Chapter 18: Drivers Ed

“It looks like Max Headroom with gears for brains,” Alan remarked. “But I like it!” he amended. He held a sample business card that Kat designed with her PAK Gaming, Inc. logo concept. It featured the company name, logo, ARPANET code, Alan J. Shoemaker—Chief Project Engineer, and cell phone number.

“You better like it,” she grumbled with her mouth full, “Because I’m ordering this afternoon.” She sat across from him with Peter at the local Round Table Pizza Parlor. Their usual booth was next to the front doors and closest to the arcade, where they wasted change every weekend.

“Will they be ready for the Expo next month?” he asked excitedly as he tucked the sample card into his breast pocket and grabbed another slice of pizza.

“The convention isn’t until June 9^th and 10^th,” Peter said, sipping his pop. “Kinkos thinks they can do them in seven to ten business days, so we should be fine.

“Is the booth ready?” Kathy asked while nibbling a pizza bone. Everyone was adjusting to her new look. Her once-long black hair was now cut so short it barely touched her shoulders. Today, she wore a white silk ribbon with a bow on her head. She still favored her tribal feather earrings. She glared at the 12-year-old brat monopolizing her favorite arcade game. “If that little prick breaks my record, I’m gonna ... Ow!” she yelped as Alan kicked her under the table.

“Ahem, as I was saying...” he muttered, “We’ll get badges with lanyards for free admission and parking.”

“Badges? We don’t need no stinking badges!” Peter and Kathy mimed together and giggled.

“Har har,” Alan snipped. “Stop staring at the kid—his dad is watching. What about the banners? I got us a folding table from Mom’s break room.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “All set. We can use my uncle’s International Travelall to haul everything.”

They spent another half hour reviewing the company business and books to make up for the missed monthly meeting. PAK Gaming had a gross profit of $35,000 after agreeing on a $5,000 distribution. Peter gave his share to Kathy to appease her uncle, who was still sore at her for blowing the orange goblin’s engine. They released Canyon Shooter earlier that week and were waiting for its reception.

It was Saturday, May 12th; Peter and his mom had returned home the previous day. The porch was filled with flowers and cards from neighbors. Two news vans were parked on the street, and reporters with cameras approached when they arrived in Jeremiah’s El Dorado. The CFP, dressed like a modern Davey Crockett, imposed himself in the driveway, blocking their access to Peter and his mom. He raised his hands to stop questions and expressed respect for the journalistic integrity and character of KING 5 and KOMO 4, asking for privacy. Both crews left, gathering enough gossip from neighbors and passersby.

Peter’s room had been remodeled with a new bed, desk, and table with chairs. He asked to keep his favorite dresser and found it in its usual place but with one cracked and split drawer from a bullet hole. He set the ‘beast’ on the floor beside his desk, freeing up a ton of space.

They helped Janet climb the steps to her room and tucked her into bed to rest from the exhausting trip. Peter tested his new feet on the steps and felt mostly stable as he stared at the bottom landing. He held the railing loosely as he descended and saw a familiar figure in the doorway. His spirits sank, and he was instantly on guard.

“Hello, boy.” Roger Shipley greeted from the porch. “You got new legs.” He stood six feet and had gained a few pounds since Peter had last seen him. His salt and pepper hair had grown into a bushy mop, and he now sported a short gray beard and mustache that reminded his son of a homeless Kurt Russell. He wore baggy Wranglers and a lime green polo shirt with the Weyerhauser logo.

“What are you doing here?” the boy demanded, standing guardedly in front of the stairs. He heard Jeremiah’s snake-skin boots coming down the steps behind him. The loud clack of his silver-tipped walking stick accompanied his slow steps.

“Unexpected visitors?” he asked, exuding decadent Southern Creole charm.

Peter’s father was taken aback.

“Jeremiah, this is my dad,” Peter growled.

The man entered the living room and approached them with his hand out. “Hey there,” he said with a friendly tone. “Roger ... Roger Shipley.”

Jeremiah Tobias Whitaker III didn’t move to accept or shake the offered hand. He stood ominously still, regarding the man through steel-gray eyes. His expression was neither friendly nor menacing but hinted at the potential for either. “Charmed,” he replied with a neutral voice.

Roger grimaced and cleared his throat uncomfortably as he lowered his hand. “Um, yeah, well...” he stammered.

“I asked what the Hell are you doing here?” Peter replied angrily.

“No need for that tone with me, young—”

“Screw you ... Dad!” he blurted. “You bailed on us after my accident and left Mom when she needed you!”

His father bristled and stepped back. “Hold on, boy. Your mom and me separating was a long time coming. That accident had nothing to do with—”

“Why the HELL are you here?” the younger Shipley demanded. He felt Jeremiah’s strong hand grip his shoulder and clenched his jaw.

“I just wanted to check if you and your mom are alright!” he replied angrily. “Is that so wrong?”

“Why would you suddenly start giving a—”

“I think we can all agree this isn’t the best time for catching up,” Jeremiah interjected, never taking his eyes off the other man. “Perhaps you’d prefer to visit later.” His drawl sounded more authoritative and ominous.

Roger blinked before nodding and backing toward the door. “Yeah, sure. Just wanted to check on y’all.” He turned his back and stepped through the doorway. “I still care about you, boy,” he added.

“All you care about is your VP status and stock incentives,” Peter retorted.

“Ex-VP,” Jeremiah stated calmly. Peter glanced at him, and his father froze in the doorway. “Isn’t that correct, sir?” the CFP continued. “I recall something about a disciplinary review inquiry,” he continued. Roger didn’t turn around, but Peter could tell the words stung. “A scandalous relationship with a pool secretary, a married gal ... unless I am mistaken.”

Peter’s father took an angry breath and stormed off the porch toward his old ‘84 Dodge Ram.

The boy snorted as he walked over and shut the door. The knob and deadbolt were new, likely another detail from the man behind him.

“Me thinks your erstwhile parent may care about more than your well-being,” Jeremiah suggested, twirling his cane. “Mr. Bales informed me a week ago of an anonymous FOIA request to unseal your settlement mediation.” He stepped over to the couch and lowered himself onto it. “It was denied. But the request was likely from an attorney who shouldn’t pry into a sealed juvenile litigation.”

Peter turned and sat across from him on their new loveseat. “Jeremiah?” he asked, studying the man skeptically, “Why do I feel this attorney isn’t so anonymous anymore?”

The other man snickered and smiled humorlessly. “Her name is Judith Westmore, and she is, indeed, in cahoots with your father. I suspect they’re interested in your settlement’s ‘undisclosed’ portion.”

“Anything to worry about?”

“I’d think not at this juncture. But they may watch for any perceived opportunities to dip their fingers into the cookie jar.”

Peter frowned. “If they think mom is too sick to care for me—”

“Indeed, your biological father might see this as an opportunity to petition the courts for conservatorship or full custody.”

“Can I sue for my emancipation?” he asked wearily. “I’m sixteen, but I’ll be seventeen in nine months. I could be considered competent, right?”

“I’m not an attorney, Peter. But I’ll discuss it with Mr. Bales. If it comes to that, we can protect your assets from ‘legal prying.’ I know sixteen-year-olds who got their conservatorship, but I’d have to check their States.”

“We need to be wary of sharks in the pond.”

“Indeed.”

When Peter closed his call positions in Oracle and Microsoft, he gained $370,000. Due to the upheaval after the shooting, Jeremiah delayed contacting Dr. Richardson about the venture capital investment in Puget Sound Orthopedic Solutions. On Monday, May 14th, they met the doctor and his financial advisor at the Metropolitan Grill in downtown Seattle to discuss Peter’s offer over lunch. By the time they finished their steaks, they had agreed to a limited capital partnership. Over coffee, they discussed the details. Peter committed to investing $2 million over two years with a handshake, starting with $250,000. He would be granted one-quarter ownership without voting rights, with his investment converting to preferred stock if and when the company went public. The deal was ratified a week later, with Jeremiah co-signing for Peter due to his minor status.

He researched future options plays and looked into his CD ROM maker, Hewlett-Packard, a well-rated IBD stock. They started the year with a market cap of over $2 billion, expecting to grow by another billion by year-end. There was debate about a new long-term option, Long-term Equity Anticipation Securities, by the Chicago Board Options Exchange, offering contracts beyond typical expirations. HP was currently trading at $37.40, down from April’s $43.50 high, so he couldn’t go beyond December chains. He studied calls and puts just out of the money and bought 20 DEC 40 Calls at $3.33 and 100 DEC 35 Puts at $0.15. Happy with his new processor, he bought 5,000 more AMD shares to double his holding.

Peter’s big milestone was finishing his junior year. Invited by his school, he took exams that proved he was a genius and ready for 12^th grade. The senior curriculum included AP classes (some he already finished), a final-year project, and an external study program at Green River College. With teacher recommendations and school board approval, he got the go-ahead to study through the summer and join the Computer Sciences program at GRC in the fall. While most seniors took weeks on their final project proposal, he wrote his overnight with detailed steps. His project focused on using computerized technology to bring everyday tasks into the electronic era.

After two weeks, Peter was comfortable walking with his prosthetics and obsessed with getting his driver’s license. Without a Driver’s Ed course, he would have to wait until he was seventeen to take the driving test. The only things stopping him from getting his Learner’s Permit were the written knowledge test and his mom’s presence at the DMV to sign his minor affidavit. Her hesitation had nothing to do with fear of him driving. She was terrified of leaving the house and exposing herself to germs that her body couldn’t fight. Nothing would sway her. Dr. Yamada had put the fear of death in her, and she wasn’t about to risk proving him right.

Jeremiah found a solution. He convinced Janet to sign over a limited power of attorney, giving him specific guardianship roles over her son. This allowed him to sign the boy’s affidavit and sit for the knowledge test. He passed in 10 minutes and paid the $10 fee for his temporary paper permit. He eagerly left the DMV with Kathy and Jeremiah.

“Okay!” he chimed excitedly. “Which one of you is gonna let me drive?” He pointed to the obnoxious yellow and black Datsun parked beside the gleaming black Cadillac.

“Surely you jest, young fellow,” the Southerner drawled as he climbed in his El Dorado. He kept the windows down to prevent overheating in the bright sun. He backed out of his parking spot, muttering about the youth of today and lead-based paint chips.

Peter turned on his girlfriend, who was tapping her foot defiantly.

“C’mon, babe,” he moaned. “Gimme the keys.”

“Are you out of your mind?” she scoffed. “Have you ever driven a 4-speed?”

“No, and, um ... no,” he replied, holding his hand out persistently. “How hard can it be? Three pedals instead of two ... I mean ... big whoop.”

She would make him eat those words for the rest of his life! She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head in disbelief as he stood determinedly before her. Then she blew out her air and tossed him the keys. “Okay,” she retorted as she went to the passenger side. “All right, big guy. Show me what you got!”

To call his first attempt at driving a manual transmission a disaster would be an understatement. He failed just trying to start the engine. The car lurched forward when he turned the ignition and rammed into the curb stop, jarring them both.

“What the fuck?” he demanded angrily.

“It could be because the car was in gear, dumbass,” she snickered. Her brilliant eyes were hidden behind aviator sunglasses.

He blushed as several people outside the DMV looked at him. “Why did you leave it in gear?”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, covering her mouth, “I’m just a silly girl. I didn’t want the car to roll away,” she growled. “Push in the clutch.”

He sheepishly pressed the left pedal.

“Okay, now watch,” she said as she pulled the shifter back and swung it side-to-side. “This is neutral, easy peasy, side-to-side.” She swung it back towards him and jabbed it forward. “Left side to the front is first, and back is second. Back to neutral; in the middle, forward is third, back is forth. Now to the right and back ... that’s reverse. Got it, smart guy?”

He practiced the maneuvers several times and then smiled brightly. “Yep. Got it.”

“Good, now keep holding the clutch and start the car,” she instructed.

He turned the key, grinning ear-to-ear when the motor started. “Yes! I got this!” he exclaimed, tapping his feet excitedly on the floorboards.

“Now reverse and back us out,” she ordered.

“Reverse!” he cried eagerly, swinging the shifter right and back. The grinding gears could be heard a block away, and everybody stopped to stare. He tried twice to shift it to reverse. “What the Fuck?” he yelled as the gears shrieked at him again.

“I never told you to take your foot off the clutch!” she shouted back at him, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he grumbled, pushing the left pedal down. This time, the shifter slipped smoothly into place.

“Look back at where you’re going, give it some gas, and SLOWLY release the clutch.”

He got two of three right but ignored her emphasis on slow and popped the clutch, causing the car to lurch backward and stall. This resulted in an epic backfire that drew attention again.

“FUCK!” he yelled, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“I said ‘S-L-O-W-L-Y,” she teased him with her best ‘tarded’ voice.

“Why can’t you just get an automatic?” he grumbled, pushing the clutch back in and restarting the engine.

“Automatics are for pussies,” she retorted. “And pale-face boyfriends. Want me to take over?”

“No!” he growled as he revved the motor and slowly released the clutch. He maneuvered them from the parking spot with minimal whiplash, then released the clutch to step on the brake. The engine stalled again, and he glared at his snickering girlfriend. “Oh, shut it!” he grumbled as he engaged the clutch and started the car. Kat had lost her composure, giggling and snorting over his mistakes.

With burning cheeks, he put the car into first gear and over-revved the engine while trying to release the clutch. The car jerked several times as it picked up speed. He wrenched the steering wheel wildly, winding the engine loudly at the first turn.

“Once you finish turning, shift into second!” she yelled over the noise.

He straightened their course and stepped on the clutch, causing the engine to scream. He nervously shifted and popped the clutch again, jerking them forward violently before stalling the vehicle again. Kathy howled with laughter as a motorist behind them honked helpfully to advise him he was blocking the road.