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at the side of the road. “Pretty nice, right?” I nodded, still trying to catch my breath. “That’s an Audi A4. It’d run you somewhere around forty thousand dollars. Why anyone would drive a convertible in the winter, I have no idea, but some people are idiots.”
    I gave him a weird look. I definitely didn’t have $40,000. And I didn’t need to learn about buying a luxury car. I just needed to learn about driving a regular one. “And see that one?” He pointed to the one in front. “It’s a BMW 7-Series. You’re looking at eighty thousand, minimum.”
    “That’s nice,” I said.
    “You think so?” he asked. “I always thought they were kind of squashed looking. And my friend’s dad back in Canada has one. He says they guzzle gas. Personally, when this one dies, and I graduate and get a decent job, I’m buying a hybrid.” We sat in silence for a few seconds.
    “Okay, now what?” I asked.
    “Now you parallel park between those two cars.” I must have given him a look like he had banana trees growing out his ears, because he started laughing.
    “You can’t be serious,” I said. “Shouldn’t we be practicing this in, like, a deserted parking lot somewhere? Plus, you just told me that those two cars combined cost at least a hundred and twenty thousand dollars. You do realize my mom and I don’t have that kind of cash, right? How do you expect me to pay when I total them?”
    “You’re not going to total them.”
    I let my head fall forward against the steering wheel and shut my eyes. “Okay, Patrick, you’ve obviously never driven with me before. If you had, you’d know that there’s no point sitting here discussing this. I can’t do it.”
    “I’ve been driving with you for the past half hour,” he answered. “That’s how I know that you can.” I obviously didn’t look convinced. “There won’t be a scratch on those cars when you’re finished. I promise. I’m going to be right here beside you, helping.” I sighed. “Parallel parking is like riding a bike—” he started.
    I cut him off. “The last time I rode a bike I broke my ankle and came this close to killing some lady’s cat.”
    “Okay.” He paused. “It’s like learning to swim—”
    “I sink.”
    “Okay. What can you do?”
    I sighed again. “I read. I bake cookies and cakes. I study. I pretty much excel at all things safe and boring that involve sitting at home and not parallel parking between a hundred and twenty thousand dollars worth of cars.”
    “Baking!” he said. “Parallel parking is exactly like baking.” I was not going to be parallel parking in that spot. No way, no how. But I had to hear this. “You’ve got your ingredients, right?” I could tell his mind was racing. “The car and the spot. And you’ve got your recipe. Here. Pull up beside the BMW. Not too close. About two feet away. Line the bumpers up, then put on your turn signal.”
    “Patrick. That’s a really bad idea. I don’t think you understand. . . .”
    “Here,” he said, ignoring me. “Give it a tiny bit of gas.”
    “No way.”
    “Just try.” Against my better judgment, I gave in and Patrick guided the wheel as I pressed gently on the gas pedal. We pulled alongside the BMW. “Okay. So you take one car.” He pointed at the steering wheel. “Check!” I was trying not to hyperventilate. “You take two feet of space.” He rolled down his window and leaned out, letting in a gush of cold air. “Check!” He motioned for me to take the wheel again. “You put it in reverse.” He adjusted the gear shift for me. “Then use juuuust a little gas, and you stir it all the way to the right. Stir,” he said, and I wrenched the wheel around, feeling like I was about to barf. The car inched back. “Stir stir stir stir. Good. Okay. Brake.” I stepped on the pedal. Hard. We both lurched forward. Again. “Okay. Good. We’ll work on smooth braking later.”
    I pulled my hat off and shoved it between the seats. I could