The Odds of You and Me

05 | kismet

K I S M E T

"Things are as they are. Looking out into it the universe at night, we make no comparisons between right and wrong stars, nor between well and badly arranged constellations."

- Alan Watts

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Easton was the kind of writer who held his pencil against the paper a little too harshly, causing it to indent or to even rip through. The notes for his World History class were filling up most of the page, but in the margins, there were multiple doodles and words written around them. Even though I felt like I was intruding personal space, Easton did draw the map of the school on the piece of paper so he probably wouldn't be too bothered I took it.

I started from the top, where he drew a stick figure holding a sword and battling a fire-breathing dragon. There were some three dimensional letters written beside it that I couldn't decipher. He also drew a picture of a man in a ship who I assumed was Hernando Cortes, based on the label. I skimmed a bit more until I spotted my name. He had lightly written Aunt Hillary's name, my dad's name, my real name, Alessia, and then Alexis.

Did Easton know? If he was smart enough to figure it out, then sooner or later people from school might have their suspicions! I folded the paper until it became a tiny square and tucked it into my pocket, while hurrying back home.

When I stepped back into the house, no one was lingering around, so I immediately grabbed my backpack went into Charlotte's room. I pulled out my laptop, and was just beginning to start my daily social media scouting routine when the doorbell rang loudly. A couple seconds passed and no one in the house seemed to make a move to open the door, so I got up.

After looking through the peephole and discovering it was Easton, I opened the door to let him in. "What do you want," I asked warily when he came inside without a word.

"You forgot the plate so I brought it back," Easton replied simply, setting the now empty china plate on the counter. "I washed it, by the way." Underneath his fixed expression I could sense how please he was with himself that he had washed the plate. I was the farthest from pleased, however.

"Thank you for washing it." Each word was sharper than I'd intended, but I matched his stoic gaze anyway. I broke away first to put the plate back in the cabinets.

"Look," Easton started when I had my back turned. "I didn't mean what I said. I didn't know it would affect you that much."

"Well, it did," I returned matter-of-factly, closed the cabinet door, and turned to face Easton with my arms crossed. His blank face had melted into one that was not so harsh. "What did I ever do to you to make you hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you," Easton defended quickly, and reached up his hand to rub the back of his neck to prep for the awkwardness that was to come. My gaze shifted to his flexing bicep for a second, before flitting back to his face. Get it together and focus on your priorities, Alessia! "I helped you find your class and I also made the map. I just got a bad first impression, especially because I was forced to pick you up from the airport during school...."

"Oh, I understand. That wasn't completely my fault, though. What I don't understand is the initial rudeness and the provoking that followed."

"Okay, here's the deal," Easton replied, leaning towards me and suddenly quiet. "I had my suspicions when your Aunt Hillary asked me to pick up a "distant relative" from the airport. I knew she had a brother who was the father of some famous singer, because we've been neighbors for years and I was bound to find out. Especially, after the news released some vague story about your death, Alessia Reynolds."