The next step was visiting Delta. My driving instructor, Robert, was the best. He would take me out for two hours every session. We had all these memories like the time I almost got raped at the gas station. (I know this is scary, but Robert was there, so I wasn't really in danger). Amanda refused to let us go back there. I was always at Amanda's lessons, too. She was scared to be alone with a stranger (she is still five, I swear), so I'd sit in the back and do homework. No matter how many times I would explain it, Robert never learned what an electron was. It was so great. Delta made driving fun.

I made mistakes, though. I drove on the wrong side of the road in the biggest street in town with my mom. That was pretty bad. I've improved, I promise. Amanda quit driving. It was "too scary" and "too dangerous." This just put more pressure on me. Somebody had to pass. My parents were sick of driving me.

After a while, I felt I was ready for the test and set up an appointment for Glendale. The two closest DMVs are Glendale and Pasadena. Pasadena is supposedly impossible, so I went to Glendale. At this point, Elizabeth had her license. She passed at Glendale her first time. I really thought I was ready. I wasn't ready. It was really, really, really bad. I backed onto the sidewalk. I don't really want to talk about it. I really don't want to relive it. I didn't even finish the course. It was that bad. I cried.

I waited a while and practiced a lot. In California, people have three shots to get their licenses. If they don't pass in three tries, they go back to driving school. I loved Delta, but I wasn't prepared to go back to driving school. I set up an appointment for Glendale again. I wasn't that nervous this time. I knew what I needed to do. The grader was nice.

My test was absolutely perfect until the last turn. There was a yield sign, and there are none of those by my house. I knew I had to yield to traffic, but I freaked and messed up on the last left turn. It was sad. The instructor told me she wanted to pass me. She said I was a good driver and I should have passed. She felt bad. I felt bad. I blew it - and, now, I was the loser who failed her test twice.