At first, Paul got no answer. He heard some funny gasping, choking noises coming from inside Hank's bedroom. "Hank? It's me, Paul. I know you're in there."
más gulps for air, and then, "Okay. Come in."
Paul opened the door and stepped into his brother's room, which was full of model cars, posters of athletes and action movies, and lots of football gear. Hank sat on his bed, head downcast, looking más forlorn than Paul had seen him in a long time. He was gasping for breath and blinking hard, and Paul realized his brother was trying very hard not to cry.
"You know, if tu need to let it out," Paul shut the door and came over to sit por Hank, "no one's going to see tu but me."
Hank shook his head, wavy blond hair falling adelante, hacia adelante to hide his face. "Real men don't cry."
"Is that what your friends tell you?" Hank looked up as Paul's tone came out unusually firm. "I cry when I'm this upset, Hank. What does that say about me?"
Hank managed a small, watery smile at these words.
"It'll be hard enough telling my friends I didn't pass my driver's test without also letting them know I cried about it." Hank's head dropped into his hands with a huge sigh. "Do tu know how long we've all been talking about what kind of cars we're going to drive? I kept telling them I'd be getting a cool sports car o muscle car and everyone's looking adelante, hacia adelante to taking rides in mine más than anyone's. And if I don't have one I'll have to rely on tu o our parents o them for rides everywhere while all my friends are going wherever they want whenever they feel like it, and I'll be such a loser!" por the time he was done, there was no holding back. The tears were flowing in earnest.
"No one calls my brother a loser." Paul waited, and once más Hank managed a smile. "Who cares if tu can drive o not?"
Hank swallowed and dried his eyes. "Okay, I'm not a loser. I still really want to be able to drive. Just for me."
Paul decided it was a good time now to tell him. "You know, Hank, you're not a bad driver. The only problem was tu were thinking too much."
Hank sighed, flopping down onto his bedcovers (dark blue patterned with little footballs). "Well, there's so much to remember. I wanted to make sure I got everything right!"
"I think that was your problem." Paul remembered how it felt when he was taking the test. "When tu don't think too hard, after a while, it's like there's nothing except tu and the car. tu just have to get a feel for it."
Hank shook his head. "You're just a better driver than me."
"No. I'm not." Paul stood up firmly. "Look, Hank, if tu want to retake your driver's test and pass this time, tu will. I'll help tu stop overthinking. And trust me, that's all tu have to do."
He turned and headed for the door. "I'll be waiting tomorrow after school, Hank. We'll practise together. And I'm not taking no for an answer!"
por the time Paul left, Hank really was smiling.
más gulps for air, and then, "Okay. Come in."
Paul opened the door and stepped into his brother's room, which was full of model cars, posters of athletes and action movies, and lots of football gear. Hank sat on his bed, head downcast, looking más forlorn than Paul had seen him in a long time. He was gasping for breath and blinking hard, and Paul realized his brother was trying very hard not to cry.
"You know, if tu need to let it out," Paul shut the door and came over to sit por Hank, "no one's going to see tu but me."
Hank shook his head, wavy blond hair falling adelante, hacia adelante to hide his face. "Real men don't cry."
"Is that what your friends tell you?" Hank looked up as Paul's tone came out unusually firm. "I cry when I'm this upset, Hank. What does that say about me?"
Hank managed a small, watery smile at these words.
"It'll be hard enough telling my friends I didn't pass my driver's test without also letting them know I cried about it." Hank's head dropped into his hands with a huge sigh. "Do tu know how long we've all been talking about what kind of cars we're going to drive? I kept telling them I'd be getting a cool sports car o muscle car and everyone's looking adelante, hacia adelante to taking rides in mine más than anyone's. And if I don't have one I'll have to rely on tu o our parents o them for rides everywhere while all my friends are going wherever they want whenever they feel like it, and I'll be such a loser!" por the time he was done, there was no holding back. The tears were flowing in earnest.
"No one calls my brother a loser." Paul waited, and once más Hank managed a smile. "Who cares if tu can drive o not?"
Hank swallowed and dried his eyes. "Okay, I'm not a loser. I still really want to be able to drive. Just for me."
Paul decided it was a good time now to tell him. "You know, Hank, you're not a bad driver. The only problem was tu were thinking too much."
Hank sighed, flopping down onto his bedcovers (dark blue patterned with little footballs). "Well, there's so much to remember. I wanted to make sure I got everything right!"
"I think that was your problem." Paul remembered how it felt when he was taking the test. "When tu don't think too hard, after a while, it's like there's nothing except tu and the car. tu just have to get a feel for it."
Hank shook his head. "You're just a better driver than me."
"No. I'm not." Paul stood up firmly. "Look, Hank, if tu want to retake your driver's test and pass this time, tu will. I'll help tu stop overthinking. And trust me, that's all tu have to do."
He turned and headed for the door. "I'll be waiting tomorrow after school, Hank. We'll practise together. And I'm not taking no for an answer!"
por the time Paul left, Hank really was smiling.