he was. She acted as if the very thought of boys, all boys, was beneath her. But she was
a human being. She must crave love of some kind, right? Maybe she was secretly pining for a boyfriend but was too proud to
admit it. The more Lina thought about it, the more sure she was that it was true. Ramona protested too much—to hide her vulnerability.
In theory.

“We’ve got to find out who this boy is,” she said. “Maybe that will give us a clue about which one of us he likes. And if
he likes Ramona, we’ve got a whopper of a matchmaking case on our hands.”

“Ramona and some boy?” Holly said. “That’s too much of a challenge for me.”

“Me, too,” Mads said.

“Not me,” Lina said. “I’m going to do it!”

To:     mad4u

From: your daily horoscope

HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: VIRGO: You will plumb depths of frustration you never knew existed.

H
ow’s driver’s ed going?” Mads’ father asked at breakfast Sunday morning. “Learning a lot?”

“Yep.” She forked eggs into her mouth and focused on her plate. In spite of her bravado, Mads knew her first driving lesson
hadn’t exactly gone smoothly. She loved the feeling of being behind the wheel and having all those gears and knobs at her
disposal, but figuring out what to do with them was so confusing. And the idea of controlling such a big machine was a little
scary.

“I heard she practically had an accident the first day,” Audrey said.

“I did not,” Mads said. “How did you hear that?”

“I didn’t,” Audrey said. “I just figured you’d suck. Caught you!”

“Audrey, I told you, we don’t say ‘suck’ at the table,” Mads’ mother, M.C., said.

“Too late, Mom, I just said it,” Audrey said. “And so did you.”

M.C. looked indignantly at Russell, who shook his head. Mads knew they wouldn’t punish Audrey for her smart mouth.
Pathetic
, Mads thought. Her parents were such pushovers. They let Audrey get away with everything.

“Well, listen,” Russell said to Mads. “You might not know this about me, but I am the greatest driving teacher in the state
of California. I can teach anybody to drive.”

“Except me,” M.C. said. “We nearly got divorced when he tried to teach me how to drive a stick.”

“The thing is, I’m already taking lessons,” Mads said. “So I don’t really need—“

“How about a little practice session today?” Russell offered. “It can’t hurt.”

“Well…” He was right: An extra lesson might be just what she needed. By her next class she’d be sure of herself,
comfortable. Maybe she’d even be the best driver in her car. If only Mitchell’s mustache wasn’t so distracting…

“I’ve got a couple of hours free this afternoon,” Russell said. “We could stop for ice cream afterward.”

“And pick up something nice for dinner tonight,” M.C. said. “I’m working on my new play today, and it would be a big help
if I didn’t have to cook.”

“All right,” Russell said. “We’ll stop off for a roast chicken or something. What do you say, Mads?”

“Okay, Dad. Thanks.”

“I want to go, too,” Audrey said.

“No,” Mads said. “You’ll get in the way.”

“But you’re getting ice cream!”

“We’ll bring some back to you,” Russell said.

“Russell, it would be great if you could take her,” M.C. said. “I could really make some progress if you were all out of my
hair for a couple of hours.”

“Mom, no!” Mads cried. She was looking forward to some rare time alone with her father. Besides that, Audrey always ruined
everything.

“Please, honey,” M.C. said. “It would mean so much to me. She’ll just sit quietly in the backseat and not bother anyone, won’t
you, Audrey?”

“Quiet as a mouse,” Audrey said.

“She’s never quiet as a mouse,” Mads said.

“I’ll be quiet as a mouse,” Audrey repeated.

“It’s all right, Mads,” Russell said. “We’ll be fine. And I’ll have a nice outing with my girls.”

“Great,” Mads muttered.

“Okay, turn the ignition,” Russell said. The Volvo sat in the school parking lot, Mads in the driver’s seat, Russell riding
shotgun, and Audrey in the back. Mads turned the ignition key toward her. Nothing happened. “No, turn it
this
way,” Russell said, guiding her hand. “That’s it.”

The car hummed to life. Mads sat up straighter.

“Now, put your foot on the brake—that’s right,” Russell said. “And put the car into drive.”

Mads moved the gear lever. Okay, the car was in drive. So far, so good.

“Good. Now slowly let your foot off the brake and very lightly touch the gas pedal.”

Mads lifted her foot off the brake. Her sandal got caught under the gas pedal. She yanked it out, landing on the brake again.
The car lurched slightly.

“Look out, we’re all going to die!” Audrey yelled.

Russell turned to the backseat. “Audrey, remember, you promised to be quiet.”

“I can’t help it,” Audrey said. “I’ve got to say something when my life is at stake.”

Mads tried to ignore her, but it was hard, so very hard.

“Come on, Mads,” Russell said. “Lightly step on the gas.”

Mads lightly stepped on the gas. The car rolled slowly forward.

“Good, good.”

“You’re driving over all the parking lines,” Audrey said. “This is totally illegal.”

“That’s all right, Audrey,” Russell said. “This is just practice.”

The Volvo purred along. “Go a little faster,” Russell said. Mads pressed harder on the gas, and the car zoomed forward. “Not
that fast,” Russell said. Mads slammed on the brake. The car stopped short. She felt Audrey bounce against the back of her
seat.

“Ow! I think I wrenched my neck!” Audrey wailed.

“Are you wearing your seat belt?” Russell asked.

“Yes.”

Mads turned around to look. Audrey was sitting there completely unbelted. “You’re lying!” Mads cried.

Audrey rubbed her neck. “I didn’t think I’d need one for driving around a parking lot at five miles an hour,” she said.

“Put it on, Audrey,” Russell said. “You should always buckle up whenever you get into a car, no matter how fast it’s going.”

Audrey buckled her seat belt. “I’m going to make you give me your new velvet jacket,” Audrey said. “If you don’t, I’ll sue
you. I’ve got whiplash.”

Mads bristled. She’d just bought the cutest brown velvet shrunken blazer. She knew Audrey had her eye on it. “Go ahead, sue
me. You’re not getting that jacket. And I’m never letting you borrow it, either.”

“Dad, can I sue her? I think I’m going to have to wear one of those neck brace things.”

“If you sue her, you sue me,” Russell said. He was a lawyer, so he knew about those things. “So no, you can’t sue her.”

“Did you think he’d say yes?” Mads asked. “’Go ahead and take her for every penny she’s got’?”

“I want that jacket.”

“Girls, can we get back to work here?” Russell said. “Audrey, quiet back there, or you don’t get ice cream.”

“What—?”

Russell put a finger to his lips, shushing her and trying to get her to believe he meant business. Mads knew there was no
way he would deny his beloved younger child ice cream.

“Okay, Mads. You ready to take a turn?”

“Ready.”

Mads practiced right and left turns. She practiced
backing up and saw Audrey crossing herself. When she drove over a curb, Audrey covered her eyes in terror. Mads knocked over
a trash can while vertical parking, causing Audrey to scream. The longer the practice session went on, the sloppier Mads’
driving became. Audrey was making her crazy. She could feel her father seething with frustration in the seat beside her.

“Concentrate, Mads. You’re not focusing.”

“Why don’t I just crash the car into a tree and put us all out of our misery?” Mads said.

“No! She’ll really do it. I don’t want to die!” Audrey cried.

“I think we’ve had enough for today,” Russell said, unbuckling his seat belt. “I’ll take over from here.”

He drove them to Harvey’s Carry-out for ice cream cones. When they got home, Mads’ mother smiled and said, “I had such a productive
afternoon. How’d you all do?”

No one answered. Russell, Mads, and Audrey scattered to their respective rooms and shut the doors behind them.

“Mads, no!” Stephen snapped. “You can’t do a three-point turn in six points. It’s not the Star of David turn. It’s a
three-point
turn.”

“I don’t see why I can’t do whatever I need to to get the job done,” Mads said. “As long as the car gets turned around somehow.”

Another driver’s ed class had come and gone, and Mads had driven Mustache Mitchell to tear a few strands off his face. She
wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t uncoordinated. She was a good dancer, passable in gym, excellent in art, got good grades in almost
every other subject. So why did she have so much trouble with driving? It seemed to take her twice as long as everyone else
to catch on to it.