Read Rhymes With Cupid for Free Online Page B

feel my forehead sweating, and I was sure I had a brutal case of hat head, but I didn’t care. I was so mad at Patrick for making me do this. I didn’t have anything to prove to him, and I didn’t care how bad I looked.
    “Okay, now just a little bit of gas again and stir it to the left. Keep looking over your shoulder to watch where you’re going.” I wrenched the wheel around, swearing under my breath. “Okay, brake.” I did, more gently this time. “There. Now just pull forward and center the car, like you’re sliding a cookie sheet into the oven. You want at least two feet of space at the front and back, and about half a foot from the curb.” I pulled forward, hit the brake again, put the car in park, and shut off the ignition.
    “See?” he said, grinning. “I knew you could do it. And that was, like, extreme parallel parking. Now that you’ve parked between two cars that cost more than your entire university education will, you’ll never be scared again.” He held up his hand for a high five.
    I did not high-five him back. Instead, I unbuckled my seat belt and got out, slamming the door behind me. Patrick got out, too.
    “Check it out.” He walked around the car. “You’re exactly half a foot from the curb. Exactly . Honestly, I kind of want to take a picture of this parallel park and frame it, because that’s how perfect it is. It’s like the Mona Lisa of parallel parks, or something.”
    I was fuming too much to listen. It was a miracle I’d made it into the space without damaging $120,000 worth of luxury cars. He was an idiot if he thought there was any other explanation. And I was an idiot for letting him talk me into doing something so risky. If I’d hit those cars, we never would have been able to pay for the damages—even with Patrick’s insurance coverage. My mom and I would have probably had to sell our new, cheaper house. We’d be on the streets, sleeping next to Jack the homeless guy and kicking ice chips at strangers who wouldn’t give us their bus money. I walked past him, opened the passenger-side door, got in, and slammed it shut.
    “Hey!” Patrick knocked on the window but I refused to look at him. My hands were shaking in my lap. I wiped some sweat off my forehead and blinked back tears. He knocked again. This time I rolled the window down a crack. “What are you doing?” he asked.
    “You’re driving,” I said, then looked straight ahead again. He came around to the driver’s side and got in. Neither of us said a single word the whole way home.
    “You working tomorrow?” Patrick asked finally as he effortlessly backed the car into the driveway of his grandfather’s house.
    “Noon to four,” I answered, unbuckling my seat belt.
    “I’m off at three thirty,” he said. “I’ll wait for you. You can practice driving home. We’re going the same way, anyway. Makes sense, right?” It did. But just because it made sense, didn’t mean I wanted to do it. “What’ve we got left? Thirteen days before your road test? There’s no way you’re failing this time. You’re an awesome driver, Elyse. You just need to work on your confidence.”
    I knew he was trying to help, that he was trying to be nice. So why was it that I couldn’t seem to keep the sarcastic tone out of my voice? “Right,” I said, closing the car door and walking away. “Because I’m the Leonardo da Vinci of left-hand turns.” I didn’t look back, but I’d swear I heard him laughing at me softly as I trudged up the path to my front door.
    I kicked off my boots and glanced at the clock on the DVD player. It was 7:10, plus our car was in the driveway, so I knew my mom was home. “Hello?” I called. Nobody answered. There weren’t any cooking smells coming from the kitchen. “You won’t believe what the neighbor made me do.” I started telling the story, figuring my mom was just in the bathroom and would hear me through the door. “I seriously think we should cancel these driving lessons