By the time the metallic-blue Tesla slid into the California Department of Motor Vehicles lot, the bass was shaking the windows hard enough to rattle the hanging air freshener.

“Tim, can you please turn the volume down? I’m trying to breathe,” Paul shouted over the music, one hand braced against the dashboard as the car glided past a “SLOW – TESTING IN PROGRESS” sign.

“Huh?” Tim yelled back, bobbing his head.

“The volume!” Paul grabbed the touchscreen and jabbed the “pause” icon. The car fell instantly silent except for the whisper of the air conditioner and the distant honk of someone stuck in the DMV line.

“Dude,” Tim groaned, sagging back in the leather seat. “You just murdered the whole vibe. I was in the zone.”

“You can vibe later,” Paul said. “Right now you should be concentrating on driving. Especially since you only have a permit and not an actual license.”

Tim flashed him a grin, the kind that always showed up right before he did something reckless. “Yeah, well, that is going to change today, my friend.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “By tonight I will be a fully licensed driver in the great state of California, cruising the 405 like a king.”

“Uh-huh,” Paul said, tightening his seat belt. “This from the guy who almost flattened a squirrel ten minutes ago.”

“It darted into my lane,” Tim protested. “Honestly, I should’ve just kept going. Natural selection and all that.”

“If you do that on the test, you’re failing so fast they’ll staple the results to your forehead,” Paul said.

“Fail, schmail,” Tim said with a dismissive wave. “Relax. This isn’t some 1995 sedan. This is a Tesla. Watch and learn.”

He tapped the stalk twice. The steering wheel gave a little twitch as Autopilot engaged. The car straightened out perfectly between the faded white lines.

“All I have to do,” Tim said, raising his hands theatrically, “is press this, and…”

The car gracefully curved around a corner by itself.

“…the car drives itself,” he finished, wiggling his fingers in the air.

Paul stared at the center screen, where a little blue steering wheel icon glowed. “I highly doubt they’re going to let you do that on the test,” he said. “Pretty sure ‘letting the robot do it’ isn’t on the approved list of driving skills.”

“Why not?” Tim shrugged. “I’ll just keep my hands on the wheel so it looks like I’m doing it. The tester will never know. I mean, no offense, but these DMV people are not exactly tech geniuses.”

“I wouldn’t risk it,” Paul said. “Also, how did you even get your dad to let you borrow his brand-new car? I thought he said no way until you proved you could drive stick, even though this thing doesn’t even have gears.”

“I didn’t get permission,” Tim said casually.

Paul turned his head. “What?”

“Don’t give me that look,” Tim complained. “He’s at work all day. By the time he realizes the car is gone, I’ll already be back with a license and he’ll be too proud to yell. It’s genius.”

“It’s crazy,” Paul said. “And this is still America. People notice when extremely expensive cars crash into things.”

“So negative,” Tim said. “This is why your blood pressure is probably like ninety years old. You need to listen to some spa music, go birdwatching, do yoga or something.”

“Can you just keep your eyes on the road?” Paul said. “Even with autopilot, you’re supposed to keep your hands on the wheel.”

“Fine, Dad,” Tim muttered, wrapping his hands around the leather again.

They pulled into the DMV lot, which looked like every DMV lot in every small city in America: tired asphalt, a faded U.S. flag flapping on a crooked pole, and a line of people outside the building holding clipboards and coffee cups, all wearing the same expression of mild suffering.

The main lot was packed. Cars jostled for space near the “TEST PARKING ONLY” area.

“You should probably park on the street,” Paul said. “The lot’s pretty full.”

“Please,” Tim scoffed, scanning for a spot. “Nothing is impossible for a man with the self-parking feature.”

He spotted an empty space between a pickup truck and a Honda. “There,” he said, flicking his chin toward it.

“I mean, you do know how to parallel park, right?” Paul asked.

“Do I know how to parallel park?” Tim clutched his chest like he’d been insulted. “I’m offended you even have to ask. Of course I know how to parallel park.”

“You’re making that face you make right before you cheat at something,” Paul observed.

“It’s easy,” Tim went on, ignoring him. “All you have to do is press this little button…”

He tapped the “P” icon. The screen flashed: “Auto Park Enabled.”

“…and the car parks itself,” he finished.

The Tesla slid neatly between the truck and the Honda with a smooth little shimmy. Tim sat back, proud. “See? Piece of cake.”

“Getting a driver’s license is not just about passing a test,” Paul said. “It’s about knowing how to drive. For real. In the actual world. With squirrels and everything.”

“Sure it is,” Tim said breezily. “And I am an excellent supervisor for this vehicle.”

He unbuckled his seat belt and grabbed his backpack. The straps were frayed, the front pocket bulging with something stiff and rectangular.

“I need you to go do something while I ace the written exam,” he said, already halfway out of the car. “Go for a walk, meditate, count clouds.”

“I can just wait inside,” Paul said. “You know, like a normal friend.”

“No, I need the car,” Tim said quickly. He patted his pocket like he was checking for his wallet. “Besides, I concentrate better without your stressed-out breathing.”

“Okay, but—”

“Paul,” Tim said, leaning back in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got this.”

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a folded stapled packet. It was dog-eared and highlighted, with small letters at the bottom: OFFICIAL DMV DRIVER KNOWLEDGE ANSWER KEY – CALIFORNIA.

Paul’s eyes widened. “Is that…?”

“The answer sheet,” Tim said, smug. “Straight from the source.”

“How did you even get that?” Paul hissed.

“I took it from my driver’s ed instructor,” Tim said matter-of-factly. “He left his briefcase open. I reached in, and boom. Destiny.”

“Tim, that’s not destiny, that’s stealing,” Paul said. “That’s literally cheating.”

“Relax,” Tim said. “To be honest, I probably would’ve passed anyway. But why leave anything to chance when I have a delivery job lined up that pays forty dollars an hour? Forty. Dollars. An hour. This license means a car, a job, and finally paying my half of the rent so you’ll stop nagging me.”

“That first paycheck better go entirely toward rent,” Paul said. “It was due yesterday. Our landlord’s already side-eyeing me like I’m the one skipping payment.”

“It’ll be fine,” Tim said. “The company’s just waiting for my license number. After today, I’m golden.”

He swung the door fully open—and froze, staring at the clean side of the Tesla.

“Uh… how do I open this from the outside again?” he muttered. “Is it the tap thing or the pull thing?”

“You literally convinced your dad you understood this car,” Paul said. “And you don’t even know how the handle works.”

“Shh,” Tim hissed. He poked at the chrome, and the handle presented itself. “See? Natural talent.”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “Natural something.”

Inside the DMV, the air was a blend of air conditioning, old carpet, and stale coffee. A TV hung on the wall showing a looped video about safe lane changing on U.S. highways. A sign screamed: NO CELL PHONE USE DURING EXAMS.

“C-58,” a bored voice called from behind the counter. “Calling C-58.”

Tim checked his ticket and swaggered forward. “Hi,” he said to the woman at the station, sliding his number over. He flashed his best charming smile.

“How are you today?” she asked mechanically. “What are you here for?”

“I’m here to take my driving test,” he said, as if he were announcing the start of a parade.

“You’ll complete the written portion first in Room Three,” she said, tapping the counter. “When you’re done, bring it back to me. Then we’ll assign someone to do the road test.”

“Got it,” he said.

He turned to head for Room Three—and nearly collided with a familiar face in a polo shirt and a striped tie.

“Excuse you,” a guy said behind him, stepping around. Then he looked up. “Hey. Aren’t you from my driver’s ed class?”

Tim’s heart stuttered. “Uh… hey, Mr. Howe,” he said, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Good to see you. What are you doing here?”

“Ironically, my wife works here,” Mr. Howe said. “I’m taking her out to lunch.” He eyed the door to Room Three. “You taking your test?”

“Yep,” Tim said. “Smashed that studying. I remember every single word you taught. Wouldn’t be surprised if I get a perfect score.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Mr. Howe said. “Good luck. Oh, random question—by any chance, did you see my answer key? I haven’t been able to find it anywhere.”

“Answer key?” Tim repeated, the booklet in his backpack suddenly feeling like a brick. “No. No, I haven’t seen it. That would be… weird.”

Mr. Howe frowned. “I hope I misplaced it. I’d be really sad if someone stole it to cheat. That kind of thing comes back around.”

“Yeah,” Tim said quickly. “Totally. What kind of loser would do that, right?”

“Exactly,” Mr. Howe said. “Anyway, take care. And good luck in there.”

Tim waited until the instructor walked away, then forced himself into Room Three. Ten desks formed a sad little semi-circle. Half the kids already had their heads down, pencils scratching bubbles.

He slid into a seat in the back, the answer key pressed between his thigh and the chair. The proctor passed him a scantron and a test booklet. “No phones,” she said. “No talking. If I catch you copying, you’re done.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tim murmured.

He opened his booklet, lined it up with the answer key hidden beneath the desk, and started filling in bubbles, his pencil ticking down the page like a clock hand. He didn’t even read the questions. He just matched patterns, row for row.

It took him less than ten minutes.

Outside, Paul paced by the big “DRIVER TESTING” sign, watching people step in and out of their practical exams. A woman in a baseball cap backed slowly into a cone. A kid with a hoodie reversed too fast and the tester grabbed the dashboard with both hands.

“This is a horrible place to try something,” Paul muttered, thinking about his friend inside with a stolen answer sheet and a borrowed Tesla.

He’d known Tim since middle school, since the days of skateboard videos in the parking lot and too many late nights playing console games. Tim had always been gifted in a dangerous way: just smart enough to get away with things, just charming enough to talk himself out of trouble, just reckless enough to make every situation a little more dramatic than it needed to be.

“C-58,” the woman at the front counter called again.

Tim came out of the testing room with a spring in his step, sliding his completed exam across the counter like it was a winning lottery ticket. “Hey,” he whispered to Paul without looking at him. “Told you. Easy.”

“You’re sure you didn’t—”

“Relax,” Tim muttered. “I’m untouchable.”

“Timothy Williams?” another voice called.

Tim turned. A tall man in a crisp shirt and a very bright tie stood at the door, clipboard in hand. He had the polite, slightly nervous look of someone who was trying very hard to appear professional.

“That’s me,” Tim said, strolling over.

“I’m Lance,” the man said, sticking out a hand. “I’ll be administering your road test today.”

Tim shook his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “That is a very… heroic name, by the way. Lance. Sounds like you should have your own comic book.”

Lance chuckled once, then straightened. “Is that your vehicle?” he asked, gesturing to the Tesla visible through the glass.

“Yep,” Tim said. “Just a little something I picked up last weekend.” He winked at Paul behind Lance’s back. “You like it?”

“I’ve never been in a Tesla before,” Lance said. “No one’s brought one for a test with me. Actually, this is my first driving test.” He smiled nervously. “So we’re both new at this.”

“Perfect,” Tim said smoothly. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

He hurried ahead to open the passenger door for Lance, almost tripping over the curb in his eagerness. “Let me get that for you,” he said. “By the way, that tie is a nice touch. Very DMV-chic. Really completes the whole look.”

“Thank you,” Lance said, settling into the seat, examining the minimalist dashboard. “So futuristic.”

Tim slid into the driver’s seat, hands already itching to tap the autopilot stalk.

“Seat belt,” Lance said automatically. “Mirrors adjusted. Whenever you’re ready, you can pull out of the space.”

Tim checked the mirrors like he’d seen people do in movies, flicked on his blinker, and eased out of the spot—actually driving this time, because Lance was watching his hands.

“How am I doing?” he asked after a few blocks of smooth, rule-abiding driving through the suburban streets of their Southern California town.

“Honestly?” Lance said, marking something on his clipboard. “I’m impressed. You’ve made complete stops, you’ve checked your blind spot. I haven’t had to dock you on anything yet.”

“I know,” Tim said, smiling. “Sometimes I drive so smooth, people think the car drives itself.”

Lance glanced at the big touchscreen, where the autopilot icon glowed harmlessly gray. “Do these cars drive themselves?” he asked.

Tim laughed too quickly. “I… don’t know,” he said. “It’s my dad’s car, so I’m not really familiar with all the features. I think he was too cheap to buy that package. Government taxes, you know? They take everything.”

“So you don’t have any kind of auto-drive turned on,” Lance said slowly. “Because that would be cheating.”

“Of course not,” Tim said. “I would never cheat.” He kept his eyes fixed on the road and his fingers itching by the autopilot stalk.

They looped through a few more blocks, obeying every speed limit sign and stopping politely for a pedestrian pushing a stroller. Lance scribbled notes, occasionally nodding.

“Okay,” Lance said finally. “We’re almost done. I just need to see you parallel park.”

“Nice,” Tim said, trying to sound casual even as his stomach flipped. “Parallel parking is actually my specialty.”

He pulled up alongside the test curb, put the car in reverse—and, while Lance glanced down at his paper, tapped the little “P” icon again.

The screen flashed: “Auto Park in Progress.”

The steering wheel began to move under his fingertips, the car inching backward with machine-level precision.

“So,” Tim said, trying to talk over the tiny whir of the system, “do you, like, get snacks in there? Like a break room? DMV doughnuts?”

“Sometimes,” Lance said. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” Tim blurted. “No. Why?”

“I thought I heard a noise,” Lance said, glancing up at the screen. “Like a… mechanical hum.”

“It’s just the air conditioning,” Tim said. “Climate control. California heat, you know. This is basically the desert.”

Lance looked at the screen again. The words “AUTO PARK IN PROGRESS” glowed cheerfully in the corner.

“Tim,” he said slowly. “Why does your display say ‘auto park in progress’?”

Tim’s mind blanked. “It… does?” he said. “Weird. Must be some glitch. These cars are so complicated. I’m doing all the work, I promise.”

The car finished sliding into place, perfectly aligned with the curb.

“Nice try,” Lance said. “I need you to pull out and park again. Without the car doing it for you.”

“I am hurt that you feel like you can’t trust me,” Tim said. “After everything we’ve been through on these mean streets.” He forced a laugh. “But, sure. I’ll do it again. Just for you, Lance.”

He put the car in drive, pulled forward, straightened out, then shifted back into reverse. His palms were damp now, his heart pounding.

“Easy,” he muttered. “Just line it up and—”

He turned the wheel too late.

The Tesla lurched backward and clipped the bumper of the test car behind him with a crunch that sounded loud even over his own gasp.

“Oh no,” Tim said, his voice strangled. “No, no, no, no, no…”

He slammed on the brake. The car jerked to a stop. In the rearview mirror, the other car’s bumper hung slightly crooked.

“Oh my dad is going to freak out,” he whispered. “Like… actually explode.”

“I’m sorry, Tim,” Lance said, voice steady now. “Contact with another vehicle is considered a critical driving error. I’m going to have to fail you on this test.”

“It was just a little tap,” Tim said. “A love tap. A tiny kiss between bumpers. ‘Fail’ is such a… strong word.”

“You’ll need to retake your driving test at a later date,” Lance said. “You can go back inside and schedule another appointment at the desk.”

“You don’t understand,” Tim said. “I need this license. I have a job lined up. Forty dollars an hour. Rent. Delivery. The American dream. If I don’t start this week, they’ll give it to someone else. We’re a team here, right? You and me? Lance and Tim?”

Lance didn’t answer.

Tim swallowed. “Okay,” he said quietly. “What if I came back after I get my first paycheck and… thank you? For helping me out?”

“Are you trying to bribe me?” Lance asked.

“No,” Tim said quickly. “Nothing like that. I’m just saying, one friend helping another friend. You know. Not, like, illegal.”

“Take this to the desk,” Lance said instead, tearing the bottom off his sheet and handing it over. He checked his watch. “You also need to leave a note on the other car. Hit-and-run is a serious offense. You can’t just drive away.”

“I was going to write a note after I went inside,” Tim lied. “I just wanted to beat the line.”

“I think I’ll hang around and watch you leave the note,” Lance said. “Just to make sure.”

Tim stared at him, then snatched the paper. “The tie ruins your outfit,” he muttered under his breath as he climbed out. “And your name is terrible.”

Inside, the DMV felt hotter now, the fluorescent lights harsher, the murmur of voices louder. Tim shoved the test result into his pocket and approached the front desk.

“I… uh… need to reschedule my driving test,” he said to the woman. “The guy outside said you could help me get an earlier date. Like, tomorrow. Or maybe tonight.”

She looked at him over her glasses. “Fill out this form,” she said, handing him a clipboard. “And bring it back. We’re booking out about two weeks right now.”

“Two weeks?” Tim said. “That’s… that’s forever.”

“Then you should’ve passed the first time,” she said, unimpressed.

He scribbled on the form, trying not to think about the dented bumper outside, the job slipping away, the rent already owed.

“May I see that?” she asked, nodding toward the paper sticking out of his pocket.

“This?” he said, trying to tuck it away. “It’s not important. Just… allergies.”

“The sheet from your examiner,” she said evenly. “We need it.”

He sighed and handed it over.

“Collision,” she read aloud. “That’s more than ‘a tiny mistake.’”

“We don’t have to make a scene,” he whispered. “So… hey, how did I do on my written exam, by the way?”

“I’ll go find out,” she said. “Stay put.”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, watching an older man pose miserably for his new driver’s license photo under a blinking “SMILE” sign.

“Tim?” a voice said behind him.

He spun around. Mr. Howe stood there, holding a brown paper bag and a surprise on his face.

“Hey,” Tim said, heart sinking. “Mr. Howe. Wow. Twice in one day. Lucky me.”

“How did it go?” the instructor asked. “The test?”

“The… test,” Tim said. “Oh, I nailed it. I definitely did great. I’m just… waiting for them to bring me my perfect score. Might frame it.”

“That’s good,” Mr. Howe said. “By the way, did you ever find that answer key I misplaced?”

“Answer key?” Tim repeated. “Still no. You really should keep a better eye on that, though. People do crazy things these days.”

“I actually had a duplicate made,” Mr. Howe said. “Just in case. The funny thing is, the questions on the real exam are the same, but we scramble the order of the answers for each test. So even if someone stole the key and tried to cheat, they’d probably get every question wrong. Big fat zero.”

Tim’s stomach turned to ice.

“What are you doing back here?” another voice said sharply.

Mr. Howe’s wife appeared behind the counter—hair pulled back, badge clipped to her shirt, DMV logo on her lanyard. She looked like she’d seen everything and been unimpressed by most of it.

“Some imbecile hit my car,” she said to her husband. “Brand new. Out there in the test lane. Can you believe that?”

Tim’s mouth went dry. “Car?” he croaked. “What… what kind of car?”

“Silver sedan,” she said. “Parked right where the road tests start. Looks like the other driver backed right into it and thought they could just walk away. Luckily, the examiner saw the whole thing.”

“That’s… terrible,” Tim said weakly. “People these days. No respect.”

“Anyway,” she said, turning to him. “I have your test results.”

She slid the paper across the counter. The number at the top glared at him like a neon sign.

0 / 46.

“You actually got a zero,” she said, sounding almost impressed. “I’ve never seen anyone score this low. Well, except for that girl who tried to cheat a few months ago.”

Mr. Howe leaned over to look. “May I see that?” he asked.

“No, that’s okay, they’re really busy, and I—”

But she had already turned the sheet so he could read it.

Mr. Howe’s face changed as he scanned the answers. “Timothy,” he said slowly. “Did you try to cheat?”

“I would never,” Tim said automatically.

“How is it possible that every single one of your wrong answers matches my missing answer key?” Mr. Howe asked. “Even in the wrong order. Can you explain that?”

Tim opened his mouth and closed it again.

“And he also just failed his road test for a collision,” a voice added.

They turned. Lance stood there, tie slightly crooked now, expression disappointed.

“And then he tried to bribe me into passing him anyway,” Lance said. “Money in exchange for a passing score.”

Mr. Howe’s wife stared at Tim, her expression hardening. “That was you who hit my car,” she said.

“This feels like a lot of people ganging up on one very charming young man,” Tim said, backing away. “And I, um… just remembered I have somewhere to be.”

“Security,” she said crisply. “Stop him.”

Two security officers appeared from near the photo station, moving faster than Tim expected. He tried to dart past them, but one grabbed his arm, the other blocked the exit. They guided him gently but firmly toward a side room.

“Cheating on a government exam is a crime,” one of them said. “And trying to bribe a government employee doesn’t exactly help your case.”

“You’re in a lot of trouble, Timothy,” the other added.

Paul showed up just in time to see his roommate being led away, hands half-raised, ranting about how he paid taxes last year and that should count for something.

“Tim,” Paul said later, sitting across from him in a cramped holding area at the small local police station, a U.S. flag in the corner, a poster about safe teen driving on the wall. “What happened?”

“You could say I didn’t pass my test,” Tim muttered. “In the most dramatic way possible.”

“You hit your dad’s car, didn’t you?” Paul said.

“No,” Tim said. “I hit some DMV lady’s car. My dad’s car is the weapon, not the victim.”

“Okay, that is not helping,” Paul said. “Does your dad know?”

Tim winced. “He’s about to,” he said. “They’re going to call him to come get the car. And me. Hopefully.”

Like he’d summoned the moment by saying it, Paul’s phone started to ring. The screen lit up: DAD – MR. WILLIAMS.

Tim’s eyes widened. “No, no, no,” he said. “You have to answer it. I need him calm. You’re the calm one.”

“I’m not calm,” Paul said. “My rent is on the line.”

“Please,” Tim said, shoving the phone into his hand. “If he hears my voice first, he’ll explode. You’ve seen it. Please.”

“Fine,” Paul said, taking a deep breath and swiping to answer. “Hello, Mr. Williams?”

“Paul?” Tim’s dad’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Where is my car? I came home, and the Tesla is gone. Is Tim with you?”

“He… sort of is,” Paul said.

“Sort of?” Mr. Williams snapped. “Paul, do not play games with me. Did he take my car after I specifically told him not to?”

“He used it for his driving test,” Paul said. “And he may or may not have… gotten into a little accident.”

“A little accident?” Mr. Williams repeated. “On his driving test? In my brand-new car? That car cost more than my first house. You tell him when he gets home, he’s going to be working the rest of his life paying it off.”

“About that,” Paul said. “He… might not be coming home right away. He’s… at the station.”

“The station?” Tim’s dad said. “As in the police station?”

Tim grabbed the phone. “Hey, Dad,” he said, forcing a laugh. “It’s your favorite son. So, funny story—”

“What did you do?” his dad demanded.

“I may have… failed the test,” Tim said. “And bumped a car. And there was this whole thing with the written exam—long story short, small misunderstanding about academic honesty—and, uh… you think you could come bail me out?”

There was a long, terrible pause.

“You know what?” his dad said finally. “No. There is no way I am bailing you out. I warned you about that car. I warned you about shortcuts. Maybe some time in a cell will finally teach you a lesson.”

“Dad, that’s a little extreme,” Tim said. “This is still America. There’s due process. There’s the Constitution. There’s—”

The line went dead.

“He hung up,” Tim whispered. He handed the phone back to Paul like it weighed a thousand pounds. “My own father just left me on read in real life.”

Paul sat back. “Well,” he said. “On the bright side, you didn’t have the job yet, so technically you’re not missing work.”

“At this point, I might miss rent,” Tim said. “Buddy, old pal, roommate who loves me like a brother… do you think you could just loan me—”

“No,” Paul said firmly. “Absolutely not. You still owe me for last month. And the month before that. And the utilities. And the time you ate all my cereal.”

“I was going to pay you back,” Tim said weakly. “You know I was.”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “But at this point, I don’t know if I can believe anything you say.”

Tim looked at him, shoulders slumped, the weight of the day finally dropping on him all at once: the stolen answer key that hadn’t helped, the Tesla’s dented bumper, the look on Lance’s face when he saw “AUTO PARK,” the zero on his written exam, his dad’s refusal.

“I’ve told you a hundred times,” Paul said quietly. “If you cheat, you don’t really get ahead. You just set yourself up for a bigger crash later. Today was that crash.”

Tim let his head drop back against the painted cinderblock wall, staring up at the humming fluorescent light.

Outside, somewhere in the sprawl of strip malls and palm trees and sun-baked highways, a blue Tesla sat on a tow truck, a small dent in its perfect bumper. Inside the DMV, an answer key was back in the right hands. And in a little apartment not far away, a rent bill sat on a kitchen counter, waiting for someone to finally grow up enough to pay it the hard, honest way.