“Because then I’d have to double back,” Hector informs me. “His house is on the way.”
I grudgingly understand the logic in what he’s saying, despite my displeasure at having one more person in this car chatting with Hector while I drive home. My antipathy is nothing in comparison to what I feel when the house’s door swings shut and I look up.
Ethan walks out. Of course.
Without driving to distract me, I realize I recognize the house. The white clapboard with white trim, the large square windows, and a wide lawn. I definitely don’t visit Ethan’s house frequently—I don’t remember Dante popping habitually back into Hell in The Divine Comedy, either. The times I have been forced to Ethan’s home were for group projects and ASG work. Watching him walk onto the porch, I’m filled again with the feeling I got in our meeting with Williams. Like I’ll never escape him, no matter what I’m doing.
I note his expression before he sees me. He’s his usual blend of bored and skeptical. Then his eyes find mine, and his grimace mirrors my own.
Solemnly, he walks to the back seat. When he slides in, he says nothing. I say nothing. It’s like everything with Ethan. We’re even competing over who can say the least.
“Hey, Ethan,” says Hector.
“Hector,” Ethan replies, like an asshole.
Hector twists in his seat, facing Ethan. “Excited for the freeway?”
“Thrilled. What’s she doing here?” His voice is distinctly not thrilled.
“She’s just my previous session,” Hector says easily, oblivious to the nuclear war of disdainful passivity I’m currently waging with Ethan. “She’s driving home, and then you’ll be behind the wheel.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” I say. “I’ll walk home.” I don’t mention it’s nearly a thirty-minute walk to my house. Exercise is good for me, and so is limiting my exposure to Ethan.
“No can do.” Hector shakes his head. “You have to finish your lesson.”
I fume, formulating my rebuttal. It’s Ethan who finds one first. “Is she really going to learn anything in ten minutes of surface streets?” It’s strange having Ethan on my side. In this, however, we have the same objective.
Hector looks from me to Ethan, Ethan to me. Under-standing flits into his eyes, and I prepare for the worst. “Do you two know each other or something?”
Ethan doesn’t respond. I don’t either for a moment. “We go to school together,” I say shortly when it’s clear Ethan’s just going to sit there stone-faced. I glance in the mirror, catching his eyes. “Why don’t you have your license yet?” I can’t comprehend my misfortune that we’re in driver’s ed at the exact same time.
“My parents won’t let me until I turn eighteen,” he replies coolly. “I’ve timed this course to line up perfectly with my birthday.”
This checks out. Ethan’s birthday is in a couple weeks, on March 27. He throws himself a party every year, no doubt to revel in his popularity with the incongruous segments of the school who like him. Rebecca Markey hosted a year ago, two months into her and Ethan’s relationship, only for Ethan to dump with her weeks later.
“Why don’t you have yours?” he asks, studying me in the rearview mirror.
“None of your business,” I snap. Ethan smirks, evidently delighted with the weakness of my retort. I focus firmly on Ethan’s driveway in front of me, knowing if I dwell on the laughter in Ethan’s eyes, I’ll leap out of the car immediately.
Hector smiles. “Oh, I get it,” he says.
I’m confused for an instant until I realize exactly what he thinks he’s gotten. Then I’m filled with horror anticipating the conversation we’re about to have. Glancing in the mirror, I confirm Ethan’s come to the same conclusion. His posture’s rigid, one hand clenched stiffly, like he’s just heard someone laugh at a funeral.
“What exactly do you get?” he grinds out.
“You’re exes, right?” Hector says.
Ethan and I speak simultaneously, a chorus of disdain and denial. “No,” I say. “Of course not,” Ethan says.
Hector’s grin widens. “Oh, good. I would have rearranged the schedule to avoid putting exes in the car together. Regardless, legally, I have to see you to your front door.”
From the levity in Hector’s voice, I know he’s not convinced Ethan and I don’t have history. While I very, very much want to dissuade him of this notion, I know continuing this conversation in the car will only waste time, not to mention give off the impression I’m working too hard to deny it. I’ve heard enough times how Ethan’s and my rivalry masks some unfulfilled sexual tension. It doesn’t. The only hope I have is getting home as soon as possible.
I put the car in reverse, preparing to back out of Ethan’s driveway. Easy. I release the brake, reminding myself I’ve done this already today. Then I catch Ethan’s eyes in the mirror. Everything goes to hell—I remember he’s watching and judging everything I’m doing, and I’m distracted enough not to notice the car whizzing past the curb in front of Ethan’s house. Hector slams on his brake, and we bump forward and back with the car’s momentum.
“Always check your mirrors for cross traffic when you’re backing out,” Hector counsels calmly.
“Yeah, Sanger,” Ethan says. “Check your mirrors.”
I glare daggers dipped in sulfuric acid at him in the rearview. You’re the absolute worst, I want to say. Instead, I hold firm in my resolve not to continue our war in front of Hector. Ethan seems to understand this, the corners of his mouth turning up when I leer wordlessly.
Looking in the mirrors, I pointedly avoid Ethan’s reflection, instead focusing on the road out the rear window. I head for home, finding my way to the main streets.
Hector speaks up, continuing with his constant chatter. “Do you guys have any classes together?”
“Some,” Ethan says.
“Every class,” I correct him.
“That’s a lot,” Hector says. His finger-drumming has changed into fidgeting in his seat, like there’s no energy created or destroyed with Hector, only converted into new, disruptive forms. “How does that even happen? Wait, does that mean Alison is on the newspaper with you?”
The question gives me pause. I wouldn’t have expected Ethan to discuss the Chronicle with Hector. Briefly, I wonder what he said. “I’m the editor in chief, actually,” I cut in, wanting to head off whatever insulting characterization of our working relationship Ethan’s surely about to offer, and to reassert my superiority in the wake of the driveway fiasco.