"Stop running!"

"Stop chasing me!"

"I'll stop chasing you if you stop running!"

"Well, obviously!" I say, stopping to point out to Ethan just how flawed his logic is... as usual. He almost runs me over when I turn around, but he prevents the collision from being fatal by picking me up and running a few steps with me until he's finally able to stop... For a second, I was a little afraid that he was going to head for the goalposts to score a try with me.

"Why did you stop?" he asks, his face mere inches away from mine.

"To illustrate a point."

"Good job," he laughs, nuzzling my neck, freaking me out and reminding me why I was running in the first place.

"Gross! You're so gross! If you were any grosser... people would start calling you... Ethan!"

I shriek when he tilts me over backwards in a heart-stopping dip before pulling me against his chest again. He finally puts me down, and I hastily take a step away from him, feeling a little dizzy and disoriented. There are way too many people looking at us, probably wondering what is going on between Ethan and his sister's dorky friend.

I'm used to arguing with Ethan, sharing many life events with him, and having him be a part (unwanted) of many of my daily activities, but I'm not used to being manhandled by him. We don't hug, we don't hold hands, and we certainly never kiss, not even on Christmas or birthdays.

Well, maybe a peck on the cheek.

He does sometimes do me the honour of letting me smell his armpits or dumping his dirty laundry on my head... or picking me up to toss me off the bridge, but this picking me up and nuzzling thing is all new! Is it really required? He has managed to transfer a lot of his sweat and rugby-induced grime to me; my white polo shirt is now covered in stains.

That might have been his goal, which makes it less strange.

"Now I need a shower," I grumble.

"I'm in."

"Shut up," I laugh, trying to smell my shirt... I shouldn't have done that! It smells funky!

We beat St Albany's! I know because the Corbin spectators were beside themselves with joy, and a couple of fights broke out because the ones from the visiting school weren't.

Marshall Gibbs got a yellow card from the referee – Delia assured me that it wasn't a shopping voucher - before the second half officially started because a few people tried to force-feed some video proof of his crimes to the referee, and he finally had to do his job properly.

There were some angry comments around me that it should've been a red card, but the result was that St Albany's players backed off a little bit more (not a lot), and Ethan finally got to play the game. He scored two of the second-half tries, which Lurch neatly converted by kicking the ball over the horizontal bar and nicely between the two vertical ones. Apparently, he is a good convertor (Dell laughed at the term when I used it) and hardly ever misses.

There were no more outside-of-play attempts to make Ethan part of the rugby field ecosystem, and he survived the match. I'm pretty sure it wasn't because I threatened that awful guy with fudge.

I'm not sure what the score was because I only kept track of Ethan's tries. I think there were more on both sides and a few things Simon called dropped goals which involved players randomly kicking the ball over the goalposts. I don't really care about the details. Ethan survived, he isn't bleeding too much, and his team won an important game.

Yay! Mission accomplished!

All good! Except that he decided that a bear hug would be the best way to congratulate him on the win. The guy is drenched in sweat, covered in mud, grass and blood... his own and other people's. When I call him gross, I'm really not exaggerating this time.

After the team had a short meeting with their coach, Lurch grabbed Tonia Lomas in a never-ending tight hug. At least two girls are scaling jet, and Barn is running around bouncing people flat with his ample body. Only James is quietly packing his bag, blushing adorably, when girls come up to him, trying to congratulate him. He seems fine with being congratulated as long as it doesn't involve more than a fist bump, a high five or a handshake.

Ethan was looking at his less civilized friends for guidance rather than using James as an example, and that is why I told him that there was no power in the verse that was going to make me hug his gross ass... which resulted in the spectacular chase scene I've just been subjected to.

I'm being dragged by the wrist back to the bleachers now, but I'm not sure why (cannot be good), so I'm letting Ethan work for it, dawdling, leaning back like a rebellious toddler, and he finally stops and turns to me, letting go of my wrist.

"Seriously, Brat," he growls and picks me up, hanging me over his shoulder while he covers the last few steps back to where his friends are gathering their gear.

"Wow," I say, pushing myself up so that my upper body can tower over his shoulder, "I could get used to this view! I think you should carry me like this all the time. Being tall is really awesome!"

Chuckling, he makes me stand on the first row of seats when we reach the bleachers.

"Wanna go for a swim?" he grins, swapping his rugby boots for his favourite, worn sneakers.

"Is that code for something nasty?" I don't trust this guy at all... whether we're dating or not.

"You're a weirdo," he laughs, shaking his head. "Hey, Deli, Simon! Are you guys coming to the waterfall later?"

Delia and Simon also made their way through the milling crowds of people to congratulate the Corbin team and give Ethan some slaps on the back and sing his praise. Some spectators are staying to watch the other matches, and some are leaving. To give everybody the opportunity to watch the match between Corbin and St Albany's first teams, no other matches were played at the same time. I really hope Ethan doesn't plan on keeping me here to watch more matches.

I'll literally die!

I don't see Mr Fletcher anymore, not even from my nice vantage point, standing on the step. He must have left. I hope he at least congratulated his son. Well, he was here; surely that counts for something. Rugby means a lot to Ethan.

"No," I hear Dell say, and now I'm pretty sure I don't want to go swimming either. She grins up at me. Apparently, she found our short battle highly entertaining. I swear, she is enjoying this weird dating situation I got myself into way too much. Sadist!

"We have a date with Simon's grandmother." Oh, right, she did mention that earlier. "See you guys later," and off they go, hand-in-hand, heading for the school gate.

How sweet!

"Can't we also have a date with your grandmother instead of going swimming?" I ask Ethan, and I suppose I deserve the look he is giving me now.

"My closest grandmother lives four hours away by car," he snorts, unzipping the sports bag and dragging a fresh t-shirt from it. "Which one did you want to have a date with?"

"I like them both." That is the truth.

Aunt Gemma's mother (the one married to Grandpa Alistair) is always baking the yummiest treats, and she tells the funniest jokes, usually while she's feeding us those treats. Mr Fletcher's mother is always being scolded by her son for spoiling his children (and me). It baffles me how a grumpy man like Mr Fletcher could have such a sweet, gentle woman like Granny Fay as his mother. Perhaps he takes after his father. Unfortunately, Mr Fletcher senior died many years ago and is no longer available for comparison.

Well, to be fair... I'd also be grumpy if I had to be Ethan's father.

Ethan pulls off his red, white and black striped rugby jersey and uses it to mop up some of the sweat from his face and neck and various sections of his chest... which is way too close to my face right now.

Through the years, I've seen Ethan in various stages of undress – usually involuntarily - and right now is really not one of the more extreme moments, but for some inexplicable reason, my face is on fire, and I'm struggling to breathe like a normal person.

I can hear my pulse racing in my head.

This whole deal we made is causing me to see him as a boy rather than as Delia's annoying birth defect. I don't like it at all! There is way too much maleness going on here; I prefer my boyfriends in smaller portions.

No, I have no idea what that means!

My brain finally receives a jolt of oxygen-rich blood when Ethan's abs mercifully disappear inside the t-shirt he pulls on, and he stuffs the dirty jersey in his bag, along with his rugby boots and the (now empty) water bottles he had taken from there after the match. Yes, he had his own...

Everybody is shouting 'See you later' to everybody else and taking off in different directions; many are heading for the gate.

"Aren't you going to watch any of the other games?" I ask when Ethan zips his bag shut, shoulders it and wraps his free arm around my waist to pick me off the seat and set me on the ground. He is clearly also aiming for the school gate.

No! Now I'm short again!

"Not today; we're just playing friendlies."

I'm confused.

"I thought you said this game was important."

"Yeah, it's St Albany's first team... it's always important... even when it's not."

I give up!

"Thanks for coming, Kicks," he says when we leave the school grounds.

"No problem, it was... interesting."

Instead of turning right, we cross the street diagonally to cut across the overgrown empty lot opposite the school. The plot has been for sale since the dawn of mankind, but the owner wants way too much for it and refuses to drop his price. It serves as a convenient shortcut to the footpath behind it, which leads to my favourite shortcut home...

At least, it used to be convenient, but the owner decided to fence it in with barbed wire; one now has to navigate at the front and the back of the property, which is why I never use it. Apparently, he is afraid of someone carrying away the lot. There's no real threat of squatters, and even if there were, they'd be removed in the blink of an eye.

Ethan holds the wires for me, and I gingerly climb through the area between them, avoiding all the barbs. He unceremoniously drops his bag over the fence and climbs through too. I love nature and everything about it, but that does not mean that I'd love to be snake food; I, therefore, keep my eyes open and stay in Ethan's steps, ignoring his amused grin when I take hold of the seam of his t-shirt.

The grass is tall in this yard; anything could be hiding in it. Whenever the neighbours' complaints about weed infestations in their gardens become too loud, the municipality forces the owner to have his plot cleared. It obviously doesn't last very long. He should just sell the place to the municipality and have it turned into a nice little park with a footpath through it.

There is a hole in the fence at the back. A branch snapped off the old tree near it, kindly taking the barbed wire down with it. The owner wasn't upset enough to fix it. I doubt that he ever comes to this lot after fencing it up... except when compelled for weed clearing. We easily navigate the gap, and then we are on the footpath skirting a small boggy area filled with tall trees and high boulders and scores of interesting creatures of the reptile variety.

A wooden walkway leads off the paved footpath, cutting through the small nature reserve, ultimately ending near my house. We step onto it, taking a blissful stroll, looking at bugs and listening to frogs... well, that's what I'm doing. I adore this small piece of mud-logged wilderness virtually behind our house.

Our town is filled with pockets of nature, which is one of the things I love most about it. Some of these spots were changed into parks with benches and playgrounds and mowed lawns, while others, like the one we're walking through now, were left to be whatever they wanted to be... and what this one wants to be is beautiful... desolate... a little creepy.

Walking along the raised wooden walkway, one could imagine that you're far away from civilisation, especially when it's deserted, the way it is now. There have been some petitions to have it drained since it's a wonderful breeding ground for mosquitos, but those opposing the draining are equally strong in numbers. As a compromise, many mosquito-eating reptiles have been introduced to the area.

It is heaven!

I gasp, jerking away, nearly stepping off the walkway and face-planting in the especially wet area we're passing through, when Ethan suddenly takes my hand. I would've achieved the unpleasant outcome if he didn't grab my arm to stop me. He drops his hand from my arm the moment I've regained my balance.

"What are you doing?" he frowns down at me, and I'm pretty sure my frown matches his, though I have to tilt my head back to really see his face, and the sun is getting in my eyes because we're standing in one of the few spots where the trees do not block out the direct light.

"There's nobody here to see us now," I say, thinking I'm being logical, but hearing the words, I realise that...

"You're in the wrong teenage high school movie," Ethan finishes my thought for me. "We're not pretending to be dating, Kira, doing couple-like stuff where others can see us so we can make them believe that we're dating. We're not faking it."

"No," I agree. "What are we doing, though? I'm not entirely sure. I mean, it kinda feels like we're faking..."

"Maybe you are," Ethan says, glaring at me, and I wish he didn't choose this moment to block the sun with his head because I don't like being glared at by him. Besides, why is he being so grumpy about it now? He suddenly reminds me of his dad. "I'm not. I'm taking this seriously; you should too, or there's no point to this."

He's right. I hate it when he's right. Still...

"Does taking it seriously mean that we have to hold hands and be all touchy-feely and stuff like that? Seems kinda forced to me..."

"No, we don't have to. Of course, I'll never force you to do anything," he sighs, smiling at me. "Kicks, I have no idea what we're doing either, which is probably what we're trying to figure out in the first place," he laughs and, turning away, he starts walking again. "Perhaps this is a stupid idea."

I watch him go, and there's something about seeing him from behind, wearing a faded blue t-shirt, his bag slung over his shoulder, his long red socks sagging to his ankles, and his black sneakers walking away from me that stabs at my heart. For some inexplicable reason, it suddenly feels extremely important that we figure out this thing called a relationship.

I hurry to catch up with him and slip my hand into his.

♂♀