The line went dead.
The dispatcher patted my shoulder, his tone dripping with condescension：
“You really didn't know? The owner is Instructor Gray's brother-in-law. Just focus on learning to drive and quit making trouble.”
Thelma walked up to me, her voice sharp and cruel：
“Either play by my rules, or get lost! Eighteen thousand eight hundred dollars. For someone like you, that's what, two nights on your back?”
Everyone burst out laughing.
April pressed her lips together, her head bowed low.
I didn't argue. I turned and left.
Back home, after I finished nursing my son, April sent me a private message：
“Darlene, they're all saying you're not coming back?”
I thought about it for a moment, then typed back：
“I'll be there.”
The student group chat exploded：
“No way. She got called worse than a dog and she's STILL coming back? That woman's got thicker skin than a brick wall.”
“A bet's a bet. Pay up, pay up, hand it over.”
One after another, people started sending cash gifts in the chat. Someone named Bertram Lawrence posted five laughing-face stickers and collected five twenty-dollar gifts.
So they'd been placing bets on whether I'd come back or not, turning my humiliation into entertainment.
April sent another private message：
“I'm sorry, Darlene. They made me ask you. Instructor Gray has a bad temper. Just bear with it and send her a gift. That's all it takes.”
“Once you get your license, you'll never have to deal with her again.”
I didn't blame her. I walked into the study.
I opened my laptop, created a new folder, and labeled it “Evidence”.
Then I uploaded the one-on-one training contract, every recording of Thelma's verbal abuse and humiliation, her hints that I should send gifts, and the audio of her encouraging other students to freeze me out,
along with today's phone call with the dispatcher and the call to Norman Fletcher, all backed up in chronological order.
It wasn't enough. I needed more.
Over the next few days, I showed up at Ridgeway like clockwork.
No more complaints, no more confrontations.
When it was my turn behind the wheel, I treated every second like it counted.
The rest of the time, I drilled on the simulator over and over.
No lingering, no delays. When my time was up, I left.
The day before the driving skills test, Thelma took us to the test site for a practice run.
I nailed every step, clean pass on the first try.
A quiet thrill settled in my chest, solid and sure.
Thelma watched me the entire time, a smile curling at her lips that made my skin crawl.
The next day was the real exam.
I followed the time Thelma posted in the group chat and arrived at Ridgeway at eight-thirty sharp.
The lot was empty. Not a soul in sight.
I called the dispatcher in a panic.
He told me, casual as anything, that the bus carrying over forty students had left half an hour ago.
My mind went blank. I pulled up the group chat notification again.
It clearly said eight-thirty. They'd left at eight without a word.
Rage shot straight to the top of my skull.
I understood instantly. Thelma had done this on purpose.
I didn't waste a second. I ran to the curb, flagged down a cab, and told the driver to floor it to the test site.
By some miracle, I made it just as they were finishing the final identity check.
I scanned my ID, looked up, and there was Thelma.
She stared at me, let out a cold laugh, and said under her breath：
“So what if you made it? You're still going to fail.”
My clenched fists slowly uncurled. I wasn't going to give her a fight. Not now.
I just quietly straightened the lanyard body camera hanging from my chest.
Sitting in the waiting hall, I watched the monitor on the wall.
The guy with the spiked-up hair was testing.
Crossed the line on reverse parking. Crossed the line on parallel parking. Rolled back on the hill start.
Two chances. Failed both.
Finally, my turn.
I took a deep breath, drove better than I ever had, and cleared it in one clean run.
Not a single line crossed. Not a single second over. Zero mistakes.
Yet the safety officer slammed the violation button and marked me “failed for exceeding 25 mph”.
I stared at him in disbelief, then stepped forward to argue.
“There's no speed limit on the driving skills test. You can't just make up violations!”
The safety officer didn't even look at me. He spoke into his radio and recorded my first attempt as a fail.
I swallowed my anger and prepared for the second attempt.
When I looked up, my eyes caught the ID badge on his chest——Norman Fletcher.
My stomach dropped.
In that instant, I understood why April had failed the driving skills test twice.
Sure enough, on the second attempt, he failed me again for “exceeding the time limit on the hill stop”.
I was done. Both chances gone.
Every other student who practiced with me passed.
Every single one, including the guy who could barely keep the car straight.
Thelma sauntered up to me afterward, smirking：
“Some idiots just don't know how things work. Guess they deserve to fail.”
Back home, I removed the body camera from my collar.
I exported the full video of Norman deliberately failing me, uploaded it to my computer, and backed it up.
Then I sent the dispatcher a message：
“Hey, Mark. I was out of line before. Could you help me smooth things over with Instructor Gray about the practice sessions? I just remembered where I left Instructor Chavez's cash gift. I'll go get it for him tomorrow.”
