The happy aroma of freshly brewed coffee greets me when I enter the kitchen dressed in soft navy-blue capri pants and an oversized red Stormtrooper t-shirt. My favourite lounge-around-the-house outfit.

Ethan is seated at the kitchen table, carefully cleaning our new shell, using the old toothbrush we store under the sink for that purpose. He looks up when I join him at the table, putting my laptop, a notepad and some coloured pens I've brought with me down on the surface.

"Isn't that my t-shirt?" he asks, running his eyes over me, a frown knitting his brows.

"Isn't that my bracelet?" I echo his question, pointing at the beads around his wrist.

"Kicks, you can have any of my clothes you want," he chuckles, picking up the shell and holding it up to distract me. "It's pretty clean," he grins. "Nothing growing in or on it. I've given it a brush, and I'll cover it in toothpaste and let it rest for a few hours, then soak it. Should be good enough."

Sometimes we get shells that have bits of dead tissue stuck on or inside them, making the cleaning process much longer. We boil those and soak them for a couple of days, regularly changing the water, and then brush them. Once the shells are completely clean, we either rub them with mineral oil or paint them with clear nail polish, depending on the type of shell.

I'm glad to hear that this shell is an easy one. We never take shells with live animals or snails in them; we leave those to fulfil their roles in life first. We only take intact, high-quality dead shells, which is why collecting all the shells on my mom's chart is taking years.

"Awesome!" I smile, sitting down at a right angle to Ethan and dragging my laptop into place in front of me.

"Are we seriously going to do homework now?" he asks, frowning at my stationery. He actually looks a little bit afraid of my answer, and I roll my eyes with a snort. He pushes the shell aside and gets to his feet, and when he returns to the table, he is carrying two mugs of steaming coffee.

"It's not going to be that bad," I assure him when he grabs the biscuit tin from the cupboard and sits down at the table. "You can write your list in the notepad," I suggest, nudging the book towards him, "and I'll type and print mine, and then we can put them up in our rooms." I stop when I see him frowning.

"Are we making to-do lists for each other?"

That is an excellent question that I have no answer to.

"I... don't know... maybe..." I have no idea what we're doing. "We could start with things we expect from our ideal partner... as a basis... maybe..."

"So, you want me to make a list of things I want you to do as my girlfriend?" he asks, looking really happy about the plan.

"Yes... I think so." This doesn't feel very wise at all, and his smile just keeps on growing, dimples and all. "Nothing pornographic, perverse or gross," I add hastily to put an end to that smile.

"Well, there goes my list," he sighs dramatically, dropping the pen he'd picked up on the notepad and grabbing a biscuit from the tin instead.

"Ethan..." I narrow my eyes looking at him, dunking and munching three biscuits in quick succession. He just grins, enjoying his snack. I've never met anybody who loves eating as much as Ethan does. Well, maybe Barn, but he usually just inhales his food and snacks; Ethan gets a truly blissful expression on his face when he eats something tasty.

I sip my coffee, watching him pick up the pen and hover the tip over the page in front of him, waiting for him to start writing, but he is staring at the page as if it is the enemy about to attack him. I lower my cup with a sigh when he drops the pen again and just close my eyes and enjoy the aroma of the coffee he gave me instead.

I hastily open my eyes again when I hear the sound of my laptop sliding away from its spot in front of me.

"What are you doing?" I ask, seeing him shove the notebook aside to make room for the laptop. He opens it and, once it's booted, starts using the mouse to do things that I cannot see.

"Ethan, if you're surfing nasty sites again, I'm beating you up!"

"Are you gonna fudge me up?" he chuckles, almost causing me to snort the sip of coffee I was about to take. I swallow it hastily, glaring at him, but I cannot stop the laugh when it finally breaks free of my control.

"I have an idea," he announces, making me groan. "No, seriously, you'll like this idea because I stole it from you."

"I like it already..."

"Remember earlier this year when the guys and I were told to organise the debate night?"

Oh, my soul! As if I could ever forget that!

Ethan and the three dummies were supposed to paint the chalk lines for the upcoming athletics meet, and I strongly feel that whoever gave them the task and actually expected neat lines around the rugby field should take full responsibility for the disaster it inevitably turned into. Nobody in their right mind would hand such a task to the four of them... not when James is not there to babysit them... even then, actually.

From the rugby field itself, it just looked like a general mess, but from the top row of the bleachers, one could clearly see how the four lines started out perfectly and carried on around almost the entire oval field... and then... a fight broke out. One of their perpetual nonsensical brawls.

I don't think they even knew what it was about, as it could be about virtually anything. I've once seen them turn Ethan's bedroom into a mosh pit because they couldn't agree about whose turn it was to stand on his desk and try to spit soda into the waste paper basket from a distance.

That was last week. I usually keep my window and curtains closed when Ethan is in his room, especially when the Neanderthals are with him, but it was a particularly hot day; I left my window and curtains open to let the breeze in and was treated to the entire messy, noisy show.

So, nobody knows what started the fight that day, but the track lines from the point where it started to the end tell a vivid story of idiots having a brawl without letting go of their chalk track markers. The lines zigzagged, overlapped, and circled around each other, and some grass got gouged loose. The fight ended when the metal buckets on wheels eventually overturned, spilling most of their loads all over the place. The boys were also turned into walking chalk dust bombs.

Principal Blake and Mr Samuels decided that the perfect punishment would be for the four of them to clean up the mess they'd made and redo the lines – supervised this time – and then organise the debate night. That included the stage set up, cleaning of the auditorium, refreshments, and programs. The works. A task he knew they'd hate, and hate it they did!

I thought it was a crazy idea because... well, these are guys who spend their weekends racing each other downhill in shopping trolleys when they're not wearing helmets and pillows and doing their own insane version of ten-pin bowling using each other as the balls and empty wheelie bins as the pins. And those are only some of the things I'm not too horrified to recall.

Needless to say, Ethan's dad was really angry, even more so than usual, so the four of them took over our kitchen for their disastrous planning session. Normally, James would've joined them and saved them from themselves, as he always does, but he had the flu and was quarantined at home and too sick to even Facetime for help.

"You saved our butts that day," Ethan smiles.

No, I didn't; I saved my sanity.

I wanted to get them out of my home as fast as possible so that I could enjoy the book I was trying to read without hearing them make farm noises and tell weird jokes and argue about whether they were arguing or not. They also thought the place was their private diner, and I was the waitress serving snacks and coffee on tap.

Well, Ethy made the coffee, I made the snacks... they provided the ingredients... It was pretty good. We had various crackers, cheeses, meats, dips, pickles, and olives... I ate quite a lot of it and got to keep tons of leftovers for my dad...

That's not the point!

I had a problem with their noisy, brainless presence. They were too here. They couldn't go to Jet's place because his parents were having a snooty work function garden party kind of event (they love those) at his house, and he was banned... for obvious reasons. Lurch lives in a house with his parents, grandparents and five siblings. They might've been outnoised at his house. Barn's mother is a nurse, and she had a weekend off and wanted to sleep in and relax, watching TV with his dad, not be entertained by mind-numbing weirdness.

Besides, my house is their preferred hang-out when they're not out and about getting up to mischief. My home is Delia and Ethan's second home, and it has been that for the last 12 years, just like their home is mine. My dad has no problem with him (and his annoying attachments) hanging out at our house, as long as they clean up after themselves and don't actively destroy anything... except my peace.

He staunchly believes that my peace requires some disturbance once in a while, especially since Delia found Simon, and we're no longer stuck to each other with strong Velcro. I have much more time to self-isolate, building miniature ecosystems in my section of the garage or just reading, sleeping, and listening to music in my bedroom.

The day Ethan is referring to, I was in the kitchen fixing platters of yummy treats, one for me and several for them, when I heard their plans and ideas and realised that once they set them in motion, we might have to travel two towns over to go to school since ours will go up in flames... literally.

"You brought your laptop and started one list, and we assigned tasks," he says, using a finger to type something. He pauses, pulling a face at me. "You also shot down all our fun ideas... but I won't let you do that this time."

"Ethy, fireworks in the school auditorium is not a fun idea, and neither are live bands and strippers at a high school debate night." I doubt that those were legitimate plans, but I certainly heard them discussing the possibilities.

"Yeah, but debate night is super boring," he points out reasonably. "People just talk and talk and talk, and when I fall asleep in my seat, you poke me awake, saying I'm drooling on your shoulder. My dad keeps on telling me to sit still, and my mom eventually runs out of snacks to feed me.

"I only go there to hear Delia, and when she's finally had her turn, the drones guarding the doors won't let me out, even when I say I need to use the bathroom... unless I demonstrate my willingness to pee against the door," he grins, enjoying the memory. "That worked pretty well."

He only had to start undoing his pants and pretend to get into the appropriate position that one time; now, they hastily open the door when they see him coming. He says he was just bluffing... but it's Ethan...

"So, what's your plan?" I ask, shaking my head, giggling at the memory.

"I'm going to make a spreadsheet and assign tasks; some will be for both of us, some for you and some for me."

"Go on."

Ethan cannot type; I remember that, watching him search for letters on the keyboard. He can use a gaming console controller to enter characters impressively fast, and he can manoeuvre cars and guns and avatars with startling precision, but give him a keyboard and tell him to use more than just the keys required in PC games, and he turns into a one finger type-snail...

More or less the same way in which I turn into one when I try to type using a gaming controller. I can manoeuvre avatars and guns with some accuracy, but entering something in the search field or typing a user name is a nightmare.

"How about I type?" I suggest, and he grins, pushing the laptop back to me.

"Good plan," he agrees. "So, first rule. Don't cheat."

"The first rule was; no kissing, the second was; no cheat-"

"There's not a no-kissing rule!" he interrupts, looking horrified. "It was a sub-rule of the cheating one. No kissing other people."

Frowning, I place my fingertips on the keyboard, waiting for inspiration. Ethan typed a heading which doesn't even make sense. Dating 101.

"I'm lost," I finally say. "Are we making a list of rules, tasks or goals?"

"Uhm..." Ethan presses his lips against each other, puffs them out and grabs another biscuit to dunk in his coffee. "Goals..." he says once he's done eating the cookie. Apparently, it gave him some clarity. "Like in my idea of an ideal relationship, there will be complete trust in each other. I guess in yours too, right?"

I nod my head.

"I'm talking about the kind of trust where I can see you walking down the street with some guy, giggling together, and I'll know that you are just trying to con him out of his milk money or something; there's nothing romantic going on between you."

"Yeah, I do that all the time."

"How do we get trust?" he asks, and I'm sure he's going to tell me. "Don't cheat, don't lie, and have each other's back... always."

"Great! That could work." I actually do agree with him.

And so, finally, having found direction, inspiration seems to flow. Many cups of coffee – and in Ethan's case, biscuits and leftovers from the refrigerator- later, we have a pretty decent list of goals and tasks to reach them. I print it out to paste inside my closet door and hand Ethan his copy, satisfied with a job well done.

"Thanks, Ethy; I feel a lot better about this now that I have a clear strategy."

"Sure," he says, taking the sheet from me, folding it into a small square and shoving it into the pocket of his swimming trunks (he's completely dry by now). I doubt that he is ever going to glance at it, but that doesn't matter. I'm the one who needed this, and he was patient and kind enough to help me get it.

There was a moment when the deliberations nearly fell apart. The kissing thing came up again. We were on the second goal: Natural Closeness. It has sub-tasks such as doing fun things together and holding hands while walking. Ethan really wanted hello, goodbye and good luck kisses, but that would just be way too weird to handle. He reluctantly dropped it when he realised that I am really not going to get on board.

I thought he was angry because, for a while, he was very quiet, but when I asked him, he smiled and said: "Kicks, I'll never try to force stuff on you you're really not cool with. The holding hands thing is already pushing it, I know. How about hugs?"

I'm still thinking about the hug request. In a normal relationship, those things would probably happen naturally, and I would say just go with the flow, but if Ethan and I went with the flow, we'd be in separate rivers. Nothing about this is normal or natural.

Hanging the cloth I'd used to wipe the table back on its peg; I watch him pack the last of our dirty dishes in the dishwasher before straightening up. Interesting how Ethan can be a total chaotic mess in every other aspect of life, but when it comes to packing the dishwasher and his closet, he has very strict systems in place.

"Okay, see you later," he says, turning to leave via the kitchen door. My eye catches the shell he'd carefully cleaned and rubbed with toothpaste while we were working, and a smile starts to creep over my lips, and my good sense flees on a wave of charity and goodwill out the door he'd just opened.

"Three seconds," I tell him, and he stops at the door, frowning at me. Who can blame him? That was pretty random. I join him at the door and look up into his eyes, suddenly feeling shy and ridiculous again. I've been feeling that way a lot since yesterday. I've never felt like this around Ethan before. "Three seconds and no tongue or weird stuff. Just..."

He doesn't even let me finish my sentence, and now I'll probably not be able to speak again ever. His lips are cool and sweet from the lemonade he drank when we decided we'd had enough coffee for today. I'm stunned by how naturally they seem to find mine.

I'm not sure this is exactly what I had in mind, though. I was thinking about something along the line of those chaste mouths pressed together for three seconds type of kisses often seen in PG-rated romances.

Ethan is sticking to the rules, but it somehow feels more intimate than I'd imagined it was going to be. It's not the feather-light pecks I've experienced from him up until now. It's light and breezy, non-threatening, but his lips are caressing mine in a startlingly warm way that is more pleasant than it has any right to be.

I haven't kissed many boys in my life, but the little bit of experience I do have has never felt like this before, not even with boys I thought I was in love with. I never liked kissing much; it seemed like a stupid, uncomfortable thing to do, usually leaving me wanting to wipe my mouth as soon as possible. This series of gentle tugs and releases is making the blood in my veins hum, and my heart flutter.

This makes no sense!

"Was that three seconds?" Ethan asks when we're silently staring at each other for many breathless moments once he released my lips for the last time.

"I have no idea..."

♂♀