I stand in the shower a long time after I've already rinsed the strange morning from my skin. The water continues to cascade warmly over me, wrapping me in its soothing embrace while I stare at my hand, puzzled by the weird alternative reality it had taken me to not too long ago.

I remember the feel of Ethan's palm, warm and calloused against mine, his fingers curling over my skin, finally threading themselves between my fingers. For some, yet to be explained, reason the action left me breathless.

His hand was so much bigger than mine. When did his hands become so big?

Holding his hand felt safe and right and strange and dangerous and stupid and so many other conflicting things, I cannot even begin to list them.

When I took his hand, he'd been startled, his body involuntarily stiffening for a second, and then he understood what was happening and settled into it. Perhaps he now understands my initial shocked reaction a little better.

We walked the rest of the way in silence, and then Ethan helped me over the back wall of my home before scaling theirs. The path cutting through the wilderness catches up with the paved footpath that runs right around the small nature reserve, passing behind our houses.

It is quite a distance before there is a break between the houses further up the path, where it branches off, bringing us to our street and then we have to walk most of the way back again to reach our gates. We always just jump over our back walls.

Well, he jumps his wall and helps me over mine. If I'm alone, I walk the long way around or just stick to the main road, avoiding hurdle-filled shortcuts.

I simply don't have the height or dexterity to be a good Lara Craft.

"We should really work on our lists," I told him, sitting on my wall, getting ready to jump down into our yard. I might be called obsessive or overly organized or whatever, but without those lists, my goal just isn't clear to me, and it feels like we're just bungling along and non of this is making sense to me. I find it a bit stressful; I really need those lists.

"Swim first," he insisted, grimacing. What is the opposite of being overly organized? Ethan is that thing. "I'm too hot and tired to think straight now."

He actually had a good point there. Shower, swim, lunch, lists... I always have an emergency list in my head.

"I'll bring a notepad, and we can make our lists at the waterfall," I suggested, being extremely accommodating and helpful, but he shook his head, clearly deadset against the idea.

"No, the others are coming too. Can't talk about this with them around. Actually, Kicks, don't tell anybody about this." I wasn't planning on telling anybody about our experiment, it would be too humiliating, but the mindless horde are his friends, so exceptions and all that...

"Why don't you want them to know about our deal? Aren't they your friends?" I asked, remembering the way he'd hushed me this morning when I almost spilt the beans to the guys.

"Yeah, but if they know, they won't take us seriously, and if they treat it like one big joke and mock us and mess around the whole time, we'll stop taking it seriously too, and then we won't succeed in... what we're trying to do..." That is another good point. I know how relentless those doofuses can be. Especially Jet. "Burlap knows, and he is completely onboard. He takes it very seriously."

"I think James actually takes school underwear inspections seriously too," I smiled, and the twinkle in Ethan's eye and his sassy grin told me that I'd opened my mouth and shoved in my foot, sneaker and all. Delia and I often use school underwear inspections as a measure of how seriously to take anything.

Ethan is not Delia!

"Believe me, even Jet would take those seriously... they're only performed on the girls, after all..." Right, that is correct. It is probably because of the whole school skirt thing, but I prefer to think of them as sexist and a crude invasion of privacy.

Right now, I'm staring at my hand because there is a very important question nagging at my brain, which I want this treacherous appendage of mine to answer.

Why did I like holding Ethan's hand?!

I don't get out enough, that's why! I had two boyfriends last year, and neither of them was really worthy of the title. The one relationship (if you could call it that) lasted two weeks, and as explained before, we were just research partners. The other barely made it through one weekend, starting on Friday and crashing and burning spectacularly by Monday, leaving me scarred for life... Well, slightly.

Before Liam and Cole, I dated guys like Tyrion Lannister, Damon Salvatore, Eun-Seom, Spike, Steve Harrington and well... The Jonas Brothers... yeah... all three of them...

When I watch a movie or a series, I really get into it... and I don't care how old it is...

Part of the reason I embarked on this weird experiment with Ethan is the fact that I suck at talking to and dating actual boys I know. To tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I've never actually been in love. I've never met a boy in real life that made my heart beat faster or left me standing in the shower, staring at my hand, like a moron.

Until now...

The realisation is enough to cause me to turn off the water and step out of the shower, dry myself off, and pull on my summer dressing gown. I'm feeling refreshed right now, but I know that today's cloying heat will have me longing to be back in the shower in just a few minutes. I wander into my bedroom, towel drying my hair and open my closet door, grimacing at the content.

Swimming with Ethan... What could possibly go wrong?

Am I supposed to wear a sexy bikini and pose on the rocks showing off my... uhm... well... I'm tanned! I spend enough time playing around in nature to get some sun. The only problem is that I usually wear clothes, so my tan is not the even kind you get from lying in the sun, wearing as little as possible. It's not really the show-off kind of tan...

Just be you, he'd said.

Well, in that case...

I pull on my non-descript black school swimsuit, frayed denim shorts and my favourite t-shirt... Yup, the purple, black and green "I'm a turtle, hear me roar" one. I have no idea what Ethan meant about not understanding it. It has a roaring turtle right there on the front. It is illustrated!

The t-shirts were printed and sold as part of a drive to collect funds for the turtle sanctuary where I volunteer on Thursday afternoons and were quite popular. What do I do at the turtle sanctuary? I mostly clean aquariums and measure out special food and medicines, run errands and help the zoologists with their research and other tasks in whatever way I can. One day, I would like to be a zoologist myself.

My loving admiration of the imaginative t-shirt, designed by Delia Fletcher, is rudely interrupted by what sounds like an old-fashioned kettle boiling but is obviously coming from the house next door.

Seriously? Is he never going to give up that annoying habit?!

I'm a little peeved to discover that my heart skipped many beats when I heard Ethan's sharp whistle. Usually, I cringe and gnash my teeth in exasperation. My body is not working properly anymore; it has lost the script completely! I don't know what is going on with me. It is starting to scare me a little bit, and I don't have the courage to speak to Dell about it since it involves her brother.

I instinctively pick up the framed photograph on my vanity and gaze with focused concentration into the green eyes looking back at me. It's an old habit when I'm in need of motherly advice. It often works, but right now, all I see are mischievous green eyes looking into mine, flowing red curls and a sweet smile. No advice of any kind is forthcoming.

I don't look like my mother at all. I have brown hair like my father, and my eyes decided to compromise between his brown eyes and my mother's green ones by being hazel. Delia tells me that they fluctuate between brown and green depending on my mood. She calls them breen, because, according to her, my eyes are so pretty (her actual words), they need a new name to define their colour.

Dell is a funny girl!

There are no answers from my mother today. I miss her so much sometimes. Daddy is great with just about everything, and he tries really, really hard, but when it comes to girl stuff and growing up and pretty much anything that he cannot solve using a formula or in some practical way, he turns a little green in the face. I try not to punish him too often. I usually just speak to Aunt Gemma instead.

Can't speak to her about this!

Another sharp whistle pierces the air, and I hastily put the photograph down when I almost drop it. Feeling exasperated for wholly different reasons now, I cross to my window and open the curtains.

He'd better be dressed!

He is, and apparently, we're playing charades again. It is pretty obvious that Ethan is asking me to meet him at our gate in 10 minutes. Of course, I have to pretend not to understand him a few times, laughing at how creative he is becoming in describing what he wants... he is even using props now. He could just say what he wants; he is close enough for me to hear him, but... it's Ethan...

He finally catches on that I'm just acting dumb, entertaining myself with his flair for theatrics and runs the tip of his middle finger up the length of his nose, slowly moving his hand away from his face when he reaches the bridge between his eyes, making clear what he thinks of me messing with him. I giggle happily, pleased that I've frustrated him a little bit.

Mission accomplished.

I blow him a kiss, and laughing, he shakes his head and, with a dramatic flourish, flings a towel over his shoulders and heads for his bedroom door.

Ten minutes. Just enough time to fix us a nice picnic lunch!

♂♀