Under the Dusty Sky (Holloway Farms)

My excitement quickly turns to a shaky fear when Ben stops the truck and gets out. He makes his way around and opens my door. I just sort of look back and forth like a complete idiot between him and the driver seat.
    “ You have to be in that seat for this to work.” Ben points and laughs. I pull my legs up and crawl across to the driver’s side. I reach out to grip the steering wheel, but my hands are shaking so I let them drop into my lap. This is exactly what happened last time when my brother tried to teach me. I got so nervous I forgot everything. This never happens to me. Ever.
    Ben slides in and moves into the middle of the bench seat, crossing one leg underneath him and keeping the other on the other side of the gear shift thing. He stretches his arm across the back of my seat and leans in so close I can feel his breath on my cheek.
    This is not going to help my nerves.
    “ So that’s the gas, brake, and clutch from right to left—”
    “ I know that.” It comes out really defensive, and both of our heads snap up to look at each other. I open my mouth to apologize, but he just chuckles.
    “ You’d be surprised at how many people don’t. I’m not saying this because I think you don’t know, but I’ve been here, Gracie. It’s overwhelming to learn to drive standard. I’m not sure why your dad won’t let you take the test with an automatic, anyway.”
    “ All our vehicles are standard. He says it’s important and what if I had to drive in an emergency situation or he needed me to drive the grain truck or blah blah blah. Daddy has weird things he finds important. I have to pass on a standard.”
    “ Your dad is a smart man. Anyway. Steering wheel. You can adjust it under here by pulling this knob.”
    He reaches his arm around my shoulders to grip the steering wheel and leans forward to pull the knob with his other hand. I have no choice but to move with him, but all it accomplishes is pulling our faces ridiculously close together.
    His eyes move to mine, and I notice they aren’t like ice anymore. They’re liquid. Melting. He’s cracking to me.
    I think he might actually kiss me for real this time, but after a few moments, he just clears his throat and leans back.
    “ That should do it. Are you familiar with all the gears?” he asks.
    I nod. I can count to five.
    He takes a deep breath and cracks his knuckles, which is something I’ve never seen him do before.
    “ You ready?” He breathes out, and I laugh. Not confidently, I might add.
    “ Are you?”
    “ Just go slow. Slow and even. Be gentle and patient.”
    I can’t stop myself from looking at him when he speaks. I think of the way he touches me. Every time he’s close, of how he moves around me, strokes my cheek, kisses my nose. Gentle and patient.
    “ You gunna drive? Or just stare at me?” He laughs, and I feel my cheeks heat up. I momentarily hate him for it and scowl straight ahead. I grip the steering wheel in one hand and the gear shift in the other, wiggling it like my dad does to make sure it’s in neutral. I press in the clutch and start the truck.
    “ Good.” Bentley’s voice is full of encouragement, and I laugh again.
    “ It’s all down from here. I promise you.”
    “ Just go slow. Clutch, shift, gas, let off the clutch. That’s it. Slowly.”
    I press the clutch in again and shift it into first. This is the worst gear.
    I press the gas, and as soon as I hear the engine rev, I lift my foot off the clutch. The truck lurches forward and stalls, throwing Ben into the dash.
    I feel my muscles tighten.
    “ It’s okay. Try again.”
    The truck moves forward a few inches this time but sputters to a stop, and I slam the steering wheel with the heels of my hands.
    Ben sits quiet for a moment, and then he starts rubbing his hand along my shoulders before gripping the back of my neck and massaging it lightly. It feels amazing, and I calm down a little.
    “ The more stressed you get, the worse it is. You have to relax.”
    “ I just suck at this.” I lean my head back on his palm, and Ben uses his hand to tilt my face toward him.
    “ No, that’s not true.” He has his thinking face on. “You like to dance, right?”
    I wrinkle my nose. “Yeah, what does that have to do with it?”
    Ben sits up straight and puts his hands out in front of him, palms down.
    “ Think of it as a dance. The transition from one move to another, from one step to the next. You don’t just stop one and start the other,