The giant windmills were pretty impressive. They didn’t have the sleek beauty of cars that I loved, but I felt the same awe at the engineering they represented. Some of the windmills were over a hundred feet tall, with blades half the size of a football field. Moments like these made me marvel at human ingenuity. Who needed magic when we could create these kinds of wonders?

Our tour guide was a cheery girl in her mid-twenties who clearly loved her job and all that wind energy represented. She knew all sorts of trivia about it—but not quite enough to satisfy Brayden.

“How do you address the energy inefficiency that comes from the turbines needing wind speeds that fall into such a narrow range?”

Then: “What’s your response to studies showing that simply improving the filters in the conversion of fossil fuels would result in less carbon dioxide emissions than this sort of energy production?”

And later: “Can wind power really be treated as a viable option when—after considering the cost of construction and other maintenance—consumers end up paying more than they would for traditional forms of electricity?”

I couldn’t be certain, but I think our guide wrapped up the tour early. She encouraged some of the other tourists to come back anytime but said nothing as Brayden and I walked past her.

“That woman was sadly uninformed,” he told me, once we were back on the highway.

“She knew plenty about the windmills and their facility,” I pointed out. “I’m guessing the latest controversies just don’t get brought up much on these tours. Or,” I paused, smiling, “how to deal with, um, forceful tourists.”

“I was forceful?” he asked, seeming legitimately surprised. He had gotten so caught up in his ideas that he didn’t even realize it. It was endearing.

I tried not to laugh. “You came on strong, that’s all. I don’t think they were prepared for someone like you.”

“They should be. Wind power’s got promise, true, but for now, there are all sorts of expenses and efficiency problems that need to be addressed. It’s useless otherwise.”

I sat there for several moments, trying to decide how best I should respond. None of the advice I’d gotten from the books or my friends really prepared me for how to handle discussions about alternative energy sources. One of the books—one I’d chosen not to finish—had a decidedly male-centric view that said women should always make men feel important on dates. I suspected that Kristin and Julia’s advice right now would have been to laugh and toss my hair—and not let the discussion progress.

But I just couldn’t do that.

“You’re wrong,” I said.

Brayden—who was a big advocate of safe driving—actually took his eyes off the road for a few seconds to stare at me. “What did you say?”

Aside from learning that he had a vast store of extensive and random knowledge like I did, I’d also picked up on something else central to Brayden’s personality. He didn’t like to be wrong. This was no surprise. I didn’t either, and we had a lot in common that way. And, from the way he’d discussed school and even his debate competition, I’d also deduced people never told him he was wrong—even if by chance he was.