Page 10 of Rani Deshpande Takes the Wheel
“Hey,” he says. He’s wearing contacts today, and his dark curls are unstyled, face clean-shaven.
I cross my arms across my stomach, covering an exposed strip of midriff above the waistband of my shorts. “Hi,” I say.
“Is this our ride?” He drums his fingertips on the hood of Ajoba’s silver Honda Civic, and I notice a gold signet ring on his index finger.
“Yes,” I confirm. “It was my grandfather’s,” I add, so he knows I didn’t select the model. I remember my manners; Aai’s andAjoba’s words ringing in my ears. “Thanks so much for doing this. I know you’ve got a packed schedule and all, so I really appreciate it.”
“No worries,” he says. “Your mom made it sound pretty urgent. Couldn’t say no.”
I almost feel a pang of empathy for him. Maybe thereisa downside to being the community’s golden kid. I would hate to be expected to do favors for, say, Shilpa Aunty’s son whenever requested. Perhaps it’s a good thing no one thinks quite so highly of me.
“Well, it’s definitely urgent,” I say. “It’s been urgent for about three years.”
The corner of his mouth lifts up, Cupid’s bow ever more prominent. “I’ve wondered,” he says. “Why the delay?”
“Something always got in the way,” I say, thinking of Ajoba’s health crisis last summer. “Plus Simran was always there to drive me around, and I think I got a little too comfortable.” I pause. “But that’s changing now.”
“You’re growing up,” he offers.
It’s something I’ve said about myself, but my eyes still narrow hearing it from Kush. “Exactly,” I say.
I hand him the keys. We drive off to the Gilmore fairgrounds. I fiddle with the radio so we’re not sitting in stilted silence. I can’t remember the last time I was alone with Kush, if ever, and the car feels too small for the both of us. I find myself leaning against the passenger window, my fingers plucking at the buckle on my seat belt as he drives.
Even though the county fair is in full swing this time of year, the fairgrounds are still the best area around to practice driving. They have expansive parking lots, and the eastern lots are mostlyempty, even on weekends. Kush learned to drive here, taught his cousin to drive here too, so this reputation is a comfort.
The radio cuts when Kush pulls into an empty spot on one end of the lot. We’re a good half mile from the fair’s entrance, but the smell of buttery popcorn, fresh funnel cake, and other park treats still hits my nose. Maybe I’ll reward myself for a successful first lesson with a fried pickle.
“Okay,” Kush says, turning to face me. He raises a brow. “Let’s get started?”
“Let’s,” I say. I hand him the printout I carefully tucked into my bag earlier this morning, and he gives me a funny look. I run a finger along the list of expected skills: traffic signals, vehicle control, parking, etc. “What first?”
He takes the stapled sheet from me and flips through the pages. “You printed out the driver’s test requirements?” For some reason, he seems to find this very silly.
“Of course,” I say. “Simran had to test twice because she didn’t realize she needed to know her arm signals for turns.” That, and she hit two curbs, but I keep that quiet out of loyalty. “I don’t want us to miss a single thing.”
His head is ducked, but I think he’s smiling. “I’ll be sure to teach you your arm signals,” Kush says. “We can put this aside for now.” He sets the list inside the glove compartment, and it closes with a click. “For today, we can just have you pay attention as I drive.”
There’s a pause. “What do you mean?”
“It’s day one,” he says. “You don’t need to sit behind the wheel on day one.”
My lips turn in a frown. “That doesn’t make any sense. How am I supposed to learn if I’m not driving?”
He cocks his head. “By watching me drive.”
“I watched you drive on the way over here.”
“But you can pay close attention this time.” Seeing me unconvinced, he adds, “I’ll narrate as I drive. You can take mental notes.” He considers. “Or literal notes. Seems like you might prefer that.” I want to object again, but he cuts me off. “This is my lesson plan,” he says. “Tried and tested, all right? Sameer passed with flying colors.”
For the next half hour, Kush walks me through basic car functions before doing a few slow laps around the parking lot. Some of the information is actually helpful—how I need to keep the brake pressed to shift gears, how to turn my indicators on—but other parts seem like a waste of time. It feels very patronizing, for example, when he explains which pedals are for gas versus to brake.
“I knowthatmuch,” I grumble. After Baba’s reprimand in his garden last week, I’m not likely to forget.
“Nice,” he says.
After several lazy laps around the lot, I convince Kush to let me have a try. “The hour’s almost up,” I say. “I think I’ve earned a few turns of my own before we have to head back.”
I can sense his reluctance. “A few turns,” he finally agrees.
