same awe at the engineering they represented. Some of the windmills were over a hundred feet tall, with blades half the size of a football field. Moments like these made me marvel at human ingenuity. Who needed magic when we could create these kinds of wonders?
Our tour guide was a cheery girl in her mid-twenties who clearly loved her job and all that wind energy represented. She knew all sorts of trivia about it-but not quite enough to satisfy Brayden.
“How do you address the energy inefficiency that comes from the turbines needing wind speeds that fall into such a narrow range?”
Then: “What’s your response to studies showing that simply improving the filters in the conversion of fossil fuels would result in less carbon dioxide emissions than this sort of energy production?”
And later: “Can wind power really be treated as a viable option when-after considering the cost of construction and other maintenance-consumers end up paying more than they would for traditional forms of electricity?”
I couldn’t be certain, but I think our guide wrapped up the tour early. She encouraged some of the other tourists to come back anytime but said nothing as Brayden and I walked past her.
“That woman was sadly uninformed,” he told me, once we were back on the highway.
“She knew plenty about the windmills and their facility,” I pointed out. “I’m guessing the latest controversies just don’t get brought up much on these tours. Or,” I paused, smiling, “how to deal with, um, forceful tourists.”
“I was forceful?” he asked, seeming legitimately surprised. He had gotten so caught up in his ideas that he didn’t even realize it. It was endearing.
I tried not to laugh. “You came on strong, that’s all. I don’t think they were prepared for someone like you.”
“They should be. Wind power’s got promise, true, but for now, there are all sorts of expenses and efficiency problems that need to be addressed. It’s useless otherwise.”
I sat there for several moments, trying to decide how best I should respond. None of the advice I’d gotten from the books or my friends really prepared me for how to handle discussions about alternative energy sources. One of the books-one I’d chosen not to finish-had a decidedly male-centric view that said women should always make men feel important on dates. I suspected that Kristin and Julia’s advice right now would have been to laugh and toss my hair-and not let the discussion progress.
But I just couldn’t do that.
“You’re wrong,” I said.
Brayden-who was a big advocate of safe driving-actually took his eyes off the road for a few seconds to stare at me. “What did you say?”
Aside from learning that he had a vast store of extensive and random knowledge like I did, I’d also picked up on something else central to Brayden’s personality. He didn’t like to be wrong. This was no surprise. I didn’t either, and we had a lot in common that way. And, from the way he’d discussed school and even his debate competition, I’d also deduced people never told him he was wrong-even if by chance he was.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to do the hair-tossing thing. Instead, I just rushed on.
“You’re wrong. Maybe wind isn’t as efficient as it could be, but the fact that it’s even being developed is a vast improvement over the outdated, archaic energy sources our society’s been dependent on. Expecting it to be as cost-efficient as something that’s been around much, much longer is naive.”
“But-”
“We can’t deny that the cost is worth the benefits. Climate change is increasingly becoming a problem, and wind’s reduced carbon dioxide emissions could have a significant impact. Furthermore-and most importantly-wind is renewable. It doesn’t matter if other sources are cheap if they’re going to run out on us.”
“But-”
“We need to be progressive and look towards what’s going to save us later. To focus strictly on what’s cost- efficient now-while ignoring the consequences-is short-sighted and will ultimately lead to the downfall of the human race. Those who think otherwise are only perpetuating the problem, unless they can come up with other solutions. Most don’t. They just complain. That’s why you’re wrong.”
I paused to catch my breath and then dared a glance at Brayden. He was watching the road, but his eyes were impossibly wide. I don’t think he could have been more shocked if I’d slapped him. Immediately, I berated myself for what I’d said.
“Brayden?” I asked tentatively when almost a minute passed with no response. More stunned silence met me.
Suddenly, without warning, he pulled the car sharply off the highway and onto the shoulder. Dust and gravel kicked up around us. In that moment, I was absolutely certain he was going to demand I get out and walk back to Palm Springs. And we were still miles from the city.
Instead, he caught hold of my hands and leaned toward me. “You,” he said breathlessly. “Are amazing. Absolutely, positively, exquisitely amazing.” And then he kissed me.
I was so surprised, I couldn’t even move. My heart raced, but it was more from anxiety than anything else. Was I doing it right? I tried to relax into the kiss, letting my lips part slightly, but my body stayed rigid. Brayden didn’t pull back in revulsion, so that was a good sign. I’d never kissed anyone before and had been worrying a lot about what it’d be like. The mechanics of it turned out not to be so difficult. When he did finally pull away, he was smiling. A good sign, I guessed. I smiled back tentatively because I knew it was expected. Honestly, a secret part of me was a little disappointed. That was it? That’s what the big deal was? It hadn’t been terrible, but it hadn’t sent me soaring to new heights either. It had been exactly what it seemed like, lips on lips.
With a great sigh of happiness, he turned and began driving again. I could only watch him with wonder and confusion, unable to form any response. What had just happened? That was my first kiss?
“Spencer’s, right?” Brayden asked when we exited to downtown shortly thereafter.
I was still so baffled by the kiss that it took me a moment to remember I’d promised Ms. Terwilliger a cappuccino. “Right.”
Just before we turned the corner toward the street Spencer’s was on, Brayden suddenly made an unexpected stop at a florist shop. “Be right back,” he said.
I nodded wordlessly, and five minutes later, he returned and handed me a large bouquet of delicate, pale pink roses. “Thank you?” I said, making it more of a question. Now, in addition to the kiss and “amazing” declaration, I’d somehow earned flowers too.
“They’re not adequate,” he admitted. “In traditional floral symbolism, orange or red would have been more appropriate. But it was either these or some lavender ones, and you just don’t seem like a purple person.”
“Thank you,” I said, more firmly this time. As I breathed in the roses’ sweet scent on the way to Spencer’s, I realized that no one had ever given me flowers before.
We reached the coffee shop soon thereafter. I got out of the car, and in a flash, Brayden was right by my side so that he could shut the door for me. We went inside, and I was almost relieved to see Trey working. His teasing would be a nice return to normality, seeing as my life had just detoured into Crazyland.
Trey didn’t even notice us at first. He was speaking intently to someone on the other side of the counter, a guy a little older than us. The guy’s tanned skin, black hair, and similar facial features tipped me off pretty quickly that he and Trey were related. Brayden and I waited discreetly behind the guy, and Trey finally looked up, an astonishingly grim expression on his face that was pretty out of character. He looked surprised when he saw us, but then seemed to relax a little.
“Melbourne, Cartwright. Here for a little post-windmill caffeine?”
“You know I never drink caffeine after four,” said Brayden. “But Sydney needs something for her teacher.”
“Ah,” said Trey. “The usual for you and Ms. T?”
“Yeah, but make mine iced this time.”
Trey gave me a knowing look. “Need to cool down a little, huh?”
I rolled my eyes.
The guy ahead of us was still standing around, and Trey nodded toward him while grabbing two cups. “This is my cousin Chris. Chris, this is Sydney and Brayden.”
This must have been Trey’s “perfect” cousin. At a glance, I saw little that marked him as better than Trey, except maybe his height. Chris was pretty tall. Not Dimitri-tall, but still tall. Otherwise, they both had similar good looks and an athletic build. Chris even had some of the same bruises and scrapes Trey often sported, making me
