I adjusted my sunglasses and pulled my hat a little farther down. “I’m not . . . look, you were the one who didn’t want your aunt to know we were doing this. And I think it would be better if people didn’t see us together.” Especially since I’d begged off hanging out with both Ryan and Bee, telling them I was studying for the SATs.

David settled into his seat and immediately reached out to flip the radio on. My finger itched to push his hand away—I could be as bad as Bee when it came to people touching my radio—but music was probably better than awkward silence or bickering.

The drive out of town was pretty. Fall had come to Alabama in full force, the leaves orange, gold, and red. Overhead, the sky was that pure, impossible blue that only happens in the fall, and if I rolled down the window, I knew I’d smell wood smoke.

Nearly every other house we passed had some kind of Thanksgiving decorations in the window or on the mailbox. I counted three papier-mâché turkeys, two cling-form Pilgrims, and at least half a dozen cornucopias. Pine Grove definitely went all out for the holidays.

It wasn’t until we were about a mile out of town that David finally turned down the radio. “We’re going to feel really stupid if this is a totally legit scholarship offer, aren’t we?”

I glanced over at him. “I won’t, but you should. Who turns up to a scholarship interview in skinny jeans and a Doctor Who T-shirt?”

Reaching down, David slid the seat as far back as it would go before resting his heels on the glove compartment. “You mean like you did? Because there are few things less conspicuous than a teenage girl rocking a sombrero.”

“It’s not a—forget it. My choice of headgear is not the important thing. We need to figure out what we’re going to do once we get there. I mean, if this is an attempt to lure you out of town to kill you or kidnap you or whatever, we should be prepared.”

David shifted in his seat. “Isn’t that your area?”

Uncomfortable, I shrugged. “I guess so.”

Silence fell over the car again.

“Are you going to kill him?” David finally asked. “Or her?”

That was my job, right? Or it would be, if I were actually going to be a Paladin. Which I wasn’t.

“We can question whoever it is,” I said. “See how many of them there are, what their plans are.”

“You heard Saylor. Their plans are probably to kill me.”

“Yeah, but maybe we could get more of a sense of why. Is it the whole ‘boys make crappy Oracles’ thing, or is there more to it? For example, maybe you’ve been writing horrible articles about other people.”