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Brian approached his parents sitting in the dining room, visiting. “Well, I suppose I’ll be seeing you all about eleven or so. By the way, you mind if I take the car?” He directed the first comment to his mother, who appeared to be the type who worried about details until she made herself sick with distress. The question, though, was directed at his father, who was sitting opposite his mother. With one fleeting glance, anyone could tell that Brian’s father was most definitely the figure with the authority. He possessed a casual, confident demeanor, and when he looked up from his newspaper to say “sure” to Brian, his statement was indubitably irrevocable.

“Just be careful, honey.” His mother, though, still received an opportunity to do her arduous duty of worrying.

“Will do. I’ll see you all later.”

As Brian walked out of the front door, he was met by the vulgar sight of a ‘77 Oldsmobile station wagon, otherwise known as the ‘parentmobile’. “Huh . . . I sure do wish I had a job so that I could have money for a car.” He spoke out loud, to no one in particular. “Oh, well, I suppose I’ll have to live with this thing until then.” Brian sat in the driver’s seat while he began to figure how many weeks he thought it would take him until he could save enough money for a decent car. Still figuring, he put the car in drive and headed for Chris’s house. When he arrived, Chris was waiting by the door, and as he approached the station wagon, Brian could see him jokingly mouthing the word ‘parentmobile’.

“At least I’m sixteen.”

Silence filled the car for a moment, until Chris broke in with “Huh-Huh . . . that’s cool.” Once again, his impression had failed miserably.

“You’re getting better at that, you know.”

“Thanks for the encouragement. Oh, by the way, you need to pick up Nancy and Sarah from Sarah’s house.”

“Nancy and Sarah? Oh, you mean the Nancy and Sarah a year older than us. Where do they live?”

“Oak street.”

“Thanks for telling me so soon so that I have to turn around to go back and get them. No, really, I appreciate it.”

“No prob. Anything I can do to make you late.”

“Nancy and Sarah, huh? I don’t think I know them too well. You?”

“No, but I’ve talked to them in school a few times before. We’re all in the same Latin class.

Brian still seemed to be confused about the two, and after deciding that he was most likely thinking of someone else, Chris attempted to correct the situation. “You know, Nancy. She’s pretty smart and has the long, light brown hair?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s, well, the less attractive one.”

“She’s still not bad.”

“But Sarah, on the other hand, is incredible.” Brian shook his head slowly and looked off in to the distance. It was obvious that he liked at least what he had seen of her. To Brian, Sarah was one of the people he had had a crush on ever since he had first seen her in the halls of school. Considering the fact that Brian would never have had the nerve to approach her on his own, he had thought that nothing would ever develop between them. Suddenly, though, his hopes had become remarkably more reasonable.

“Incredibly stupid, you mean.”

“Do you mean she’s not book smart, or are you saying that she just doesn’t know what’s going on?”

“Well, she makes pretty good grades, but she’s the most gullible person I’ve ever talked to. Oh, and, by the way, if she asks, my ‘69 Corvette is still in the shop.”

Brian once again shook his head, only this time he had a knowing smile on his face instead of a faraway look. “Don’t you mean your ‘15 Vette, Chris?” he said through his quiet laughter.

“I get it. Turn at the next street. Nancy’s house is the third one on the right.”

“All right,” he said, as he pulled the old, beat-up station wagon to the front of the Victorian-style white picket fence, “You can run up there and get them.”

As Brian watched Chris approach the front door, it seemed as if he were trying to process a hundred thoughts at once. “What should I say?” “What if I embarrass myself?” He then remembered his mother, who he always told worried too much, and he forced himself to stop his mental self-torture. He thought to himself, “OK, I just have to take it cool. If I just act myself, they won’t even think about the car.” Brian had always tried to make sure that no one knew he was an excessive worrier with a self-esteem problem, but he still tended to worry to himself quite a bit. Brian watched as the girl whom he had secretly liked ever since he could remember approached the door. With a pained look on his face, Brian then managed to endure the seemingly endless two minutes it took from the time they answered the door until the time they stepped into the car.

Nancy was the first to speak as they entered the car. “Hi. I’m Nancy.”

“Hello, Nancy. I’m Brian.” An awkward silence followed his introduction, and Brian could think of nothing else to say, but, “Sorry about the car. I know it’s a piece.” And then, after another pause, “It’s my parents’.”

“Hey, you have nothing to be sorry about. At least it has wheels and runs. That’s better than I have.” Somehow, the words seemed to make Brian feel more at ease. At first, he thought it might be because they had some kind of connection between their personalities. On second thought, though, he decided that Nancy was probably just one of those people who has a natural gift for relating to others. “So . . . ” Nancy attempted to make polite conversation as the others had once again ceased communication. “I know that we

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