Sweaty Palms & Strays

The palm of my hand wouldn't stop sweating against the steering wheel. Like, actually embarrassing amounts. I wiped it on my jeans for the third time, glancing over at Jake.

"You good, bro? You look like you're about to pass a kidney stone."

"I'm chill," I lied. "Totally chill."

Today was THE day. Driver's ed final. If I failed, I'd be the only junior at Ridgecrest still taking the bus to school while everyone else was living their best life with actual freedom. The social hierarchy was real, and I was currently at the bottom, holding onto the subway pole of loserdom.

Mrs. Gable, my instructor, tapped her clipboard. "Whenever you're ready, Marcus. Parallel parking between those cones."

I took a breath. I could do this. I'd practiced with my dad like fifty times this week. I put the car in reverse, started cranking the wheel—

And then this random cat darted out from behind the dumpster.

Not even a normal cat. A scraggly orange tabby with one ear that looked like it'd lost a fight with a lawnmower. It bolted right in front of the car and I PANICKED, slamming on the brake so hard my forehead almost kissed the steering wheel.

"Marcus!" Mrs. Gable yelped. "What on earth—"

"CAT! There's a—" I pointed, but it was already gone. Like, literally vanished. I looked like I was hallucinating. "I swear I saw a cat."

Jake was losing it. He was making that sound where you try not to laugh but you're wheezing instead. Meanwhile my palms were basically waterfalls and I could feel myself turning into human salsa from the embarrassment.

"Maybe we should... take a breath," Mrs. Gable said slowly, like she was talking to a mental patient.

The worst part? That cat was STILL watching me. I spotted it later, sitting on a brick wall, just judging my entire existence with those yellow eyes. Like, sorry I didn't want to commit vehicular cat-slaughter, Susan.

I ended up passing with a 79. Barely. But whatever. Later that night I found myself running back to that alleyway with a can of tuna from our pantry. The cat was still there, looking judgmental as ever.

"You owe me," I told it, cracking the can open. "I almost failed my driving test because of you."

It ate the tuna like I'd been holding out on it my whole life.

I named it Brake. Mom wasn't thrilled about the new pet situation, but whatever. Sometimes the coolest things in life aren't the ones you plan for. They're the ones that almost make you crash your car but don't.