Unpredictability of Love

That One Half-Avatar Guy

Ethan became my personal, under-paid (unpaid) chauffeur for the next few days. Which meant hours spent arguing about everything under the sun on the car ride, eating ice-cream nearly every day (and pizza on the days we didn't), hiding from the other kids and teachers from school while I was in his car, and another lie to add to the list of lies I told mom and dad. I loved it all - except the lying part, of course. I had to tell them I was taking the bus, and Ed covered for me whenever needed in return for letting him use my garage to do his science project.

The things I loved about Ethan acting as my driver were impossible not to love. He was still a terrible driver - driving too fast at the wrong moments, nearly running into walls and garbage trucks and into the only lake in the town, scaring old ladies in wheelchairs and babies in prams, honking at a man who had fallen in the middle of the road before rushing to help once he realized what had happened - but I was okay with it. More than okay. While the people outside cursed us, I sat back and laughed, all the while making jokes to get a laugh out of Ethan.

And it worked. It worked so well that I was sometimes worried he breathed in laughing gas in the mornings. But even if he did, I wouldn't have objected because his laugh was wonderful to hear. Open, sincere, warm and welcoming. It was the kind of laugh capable of producing laughter from people around. Which meant I laughed with him. It was an amazing feeling. That togetherness.

When you spend time with person, you start realizing there's a lot more to them than you thought possible. For example, I found out that Ethan could cook. Cook very will. And had the patience of an ox. It was a bet that uncovered this piece of information for me.

The bet was on whether or not I could finish an English assignment in three hours. The assignment was supposed to be ten book reviews on classics by authors of the old, like Jane Austen, Charles Dickens and Shakespeare. We'd been given a month to do it. Obviously, I forgot, and didn't remember until a day before the project was due.

When I told Ethan a could finish it in three hours tops and get an A grade, he scoffed at me. And it turned into a bet

What poor Ethan didn't know was I was an expert at this. I was so used to doing assignments last minute that I'd figured out simple tricks that would impress the teacher, while taking very less time to do. For that particular assignment, I pulled out the summaries of ten brilliant books from the internet, wrote long reviews mostly based and guesswork and partly based on memory from when I'd read them, took a dictionary and replaced all the simple words with flowery ones whose meaning even I didn't know. And Tada! Instantly it was A-grade worthy. The teacher couldn't resist all the strange words I'd used in it.

When I won, he couldn't believe it and wanted to know how I did it. I shrugged and told him. And also told him about how the poor, unsuspecting teacher had praised me for it. And for winning the bet, I ordered him to get me chocolate brownies the next day.

"This is so good," I said, stuffing it into my mouth like an animal as the chocalate-y goodness burst into my mouth. "Where did you get it from?" I was going to drag dad and Ed to that place as soon as I could.

He smirked at me, but didn't say anything else until I pressed him. Then imagine my surprise when he said: "I made it. So it's actually from my kitchen."

My brownie-filled mouth fell open at that. He laughed. "I'm not that untalented, you know? Although I did end up in detention many times for not doing my English assignments in time."

I wondered why he wouldn't just quit everything and put up a food stall. Because he did have talent. Maybe not talent for driving, but no one was going to ask him about his driving skills with food in their mouths.

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"Thanks," I said, grabbing my bag from the backseat and hopping out of the car. The pain in my ankle had gone down quite a lot, and I could barely feel it anymore.

"I don't see why you bother thanking me," he said, watching me with a teasing smile on his face. "This is literally glorified slavery. " The smile on his face wasn't new, but its playfulness would never tire me.

I grinned. "I'm half-Brit, remember? I'm going to thank you because it's polite, but do it very condescendingly because you're beneath me."

He laughed, shaking his head, letting his hair fall in front of his eyes. He pushed it away with his hand. "Do ever not have a reply for everything?"

I pretended to think about it. "No. Not unless I become you."

"And do you ever not find ways to insult me?" He shook his head again, still smiling. "Anyway, if I let you, you'll do this the whole day. I'll see in the afternoon."

I leaned forward on the car seat, keeping the door open with my butt. Not the most elegant position for a discussion, but elegant and I never really got together, so it didn't matter. "My friend's back from New York, by the way."

He frowned. "You have friends? Since when? Wasn't your lack of friends the reason I ended-up as your slave?"

"You ended-up as my slave because you're kind of the reason my ankle got messed-up." I rolled my eyes. "And yes, it so happens that I do have friends. And one of them went to New York for a boxing thing. She's back now. I'm pretty sure I told you before."

"You also spent five hours describing all the good things about a girl called Tris Prior, without bothering to mention she's a character in one of those crazy books you read, and blew up my phone bill along the way. So forgive me if I forget the existent people in your life," he shot back, looking way too proud of himself for the come-back.

"How was I supposed to know you're not a Divergent fan?" I scoffed at his ignorance. All the time I spent talking with him about that amazing series, and all I got in return was: "Wait a second, Tris Prior is from a book?" And he had the gall to claim I'd blown-up his phone bill.

"By asking me," he retorted. "But let's get back to the point. Your friend's coming back?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He stared at me for a moment, then realization came over his face, and a flicker of sadness passed in his eyes before his expression was blank again. Too blank. Blanker that his blankest expression. "That's great. Does that mean I don't have to drop you around anymore?"

I frowned. "What? No! I'm not letting you off your duty that easily." The thought of not spending another car ride with him, arguing about the advantages and disadvantages of choco-chip cookies in an ice-cream instead of crushed Oreos made me uncomfortable.

"Oh." He looked oddly relieved. "What did you want to tell me, then?"

"Well . . . " I began chewing on my bottom lip nervously. I played with my fingers, searching for the right words. I didn't want to offend him, but if I didn't figure out a way to get it out, there was be disaster. "It's just . . . Shirley won. And I promised we would go out after school if she did. After that, if she sees me getting into your car, she'll have questions."

He looked away. "Right. Of course. You wouldn't want to have to explain my presence to your little friend." He sounded hurt.

I groaned. "You know it's not like that!" I loved Shirley. But she would freak out if she found out I'd ordered a stranger - who also had a drug addiction - to drive me around, and even showed him my house.

He whipped around like a snake, scowling, eyes burning with hurt. "You don't have to lie. It's fine. I get it. And I know exactly how it is. I won't come to pick you up today."

I sighed. "You're hurt."

"I'm not!" he said defensively. "I'm just glad I don't have to do driver-duty this afternoon."

"Okay, you're not," I said, placating him a little. Reaching out, I took his hand in mine, and waited for him to pull it out, but he just watched me curiously. And not for the first time, I found myself staring at the tattoos that ran along his arm, all the way to his knuckles. No words, no decipherable designs, just a combination of dark red, blue, green and black, twisting and turning into each other in no particular pattern, creating a storm of colours. A storm. Just like his eyes. I traced the red with my finger. Shame there's no yellow, it would've looked happier and not so depressing.

"You're obsessed with that," he said softly in a sigh.

I traced the colour all the way to his elbow, then glanced at the other colours, trying to decide which one to trace next. Blue was the next brightest, so I went with it. "Not obsessed. Fascinated. It's beautiful. Are you ever going to tell me what they mean?" I could feel his eyes on my finger.

"Emmaline, it's a secret for a reason." The way he said my incredibly strange name sent shivers down my neck.

I looked up at him and caught his stormy gaze. "And it's also a little intimidating. You're intimidating. Not to me, but Shirley doesn't know you. She'll have questions."

He nodded, not taking his eyes off me. Then pulled his hand out of mine and briefly ran his thumb along the curve of my wrist. His touch was quick, but I didn't miss the meaning behind it. I loved how warm his hand was. "I'll see you tomorrow. Try to come down on time."

I smiled, although it felt forced under the intensity of the moment. It was uncommon for Ethan to show any kind of affection for me, and it unsettled me a bit. The affection was usually disguised beneath an insult. Never so obvious. "I'll try. But no promises."

I moved away from him and slammed the car's door shut.

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