“If you guys hadn’t put so much pressure on me for getting a soccer scholarship, maybe my grades would have been better.”

“Stop sign coming up.” She raised her voice.

“And maybe if Dad didn’t wake me up at the crack of dawn every day—”

“Stop sign!” she screamed.

Too late, I shot through it, right at a car turning at an intersection. My brakes screeched as I pounded them, turning at the last second into the curb. The back wheels lifted off the ground and threatened to tip the car on its side. My eyes squeezed shut, bracing for impact. Our car slammed into the curb, followed by a loud crunch and the clang of a hubcap falling onto the road. My head bobbled into the steering wheel. Thankfully, we hadn’t been going that fast. Just going when it wasn’t my turn.

None of the airbags deflated either, which was bad because they should have, but good because it turns out we didn’t need them, and they would’ve cost about three grand to replace.

We sat in shock. We’d hit the curb just past the intersection with no houses or buildings within the next twenty meters. Lucky.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded.

After a second to catch my breath, I swung the door open to examine the damage. It would be hard to know for sure until the morning, but for now a softball-sized dent stuck out on the side of my front bumper. If I could live with the aesthetics, it might not need to be replaced. My hubcap clanged as I threw it in my trunk.

My mom stayed silent when I hopped back into the car. Tense and guilty, I fully prepared myself for a lecture. I didn’t get one. She didn’t need to say it.

I told you so.

Slowly, my foot pressed the gas and we rattled along at a normal speed towards our house. My eyes glued themselves to the road ahead.

“It’s your own future.” At last, she spoke. “The fact that you even have a college fund should feel like a gift from God.”

I know. I was lucky to have a mom who would put her arm out, like she had for me during a minor collision with a curb.

“I feel good about it,” I said.

“Want to take another look at that bumper?”

“I mean the tryout. I don’t feel pretty good. I feel great.”

The car treaded up our driveway. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll try to do better.”

My feet slid on the gravel as I jumped out to reassess the bumper’s wound. Other than the good-sized dent beside the front wheel and a long scratch along the bottom of the passenger side, nothing too bad.

“Did you get hurt at all?” my mom called. She climbed out.

“Little shaken up,” I said. “I’m going to go to sleep.”

“I think that’s a good idea. And you’re grounded.”

I winced.

“Car accidents are a big deal, Nick,” my mom said, with her scary mom voice. “They kill people.”