Teen Ink

     I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans as I tapped my foot on the faded gray tiles. Waiting was the worst part. The Department of Motor Vehicles office was swarming with people all in a rush. The stocky man behind the counter said “Next” in an annoyed voice. Slowly approaching, I handed him my paperwork and he grunted, checking off each piece. Without a word, he grabbed his clipboard and stepped from behind the counter. He looked back at me, mumbling for me to follow. I looked at my mom, who gave me a thumbs-up, as I walked out into what I thought would be my day of failure.

As I clumsily fastened my seat belt, I tried to remember all the pointers my driver’s ed teacher had told me during the classes. The DMV worker got into the van and slowly fastened his seat belt as he told me where to go: “Back out, take a left, take your first right, follow it to the end, and go back to the office.” Okay, I could handle this. I slowly backed out, remembering to signal. He scribbled something indecipherable on the clipboard, and the butterflies in my stomach flew faster.

My eyes darted between the speedometer, rearview mirror, and the street up ahead. I made my way down the side street and back up the main road. As we pulled back into the parking lot, he muttered for me to back up into a parking space. My stomach dropped. My pulse intensified. He had to ask me to do the one driving skill I was not fully comfortable with. I grasped the wheel tighter and took a deep breath. Again I remembered my signal as I lined up my bumper with the space. I glanced backward and forward as I positioned the large rear end of my mom’s Windstar between the lines. I straightened my wheels, put it in park, and prepared to hear the words I most dreaded. He finished calculating my score and told me to go inside. Sadly I unbuckled and followed him.

As I walked in, my mom looked at me questioningly and I shrugged my shoulders. At the counter the man pointed to a woman.

“Go get your picture taken,” he said in a monotone.

My mom hugged me, smothering me with congratulations. I looked back at her, panic-stricken.

“Athina? Are you all right?” she asked.

And I replied, “Does my hair look okay?”