Quote by Jackson Pearce

““Silas nods and turns to back the car up, accidently brushing a hand against my shoulders as he does so. “Sorry,” he says under his breath, like he’s whispering in church. I shake my head as Scarlett settles her long arms and legs in the backseat and uses her cloak as a blanket. Still trying to lean somewhere between the door of death and Silas’s shoulder, I stare out the window as we lumber out of town. The road is smooth, hypnotic, with the dotted lines vanishing rhythmically before us. I glance back at my sister. She’s fallen asleep, and Screwtape is casting her dark looks, as if she’s to blame for his predicament. I looked toward Silas, trying to appear as if I’m just glancing out his window. Really, I want to study him intensely. He’s wearing one of his many nearly threadbare T-shirts, jeans that are soft from washing, wavy hair . . . Everything about him begs to be touched . . . “You’re nervous,” Silas says suddenly. “What? No!” I answer sharply. Am I that obvious? Silas raises an eyebrow and laughs. “It makes sense. I mean, you and Lett have lived in Ellison forever.” Right . . . right. He’s talking about the trip, not my resisting the temptation to fall on him. We’re silent for a moment, nearly tangible awkwardness floating around the front seats. Silas drums his fingers on the steering wheel.””

— Jackson Pearce