Well, sweet sixteen will soon be coming to an end. I don’t why they call it that, because it wasn’t exactly an angel food cake with sprinkles on top. Sure, there were a few tasty moments, but I’m not too bummed to put it in the rearview mirror. Maybe it’s because most sixteen-year-olds get to drive. Unlike me, who has a stepfather who thinks the female brain can’t figure out the difference between stop and go.
I only pressed the gas instead of the brake once! And I didn’t hit anything; just bumped over the curb. If Ronny hadn’t been yelling about how terrible I was, I probably would have braked just fine. But all that yelling made me nervous and I slammed my foot down on the wrong pedal. After that, he said I’d have to prove I wouldn’t wreck the car before getting my license. Whenever th
