Page 73 of Furious

Tears fill my eyes, and I look at the pictures of Jamie Chadwick and Sara Christian on the dashboard. El’s right, of course, but it’s not that simple. I know that now.

“Grief is grief, El,” I say, leaning my cheek on her hand for just a moment. “It’s not a competitive sport. It’s not a race. You can lose someone even when they’re still alive, and you can still feel close to someone, even when they’re gone.”

El’s finger lightly touches my cheek, a gesture so tender, it nearly undoes me.

“That’s true,” she says. “But I was still an asshole to you. I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t the only one. I was an asshole, too, and I’m sorry, too.”

“Well, cheers to both of us being assholes,” El says with a wobbly laugh. She moves her hand off my shoulder, and swipes at her eyes. “What would you say if I asked you to go get a milkshake with me?”

“I’d say yes, of course. But only if it’s a date.”

“Of course it’s a date. What else would it be when we go to Shake Shack?”

I can’t help the bright, joyful laugh that bursts out of me at that. Putting the key in the ignition, I rev the engine once, plop on my sunglasses, and peel away like Letty Ortiz.

Shake Shack is packed and we get our fries and shakes to go. Then, we drive to a scenic overlook just outside of town. The Appalachian Mountains spread out in front of us, rolling waves of green and bluish gray. There are no other cars at the overlook, and we’re sitting in the Hornet with the windows down.

“You know this is where everyone in school goes to make out?” El says, dipping a fry in her shake.

“I had no idea,” I replied, but of course I knew. Grandma Jolene had told me about this spot on the day we moved in, and I’d been generally avoiding it since. But today feels different. El and I are speaking again. We’re on a date of sorts. It’s a perfect place to drink milkshakes.

“Yep,” El says. “My parents told me Max used to come here all the time with her friends, too. Lots of shady shit happens here late at night.”

“Good thing it’s not late at night.”

El raises her milkshake cup up in a toast and I knock mine gently against hers. We slurp our shakes, as a warm breeze floats in through the window.

El’s left hand is on the gearshift, and I reach out, putting my right on top of hers. She looks at me, her eyes intense.

“So, what’s next?” I ask. “What happens if I get into the F1 Academy?”

El laces her fingers through mine and traces one of my knuckles with her pointer finger. “I don’t know.”

“Is that okay? The not knowing?”

El scoots a little close to me. “I think so. I’m trying to stay in the present more. To be here now and not hold on too tight.”

“I think that’s good, but it’s scary to lose control.” I think of a car smashing into a wall at Daytona and flames engulfing it. I think of waking up beside El and wanting so much to linger in the soft morning light that filtered in through the curtains of the It’ll Do Motel, and then our fight later that day. I think of me getting into the F1 Academy and us being an ocean apart or breaking up all over again.

“It’s terrifying,” El admits. “But necessary. You can’t be brave if you’re trying to control everything.”

“You’ve always been brave, El Blum. Even when you couldn’t see it.”

“You’ve always been worth being brave for, JoJo Emerson-Boyd.”

Her words are whispers against my lips as she leans closer. I close my eyes and bridge the final sliver of space between us, pushing my lips gently against her. She kisses me back, softly at first, and then more insistent, brave indeed in a way that sends heat through my body.

I scoot closer, only to be stopped by the gearshift jutting into my hip.

El kisses me again, her hand tangling into my hair, and I remember for one wild ridiculous moment that my parents fell in love over a gearshift, too.

Because that’s what I feel all at once, an unexpected, aching, furious love for this girl who smells like sunshine and nachos and who has hurt me and healed me and who makes me laugh and kisses me like I matter.

“We can be brave together,” I say, pulling away from the kiss for just a moment, so I can put my shake down and stop being impaled by the gearshift. “We’ll just take it one quarter mile at a time.”

I want to throw out more Fast & Furious banter, but El stops my next sentence with another kiss, and all I can do is lean into it and see where this road takes us.