Page 32 of The Knight

As I pull up towards the little dirt road, though, I start to get antsy. "It's barely wider than the car."

"So?"

"Cole said not to scratch the paint."

"He also said it had racing stripes on it."

Still, I can't seem to put my foot back on the gas. It's absurd—a few months ago I would've given anything to have the chance to wreck Cole Masterson's car. All it would take is a tap on the gas and a turn of the wheel and I could have this thing in salvage condition like that.

But his parents would just get him a new one.

More importantly, my thinking has shifted in ways I'm uncomfortable examining.

"If you won't do it, I will," Blake says, "and I'm the world's shittiest driver, so this thing will be wrapped around a tree."

"Fine," I snap, temper running hot just in his presence. "I'll have to back into it if we want a good vantage point, though."

Expensive cars, thankfully, come with backup cameras. As I position the wheel and stare at the screen, biting my lower lip, I feel Blake watching me intensely. The whole ride out here he just stared at his book and took notes on his iPad without even glancing my way except to tell me to turn the heat down—like he doesn't have fingers that work. Now he seems to only have eyes for me, and it's unnerving.

So I flick my eyes over to him and catch him staring. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

He looks away, suddenly stiff. "Just your face."

"Wow. How creative of you. Next you'll say you're rubber and I'm glue."

I tap on the gas to pull the car back a little, only to feel Blake's eyes on me again. This time, he's the one who breaks the silence.

"I was just thinking how unfair it is."

"What?" I ask, as I put the car in park.

"Girls like you shouldn't be so beautiful." I freeze, fingers curling over the steering wheel, feeling like a rabbit trapped in a tiny metal cage instead of a girl with an engine at her fingertips. Blake continues, voice nonchalant, "You don't have money to do any of it: get those old highlights fixed, find yourself a dermatologist that does fillers, have your clothing tailored, or even buy clothes worth wearing. I can tell you put no effort into your appearance. But you still look gorgeous. Half the girls at Coleridge would kill you just to use your blood as a vampire facial and find out if any of it rubs off."

"What?" I wrinkle my nose, blinking at him. "That was almost a compliment, until you got weird."

He cocks his head to the side, looking at me with a curious yet distant expression on his face. "I didn't mean it as a compliment. I just meant..." Then he pauses, suddenly silent, his mouth going soft at the edge. "Huh. I guess it was a compliment. I don't know why I said it."

"Uh, okay." I don't know why my heart is racing. "Maybe we should just get the camera out, set it—"

"I do know why," Blake says suddenly, sounding like he just solved an impossible problem and has somehow surprised even himself with the answer. Turning to me, he says with something like awe in his voice, "Brenna, I think I'm falling in love with you."

* * *

The sun moves lower in the sky as the awkward silence in the car stretches twenty minutes long.

I can't believe Blake told me he'sfalling in lovewith me.

Even more, I can't believe how I responded.

"No you're not."

To which he just made an incredulous noise, pulled one of his books out, and started acting like he was studying it. It's been twenty minutes now, though, and it's obvious that he's notreallyreading the book. I've seen Blake study; he always takes copious notes, and turns the pages to an exact rhythm, like a robot. He's barely skimmed the pages he's been turning and hasn't scribbled anything down in his notebook.

I don't know why he said what he said.

It can't be true.

Can it?

---