Driving Lessons Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  Praise for The You Know Who Girls: Freshman Year

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Soliloquy Titles From Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Abbey Brooks has recovered from her end-of-freshman-year heartbreak and has vowed that this year, her sophomore year at Gila High, will be different in every way. Her to-do list: get her driver’s license, come out to her mom, get (and keep) a girlfriend, and survive another year of basketball. As always, though, nothing goes according to plan. Who will be there for her as her plans start to unravel? Who will bring her back to life after another round of heartache and betrayal? These remain a mystery—even to Abbey.

  But one thing is for sure, she’s not confused about who she is. And that is going to make all the difference.

  Praise for The You Know Who Girls: Freshman Year

  “I sure wish I had gone to high school with The You Know Who Girls! Annameekee Hesik has created smart, sassy, sweaty, sexy characters who tore down the basketball court and leaped into my heart. Readers of all ages will absolutely love this book.”—Lesléa Newman, author of The Reluctant Daughter and Heather Has Two Mommies

  “It’s not easy to write humorously about lesbian adolescence. It’s a gift and a talent, and Annameekee Hesik, a Santa Cruz teacher and the author of The You Know Who Girls series, has both.”—Curve Magazine

  Driving Lessons

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Driving Lessons

  © 2014 By Annameekee Hesik. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-285-4

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: December 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Ruth Sternglantz

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Sheri([email protected])

  By the Author

  The You Know Who Girls: Freshman Year

  Driving Lessons: A You Know Who Girls Novel

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you so much to my official editor at Bold Strokes Books, Ruth Sternglantz, for her guidance and encouragement, and thank you to my expert readers, AJ Reyes and Alyssa Pierce, for their thoughtful feedback. Thank you to my incredible students who continue to amaze and inspire me. Thank you to my kitty, Matisse, for always making sure my wrists were warm as I attempted to work on my laptop, and thank you to my doggies, Jax and Aggie, for contributing to the manuscript with their surprise paw smacks and nose typing. Thank you to my BFF and webmaster extraordinaire, Casey Chafouleas, for being the most awesome creator of all things graphic-design related and webby. Thank you to my wonderful family for always loving me no matter what. And, as always, thank you to Mary, my most favorite you-know-who girl of all.

  To All the You Know Who Girls All Around the World

  Chapter One

  “I think I killed a man,” I confess to Kate as I drop my backpack on the locker-room floor and spin in my PE lock combo.

  Kate, my ever-reluctant BFF for the past seven years, has already changed in the bathroom stall to make it clear to everyone that we are not an item. And to fully emphasize her straightness, she averts her eyes as I strip off my shirt and change into my sports bra. “Abbey, how have you not figured out that driving simulator yet? It’s been three weeks since school started. Are you even past the parking-lot level? I swear, you’re going to be the first sophomore in Gila High’s history to fail driver’s ed.”

  I shrug. “It’s very possible.”

  “Hair,” she reminds me as I’m about to slam my locker shut. She can pretty much handle it if I’m gay, but a jacked-up hair style is where she draws the line.

  I gather my long blond hair and position my ponytail at what I think is the most trendy placement possible. I’m pretty sure I get it wrong, but she nods her satisfaction, and we walk out to join the rest of the class in the gym.

  “Score?” Mrs. Schwartz asks us as she pauses at our court. She’s the only teacher I know who can basically operate her class with one-word phrases.

  “Twenty-one to zero,” Kate says proudly. “Abbey spiked it three times,” she adds, bragging about my net play. Then before realizing how stupid it would look to high-five about a pointless game of PE volleyball, Kate raises her hand.

  I happily slap it because I love it when she has these momentary lapses and acts like her pre-high-school self again.

  “Rotate,” Mrs. Schwartz says.

  We move up to the next court with the rest of our assigned volleyball team. It was Kate’s serving that actually won us the last game, so we choose her to start this game, too. And since my limbs resemble those of a giant praying mantis, I take my usual spot at the net to smash down any balls that might try to make their way over to our side. Basketball is definitely our sport of choice, but I’m beginning to reconsider this whole volleyball thing. I like blocking shots at the net, and it doesn’t hurt that the uniforms consist of tank tops and spandex undies. I think I would die if I had to wear that out on the court, but it wouldn’t be so bad seeing other girls in them. Now I’m wondering if there are any you-know-who girls on the volleyball team or if they only play basketball. Garrett, my authority on all things lesbian, says there are rarely any on the volleyball team, but I’m willing to do my own research on this one.

  We’re waiting for our opponents to arrive, so I bend down to retie my Nikes. That’s when I see her walk onto the other side of the court, her enforcers of evil in tow. “Crap,” I whisper to myself.

  Her name is Nicky, or Knuckles if you’re afraid of her, which I am. I don’t know if it’s her curly blond hair that stays crunchy and stiff all day, the mysterious scar on her neck, or the smell of cigarette smoke that engulfs you after she walks by, but something about her oozes meanness. Maybe it’s the fact that she instigates some of the bloodiest fights at school without ever throwing a punch. Like a mob boss, she’s the one who makes bad things happen.

  “Serve!” Mrs. Schwartz yells at my team and walks away, but Kate’s got the ball between her knees while she fixes her hair, which I can guarantee was perfect already.

  Nicky and her cronies aren’t into sports—or anything having to do with being at school, for that matter—so they linger in the back of the court in a wide half circle. Then while waiting for Kate’s serve to sail over the net, I lose my mind and accidentally make eye contact with Nicky. Our eyes lock and there I am, trapped in a really awkward and dangerous staring contest with the most notorious psychopath on campus. And because I am the dumbest smart girl I know, I make things a thousand times worse and I smile at her.

  Nicky scowls and flips me off.

  My smile quickly fades.

  Even though our exchange only lasts a few seconds, during the stare down, smile, and finger flip, Kate also serves the ball. The sound of the volleyball smacking Nicky Knuckles in the head echoes through the gym. Not even her helmet of hairspray softens the impact.

  Not laughing would have been impossible, but I try. And because of my immense effort, the noise that comes out of my mouth sounds like a coyote’s yelp. I cover my mouth to ensure nothing else will escape.

  “You bitch!” Nicky yells after she recovers from the blow. She’s on the move and she’s heading my way.

  Wait, why is she yelling at me?

  “You distracted me on purpose,” she says, dipping under the net.

  I step back, but she pushes my shoulder anyway. I’m a goner.

  “Do you even know who I am?”

  I blink and see the short film of my life play on the insides of my lids. But when I open my eyes, I’m still alive and Nicky is still standing there. I should have said, What is your problem? It’s Kate you want to kill, not me. But of course I wouldn’t throw my best friend under the bus l
ike that. So instead, I whisper, “S-sorry.”

  I quickly look over my shoulder for backup, but my team is lined up along the service line pretending I don’t exist. Thankfully Kate’s got the sense to try and find Mrs. Schwartz. At least I think that’s where she’s disappeared to. If my good, and more importantly, badass pal Mia were here, she’d have my back in an instant. But no, instead she’s halfway across town going to Cholla High School because her mom moved out of district.

  “Look, dyke”—Nicky’s smoker’s breath hits my face and I force myself not to grimace—“I’m not interested,” she says and shoves me again for emphasis.

  Her friends laugh. I don’t seem to be breathing at all anymore, so I make no noise. It’s not like she’s wrong about me. I mean, I’m a total cow, which is what we call ourselves because we like to travel in herds in the hallways and on the basketball court.

  I grip my fists, readying myself. She’s at least a foot shorter than me, but my skinny arms are about as strong as twigs. Plus, there’s the fact that I have never been in a fight in my life. Do you punch with thumbs in or out? Should I just fall to the ground and curl up like a pill bug and try to protect my face?

  “Look at me again,” Nicky says, interrupting my manic strategy-planning session, “and you’ll be kissing the floor while I kick your ass.” Her left eye is twitching, so I look away and focus on the yellow tint of her teeth instead.

  “What’s going on over there?” Mrs. Schwartz yells, exerting more energy than usual saying all those extra words.

  Nicky whispers, “Go ahead,” but what she really means is One word and I’ll grate your face on the asphalt like a chunk of cheddar.

  Mrs. Schwartz finally arrives to investigate further. “Problem?”

  Kate’s behind Mrs. Schwartz, mouthing, “Tell her,” but I stay silent.

  “No problems here, Mrs. Schwartz,” Nicky says. “We just couldn’t remember the score.”

  I look down at the scuffed court and nod to confirm the lie.

  “Irrelevant,” Mrs. Schwartz says to us and blows her whistle. She yells out “Time!” at the rest of the class, and that’s that. We all head back to the locker room. For now, Nicky seems to be over it, but I race ahead to make sure I’m out of there before she changes her mind.

  *

  I kick the kitchen door closed behind me and throw my bag on the couch. “I’m home!” I yell as I open the fridge to scan my options. Instead of the almonds and yogurt Mom always suggests, I grab a natural soda and the jar of pickles and head for my room. Maybe my mom will take the hint and not bother me for a while. I rush by the living room and say, “Hi, Mom. Can’t talk. Gotta eat. Love you,” without looking up.

  At first I pick the Tegan and Sara/Ani/Butchies mix that Mia made for me before school got out last year, but I want something harder and louder, so I opt for Sleater Kinney. I put in my earbuds, crank up the volume, and fall back onto my bed. Peace at last.

  After thirty minutes of music therapy, I unplug and get to work on some chem homework until there’s a knock.

  “Abbey Road?” my mom calls from behind my closed door. She always uses my dad’s nickname when she thinks I need a little extra love. Sometimes it bugs me because it makes me think of him, but this time, it makes me feel a little better.

  I’m in the middle of downing another pickle spear, so I grunt for her to come in.

  She peeks her head in. “Is it safe?” she asks and smiles. Her glasses are askew and her long blond hair is up in a tight bun. This is her making-art look, so she must have been at her easel when I speed walked by. “Have you had a chance to digest the live goat I tied to your cage?”

  My hunger is a lot easier to explain than the scare I had in PE, so I play along. “Yes, I am subdued for now.”

  She steps inside my room. “Good girl. You’re doing homework.”

  “Yep.” I tap my pencil on my notebook. Something feels awkward.

  She puts her hands on her hips, assessing my room like she’s seeing it for the first time.

  I look around, too, making sure I haven’t left any hints of gayness out. I think she knows and I think she knows I know she knows, but that’s as close as I am to being out to her, so when she acts like this, I freak out and start to sweat. Is this it? Is she finally going to ask me?

  I think I’m in the clear, but then she asks, “Is that new?” and points to the Tegan and Sara poster I bought this summer.

  “Um, not really.” I look at her carefully. “Why?” The poster’s hands down the gayest thing in my room, but she would never know that. I mean, it’s just two girls standing side by side.

  “Oh, I hadn’t noticed it, I guess. They’re sisters, right?”

  How did she know that? And if she knows that, does she also know they’re lesbians? Did she Google them? I should have never shown her how to do that. My heart races. I sit up and busy myself folding the clean laundry my mom dumped on my bed earlier today. “Mom, why are you in my room?” I finally dare to ask.

  “What. I can’t stop by and say hi?”

  “Sure. Hi.” I wave at her and smile. Yet she lingers on. Okay, maybe she doesn’t want me to come out to her, but something is up. She’s acting like I do when I want to ask her for something that I’m afraid she’ll say no to. “Anything else?”

  “Have you been studying for your permit?”

  I roll my eyes. I’d almost rather she out me than ask about that damn test again. “Why are you so eager for me to get my license, Mom? I mean, who cares?”

  “Abbey, I think you’re avoiding it, and I don’t want you to be afraid of driving just because…” She sits next to me on my bed. “Your dad would have wanted you to learn how to drive, honey.”

  She’s clever to use the ol’ your-dad-would-have-wanted line. Nicely played. Besides, she’s right, I’ve been afraid to get behind the wheel. I know it’s stupid, but there it is. He died, so I assume I will, too. “I’ll study, Mom. Okay?” I say and grab my chem book to signify that our talk is over.

  She pats my leg. “Okay, my Abbey Roo. Dinner in an hour. Taco Tuesdays.”

  “Bueno.”

  She shuts the door behind her, and I fall back onto my bed and stare at the map of the US that I tacked up there when I was nine. All the cities I want to visit are circled in red. When I did that, I imagined I’d take a wild cross-country road trip with Kate after our senior year and visit each place. Ha. At the rate I’m going, I’ll never even get to Phoenix with her.

  I close my chem book and pull the Arizona Driver License Manual out of my bedside table. The thought of bumming rides from my mom or riding Suntran for yet another year is enough motivation. That and the insight that Garrett told me at lunch: learning how to drive is like investing in sex insurance. I’m not really sure what she means by this, but I’ll take her word for it. Being a junior and the most experienced you-know-who friend I have, she’s usually right about these kinds of things.

  Chapter Two

  Before Garrett pulls her Corolla into our usual spot, she flips off a carload of students for taking too long to get out of her way. “Effing permit driver,” she says and yanks up the emergency brake even though there’s no risk of rolling down a hill at Gila High, or hardly anywhere else in Tucson for that matter.

  I feel the need to defend the new driver who is at least further along than me in his skills. “Hey, we can’t all be as good as you at everything, G.”

  “So true,” Garrett says and smiles. She’s only a year older than Kate and me and she’s on the varsity basketball team instead of JV like us, but her confidence makes her seem like a college student. I bet she would have thrown the first punch if Nicky had been in her face. If not, her girlfriend, Tai, would have done it for her. Yep, Garrett has it all: a car, a girl, sex appeal, and she’s out to her mom. I want to be Garrett when I grow up, and I’m sure she knows it.

  “So, freshie”—Garrett whips her thick hair into a perfect bun and looks at me—“what are you going to do about Knuckles?”