Friendly Dating - Kira

Chapter 9 - Telling Daddy

"Good morning, Daddy," I say cheerfully but carefully. My father is not expecting me down here in the kitchen with him and is probably very deep in thought; I don't want to startle the poor man. He goes to sleep very early each night and rises again at the crack of dawn, especially on work days, which sometimes seem to be every day.

I said it cheerfully, but I'm feeling far from cheerful. I'm incredibly nervous, and I'm starting to have second thoughts about this whole strange project I've embarked on with Ethan. I think I might be in over my head.

What do I know about dating? And Ethan is not the mischievous, annoying, but harmless little boy I grew up with. He is 18 years old, basically a man... a mischievous, annoying man.  One with too much muscle for me to handle. He scared me last night with those muscles and his almost kiss... and his voice.

I feel like I've never heard his voice before, even though I've been hearing it way too often for about 12 years now. It never used to stir something weird in my stomach. It's this strange deal we made that is causing it. I'm sure of it. I've never noticed any stirrings before.

I don't think I can do this.

I got a message from Delia this morning, telling me that she'll meet me at my gate and we'll walk to school together and she ended her message with: "Don't you dare chicken out of this, Kira, it's going to be good for both of you, and Ethe really needs this."

I'm not sure what she meant by that. I'm sure they'll be able to convince Grandpa Alistair to skip that condition and give Ethan the car as he'd been promising for many years. He loves the boy... man... boyman.

So, here I am, dressed in a cute pleated black skirt that reaches about halfway down my thighs and a white golf shirt with the red and black school logo printed just above my right breast. I have my hair in two ponytails, tied with red ribbons and even put on a bit of eyeliner and a smudge of lipstick. I look ridiculous, like a wannabe cheerleader, but Delia sent me a picture of how she's dressed and assured me that it's the in thing for Corbin High supporters to wear. Apparently, they all do it.

It's a cult, I tell ya! A cult!

At least I get to wear my sneakers; I like wearing my sneakers, even if it is with frilly, white knee-high socks. I look like I'm gonna serve milkshakes in a roller-skate burger shack!

"No!" my dad says, flashing anxious eyes at the clock against the kitchen wall. "I can't be late today!"

"No, Daddy, you're not late," I say, understanding his anxiety since I seldom surface before 10 am on a Saturday.

"Is it broken?" he asks, patting the glass.

"Nope, that is the actual time."

He turns to look at me, not sure what to say to me or do with me this early on a Saturday morning. He is also finally registering the way I'm dressed and might be thinking that he is having a hallucination now. I don't blame him; this is super weird all around.

"Is something wrong, Pumpkin?" he asks, looking worried.

So many things are wrong, Daddy, so many things.

"No, all good," I can't tell him about the weird things I'm up to now, of course. "I'm going to go watch the rugby at school," I can tell him that, but I'm having a hard time saying that weird sentence, so my lips and tongue are refusing to move, and it sounded like I said: "Uhmm ughugn ku wooh woomy asool." Which is not a language my father understands, and he is looking really worried now, so I clear my throat and try again.

"I'm going to watch the rugby at school."

I don't think he understands that language either because he is blinking his eyes very slowly, trying to make sense of the words. Yes, this makes absolutely no sense at all.