It has been exactly 8 days since Tristan first spoke to me. Not that I'm counting.

The rest of my first week at school, as well as the first half of the second week, went as to be expected. I woke up everyday, had coffee with Aunt Clara and Uncle Luke, went to school, suffered through my classes, hung out with Nicole and Nate at lunch, and looked out for Tristan watching me.

Except that he didn't look at me for the past 8 days. No hallway staring competitions, no glances over the shoulder, not even a side eye at the bus stop each morning. Absolute radio silence from his end.

And mine, too. I did end up inviting Nicole over for a movie night this past Friday and spilled my "Tristan as my high school challenger" scheme. She proceeded to laugh, forced me to show her his window, and displayed my shared disappointment when we found his curtains closed. She advised me to not waste my time with him, that the few words he spoke to me were a fluke.

So that's what I have been doing: not wasting my time. I've been focusing on my homework, getting to know the few cool people in some of my classes, and successfully avoiding Miss Preppy Katy's after school car ride offers and cult-y recruitment into student council.

Okay, maybe I peeked out my window once or twice to see if Tristan's curtains were open. And maybe I glanced at his lunch table a couple of times. Per lunch period. And maybe, just maybe, I woke up in the middle of the night to see if he was awake and pacing inside his room. But none of this is wasting my time, it's research for trying to figure out the inner workings of resident mystery man Tristan Johnson.

Or at least that's what I keep telling myself in order to avoid picking up knitting as a hobby.

Now it's Wednesday, the final bell releasing my AP Calc class from the confines of the classroom. Nicole and I head over to the senior hallway, making plans for after school.

"I think today I'll finally take you to the bagel shop that's on Main," she says. "We can work on our English Lit essays over sesame bagels and iced tea!" The two of us have gotten into the ritual of doing homework together a couple of times a week at a different spot in town. It's Nicole's way of showing me around town in an unforced fashion while simultaneously using me as a cheat sheet for our assignments. I think it's a pretty sweet deal.

"Finally!" I exclaim. "Everyone has been raving about these damn bagels to me since the first day of school. I feel like I've been missing out on something!"

Nicole laughs along with me, stopping at her locker to grab her stuff. "Well, you have been, but now you'll be in on one of the town's greatest secrets."

"There's more than just good bagels?" I ask, leaning against the locker next to hers.

"Great bagels," Nicole corrects me, closing her locker door. "And yes, there are a few more secrets in this town. Come on, let's get your things and we can walk to the bagel shop."

"Okay, let me text my aunt to let her know I'm not coming home first," I say, pulling out my phone and leading Nicole to my locker. We reach my locker before I finish typing out the message to Aunt Clara.

Before I can hit send, someone appears next to me.

"Do you want a ride home?"

Tristan's tall frame is leaning against the metal, his face in its usual impassive expression. I look between him and Nicole, my friend's wide eyes making her shock apparent.

"You take the bus, though," I turn to Tristan, saying the only thing my brain can come up with.

"I have my car today," he says like it should be obvious. I guess it should have been since he wasn't at the stop this morning and yet he was in school.

"Okay," I say in response to his matter of factly explanation. He lingers for a moment and then walks away.

"That was weird," Nicole says, moving to stand in front of me.

"Yeah..."

"Oh my God, he's coming back here!" she whisper-shrieks. My heart starts racing. Why is he coming back?

"Are you coming with me or what?" his deep voice resonates through every bone in my body. I can feel him right behind me, closer than he's ever been. Oh no, he took my "okay" as a yes to getting a ride from him.

He doesn't give me a chance to correct him. Tristan grabs my elbow and begins leading me down the hallway towards the back lot. I look at Nicole, silently begging her to help me from being kidnapped, but she just stands in front of my locker with jaw hanging to the floor.

I notice wandering eyes as he continues to drag me through the halls. People are unapologetically staring, pointing, and whispering to their friends. I guess it's not everyday that Tristan Johnson pulls a girl through the school against her will.

He seems to register the other students, abruptly dropping my elbow and picking up his already determined stride. I struggle to keep up with him, still aware of the people looking at us.

Tristan presses a button on his keys when we reach the back lot, a black muscle car beeps in the distance. Of course he parked in the back corner. He slides into the driver's side without waiting for me and starts the engine. The car roars to life, startling me a little as I approach it. I open the passenger side cautiously and sit down in the leather seat.

The smell of cinnamon is a warm and inviting. I just realized that this is what Tristan smells like, the enclosed space making the spicy scent intensify. For an unwelcoming person, it's such a comforting scent to pick for himself.

Tristan pulls out of the parking lot, not saying another word for a few minutes. Just as I was settling into the familiar silence and my seat, he stops at a red light and looks at me.

I sit up straight, ready for whatever he is about to say. He opens his mouth to begin, but quickly shuts it into a straight line and looks back out at the street. The light turns green and we start driving again.

What the hell am I doing here? Why did he offer me a ride if he wasn't going to say anything? Why did I go with him and think that he would say something to me in the first place? Our strange relationship is growing stranger by the minute.

Tristan pulls up to the sidewalk between our two houses. He lets the car idle in place, probably waiting for me to get out. I pull on the handle, but the door doesn't budge. He hasn't unlocked it yet.

"Um, thanks for the ride," I say softly, looking at him. He's already looking at me, his entire body facing me. I can tell he's trying to think of something to say, the gears in his head clearly turning.

He shifts a little in his seat, his left hand dipping down into the door pocket. He produces a book and hands it to me. I reach for it, my fingers brushing over his accidentally. Electricity. He pulls his hand away quickly, but keeps his steady green gaze on me. I drop my eyes to the novel he just handed me, my brows furrowing in confusion. He's giving me a book? On romance across Europe?

"Can you give that to Clara?" he says so quietly that I'm not sure that I heard it him correctly. I lift my eyes to his, confusion still clearly written all over my face. "She's in book club with my mom and left this at their last meeting."

Oh. This book isn't for me. "Yeah, I can give it to her."

Was this whole car ride just a means to get the book back to Aunt Clara? He could have just gave it to me in the hallway, or even dropped it off in our mailbox.

He just nods in response, unlocking my door. I get out of his car, grabbing my backpack and gripping the book in my hand. Before I close the door, I lean down and look at him. I was going to thank him again, but his stare renders me speechless. I just nod my gratitude and close the door.

I round the back on the car and start walking the short distance to my house. I don't hear his car pull into his driveway, so I glance over my shoulder, catching the lingering scent of cinnamon stuck to my clothes.

The car is still idling on the side of the road. And I can see from his side mirror that he's watching me walk away.