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."
More 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 more 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 you need to let it out," Paul shut the door and came over to sit by Hank, "no one's going to see you but me."
Hank shook his head, wavy blond hair falling forward 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 you 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 or muscle car and everyone's looking forward to taking rides in mine more than anyone's. And if I don't have one I'll have to rely on you or our parents or 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!" By 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 more Hank managed a smile. "Who cares if you can drive or 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 you 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 you don't think too hard, after a while, it's like there's nothing except you and the car. You 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 you want to retake your driver's test and pass this time, you will. I'll help you stop overthinking. And trust me, that's all you 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!"
By the time Paul left, Hank really was smiling.