Barnaby had a spine like a frozen yardstick. He never missed a day at the library. His greatest fear was a late fee or a smudge on a book cover. He lived his life by a single, terrifying rule: if you are not perfect, you are invisible. He spent his nights polishing his shoes and his days shushing people who breathed too loud. He was a man who needed a gold star from the world just to feel like he existed.
He felt the world was messy, and he was the only one with a broom. This need to be “correct” was a weight in his chest. It made his heart feel small and tight, like a dried pea. He just wanted someone in charge to tell him he was a good boy. He wanted to be part of something big, something official, something that had a clip-board and a clear set of rules.
That was why he didn’t question the sign. It was taped to a lamp post near the library. It was a neon green poster that said: DRIVE SAFELY. Under the words, there was a time and a spot: 3:00 PM. THE ALLEY ON OAK STREET.
Barnaby cleaned his glasses. This was it. The Department of Motor Vehicles was finally doing its secret checks. He had heard rumors about this. They picked the best drivers to test new safety laws. He arrived at the alley at 2:55 PM. He sat in his beige sedan. He adjusted his mirrors. He checked his blinkers. He felt a sudden coldness in his gut, the good kind of cold. He was ready to serve his country.
At exactly 3:00 PM, the back door of the bank kicked open. Two men ran out. One was Marcus, a man who looked like he was made of old leather and bad choices. The other was Dante, who was holding a heavy canvas bag and breathing like a broken vacuum. They wore black masks.
Marcus ripped open the passenger door. Dante dived into the back seat.
“Go! Go! Go!” Marcus screamed. He smelled like gunpowder, cheap cigarettes, and a lukewarm chalupa.
Barnaby smiled. These were the actors. The government really went all out for these tests. He put the car in gear. He checked his blind spot. He signaled. He waited for a gap in traffic that was large enough to fit a house.
“Floor it, pops!” Dante yelled from the back. He hit the seat with his fist. “The cops are right there!”
Barnaby looked in the rearview mirror. Three police cars had turned into the alley. Their lights were flashing. Red and blue streaks bounced off the brick walls.
“Very realistic,” Barnaby said. His voice was calm and thin. “But I cannot ‘floor it’ in a school zone. The limit is twenty miles per hour. Safety is no accident.”
He pulled out of the alley at the speed of a walking turtle. Marcus looked at the speedometer. His eyes grew wide. His face turned a shade of purple that looked like a bruised plum.
“There are sirens behind us!” Marcus shrieked. He reached for the steering wheel.
Barnaby slapped his hand away. “Hands inside the vehicle at all times, sir. This is a controlled evaluation. If you interfere with the pilot, I will have to mark you down on your form.”
A police car roared up behind them. It bumped their bumper. Barnaby felt the jolt in his teeth. It was a sharp, metallic vibration.
“Oh, dear,” Barnaby said. “That officer is tailgating. That is a two point deduction for him.”
“They are shooting at us!” Dante screamed. He tucked his head between his knees.
A bullet shattered the side mirror. Glass sprayed like diamonds across the pavement. Barnaby didn’t flinch. He just clicked his tongue.
“Property damage is unnecessary for a driving test,” Barnaby muttered. He came to a complete stop at a red light.
“Drive through it!” Marcus was sobbing now. He had a pistol in his hand, but he was shaking so hard it looked like he was trying to shake a cocktail. “The light is red! Just go!”
“Yellow means caution,” Barnaby said. “Red means stop. If I go now, I fail. Do you want me to fail, Marcus? Is that what this is about?”
The police were jumping out of their cars now. They had their guns pointed at the beige sedan. They were shouting through megaphones. The sound was a distorted, metallic roar.
Barnaby looked at his watch. He waited for the light to turn green. He counted the seconds out loud. One. Two. Three.
“He’s a psycho,” Dante whispered. He was curled in a ball on the floor mats. “We picked a getaway driver who is a literal monster.”
The light turned green. Barnaby began a slow, majestic turn. He used his blinker. He held the steering wheel at ten and two. His knuckles were white. He felt a strange joy. He was doing it. He was following every rule. He was being the most “correct” man in the history of the state.
A police SUV swerved in front of him, blocking the road. Barnaby slammed on the brakes. He didn’t skid. He didn’t slide. He stopped exactly six feet behind the SUV’s bumper.
“Perfect distance,” Barnaby said.
Cops swarmed the car. They ripped the doors open. They dragged Marcus and Dante out onto the hot asphalt. The robbers were actually crying with relief. They reached for the handcuffs like they were gold bracelets.
“Thank God,” Marcus gasped as his face was pressed into the road. “Take me to jail. Please. Just get me away from the librarian.”
An officer with a thick neck and a face like a bulldog walked up to Barnaby’s window. He had his gun drawn.
“Out of the car! Hands up!” the officer yelled.
Barnaby didn’t move. He kept his hands on the wheel at ten and two. He looked the officer in the eye.
“I believe I have completed the course,” Barnaby said. “Where do I pick up my certificate? And I must report that the two actors in my vehicle were very rude. They did not wear their seatbelts. I expect that will be noted in the final report.”
The officer stared at him. He looked at the smoking engine. He looked at the bags of money. He looked at Barnaby’s ironed shirt and his neatly combed hair.
“Sir,” the officer said. his voice was shaking. “You just drove a getaway car for a bank robbery.”
Barnaby frowned. He felt a sudden, sharp ache in his chest. It was the feeling of a dream popping.
“So,” Barnaby whispered. “There is no certificate?”
“No,” the officer said. “There is no certificate.”
Barnaby looked out at the flashing lights. He looked at the crowd of people watching. For the first time in his life, everyone was looking at him. He wasn’t invisible. He was the center of the world.
He leaned back in his seat. He felt a weird, bubbly laugh start in his stomach and work its way up his throat.
“Well,” Barnaby said. “At least I didn’t get a ticket.”