Crash Into You

Chapter 45

Isaiah

I EASE MY CAR TO the curb, and Rachel dashes out of school like a robber running out of a convenience store, her blond hair trailing behind her in the wind. I chuckle and reach over to open the passenger side. She falls into the car with her cheeks red from the cold. “Let’s go!”

Weaving her hand in mine, I kiss her knuckles and place her palm over the stick shift with my hand securely covering hers. I step on the clutch and apply pressure to her hand so that she’ll shift into First. “You’re letting me drive your car?” she asks.

“Shift,” I correct. “But I’ve never let a girl shift my car before. Feel honored.”

“I do.” Rachel leans over and kisses my cheek. The sweet scent of jasmine and the ocean washes over me. On the open road, the rpms build, and like a perfectly synced machine, I step on the clutch right as Rachel shifts to Second.

The excitement is hard to contain, but it’s weird. I’ve never been eager to share news with anyone, and I want her to be excited along with me. The engine begins to strain, and in effortless coordination, she shifts to Third while I press the clutch.

A stirring in my heart overcomes the excitement for a second. Rachel is perfect for me. She never needs words because she understands my rhythm.

“I passed the ASE certification test,” I say, as if I’m telling her it’s Thursday.

Rachel doesn’t disappoint as she gasps. “Oh, Isaiah! That is amazing. No, fantastic. No...the best news ever. I knew you’d pass. We have to do something to celebrate! What, though? I don’t know. What do you want to do? Whatever it is, it has to be special.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at her. “I’m doing it.”

A grimace stains her face. “What? Driving? You always drive.”

How can she not see it? “I’m spending time with you.”

Silence. Except for the purring of my engine. The floorboard barely vibrates beneath me, and I wonder if she also notices the sensation. I scratch the thought. I don’t have to wonder. Someone like her relishes the feel of a car’s every movement—just like me.

“I’m proud of you,” she says as simply as when I announced that I passed. My chest hurts as if she punched through a wall. Taking her hand off the stick shift, I kiss her knuckles again and keep her fingers pressed against my face until I have to place her hand back so she can shift down.

These feelings inside of me, I don’t understand them, but I do understand Rachel and I know she understands me. I want her in my life in a way no one else has ever been. When I can talk without my voice breaking, I say to her, “I’d like you to come somewhere with me. It’s not special, but I’d like you there.”