“Objectively attractive, huh?”
I roll my eyes and hook a finger into his belt loop. “I’d like you to continue declaring your feelings now.”
He laughs. “Like I said, I was surprised. Then confused, then angry. I didn’t want to accept it.”
His sincerity sobers me. “And now you’re not angry about it?”
Ethan leans in, the white paint on his cheek brushing my skin. “Only a little,” he says close to my ear, then pecks a quick kiss on the curve of my jaw.
I bring my lips to his in reply. Every day is full of hundreds of decisions—priorities, organizational efficiencies, editorial choices—and they’re often not easy. This one, right now, isn’t exactly easy, either. It’s not impossible, though. I know what choice I’m going to make and what choice I want to make, and they’re the same. It’s like someone’s illuminated neon lettering I could already read.
I kiss Ethan, deciding I want this too much to worry what it means for the future.
Forty-Six
WE LEAVE THE BATHROOM after ten frenetic minutes together. I flatten my hair and straighten my clothes, feeling unlike myself. I guess I’m now the kind of person who steals away from ASG events for spirited make-out sessions. Ethan, walking with me, adjusts the collar of his shirt with what I have a hunch is practiced casualness.
When we enter the kitchen, everyone’s cleaning up. I guiltily notice the finished posters on the dining table.
“Wow,” Isabel says. “Looks like you guys really went at it.” I startle, turning red. Her eyes sweep over our evidently still-disheveled appearances. “Let me guess,” she goes on, “you had a disagreement over where to hang these posters.”
Relief replaces my panic. Isabel doesn’t know. The reprieve only lingers until I realize it’s inevitable my classmates will find out. Ethan’s and my rivalry was so public, the idea of people knowing what it’s turned into fills me with embarrassment. Especially Dylan. She hates Ethan, and I can’t blame her. I hated him for years too. I decide I don’t want the knowledge getting out until I’ve determined how serious Ethan and I will be.
“Something like that,” I say to Isabel.
Ethan catches my eye, his expression smugly playful. “You know Sanger,” he says. “Vigorous when she wants something, with the stamina to see it through.”
I hold his gaze and shrug. “I don’t quit until I’m satisfied.” I see the shadow of a smile cross his impassive expression. He says nothing. It feels like a small win. There’s a new playing field for one-upping opening in front of us, and I plan to capitalize on it.
“Sometimes I wonder how you two even get through class together,” Isabel says, shaking her head.
Ethan’s eyes sparkle. “With determination and restraint, Isabel.”
* * *
• • •
While the members of ASG walk to their cars, I wait in Isabel’s driveway, holding my phone. It’s dusk, and the sky is the flattering lavender gradient of suburban nights under the ungainly shadows of streetlights and power lines. We’ve packed up the posters and paint in Isabel’s kitchen, and I’m writing a text to my mom to pick me up when Ethan walks past me.
“Need a ride?” He sounds friendly, which will require a little getting used to. “I mean, since you failed your driving test, and I passed mine, so I can drive you,” he adds, and it’s the old Ethan.
I roll my eyes, but I put my phone away. “You’ll pay for that,” I say, joining him.
“Will I?” He raises an intrigued eyebrow.
I walk to his passenger door. Ethan drives a white Mercedes. It looks new, and I find it hard to imagine it’s his instead of on loan from his parents. Opening the door, I slide into the leather seat. “I do actually have to go home and study,” I say when Ethan gets in.
“Did you think I had something else in mind, Sanger?” His nonchalance doesn’t convince me.
“Yes,” I say.
Ethan grins and starts the engine.
“So . . .” I know we need to get this out of the way. Defining our relationship. Not to mention the public-relations issue of when to disclose to our classmates.
“I’m not giving you my notes for the English exam,” Ethan says.
I face him, insulted. “Like I’d want them! Your notes are always sloppy.” I’m appalled whenever I glance over and read what he’s written. His journal is a forest of arrows, stars, and footnotes.
“We’ll see about that when we get our scores,” he replies.
“Yeah. We will.” I guess Ethan finds my comeback weak, because he only smiles once again, which obviously will not stand. “You know, you could probably benefit from reading my notes, though. I’m happy to help.”
“Pass,” Ethan replies, eyes on the road. “I will say I had no idea you’d be such a helpful girlfriend.”
I feel my eyes widen, my spine straightening. It’s like the word has vacuumed the air out of the car. Ethan looks similarly shocked.
“Ew,” I say. “Did you just call me your girlfriend?”
The white of his knuckles on the wheel and woozy expression on his features lead me to think he didn’t intend the word to leap out. I wonder from where in his subconscious it surfaced. Is he so used to picking up girlfriends that the label comes easily? Or . . . is it something he’s considered before in reference to me. “It slipped out,” he says stiffly.
I fold my hands in my lap, the habit one of high-pressure college interviews and tense newspaper meetings. Except in those situations, I knew what I was supposed to say, what I wanted to say. I clear my throat. “Do you—”
I’m grateful for the reprieve when he cuts me off. “No. Yes. I don’t know.” In other contexts, I’d be thrilled to witness Ethan so ineloquent. Maybe I should make him a promposal sign and display it during his next ASG motion. “The idea of being your boyfriend is simultaneously deeply upsetting and . . . not,” he says. The final word falls heavily, like furniture on your foot.
“Let’s table it,” I suggest.
“Great. Yes,” he agrees hastily. We stop behind the car in front of us, waiting for the light to change in the intersection. Ethan has a looser way of driving, I’ve noticed, coasting to stops and gentler turns. “What about at school. Do we tell people?”
“Tell people what? We’re hooking up?” I ask. Ethan raises an eyebrow. “We can barely admit what this is to each other. I don’t think getting more opinions on it would be helpful.”