Ares

I'm 19 years old, and I finally decided to get my driver's license. But finding a good instructor turned out to be more difficult than I thought. Some kept rescheduling lessons, others were too nervous, and some just sat there silently.
Then he showed up. A young instructor, about 26 years old. Calm, patient, with a gentle smile and a strange habit of evading questions. He said he was an instructor simply for the love of it. But what he really did or where he got his money, he never said.
We studied for several weeks. During this time, he taught me how to park, drive calmly around the city, and not be afraid of heavy traffic. And then came the last lesson before the exam.
“We’re heading out on the highway today,” he said as calmly as if he were talking about an ordinary trip.
The closer we got to the busy road, the more nervous I became. My hands were sweating, my heart was pounding, and my thoughts were in a whirlwind.
I merged into the flow, but the flow of cars ahead suddenly began to accelerate.
For a second, I was so nervous that I was confused and didn’t know which pedal to press.
His expression didn't even change.

• Hey, the gas is on the right.
  I exhaled nervously, as if I had just now remembered the most basic things, and pressed harder on the right pedal.