"You are no fun since you became Mr Datey-Pants!"

I watch in shock and exasperation as Wendy Dawson wraps herself around my boyfriend. Most of my instincts have me chomping at the bit to grab her by her fly-away hair and launch her into orbit, but there is something really off about the girl, keeping me standing frozen in place.

Aside from giving me a couple of hostile looks and making one snotty remark, she hasn't done anything objectionable since I started dating Ethan... until now. I don't know the girl all that well, aside from the fact that she spends a lot of time with the boys and never seems to be particularly attached to any one of them specifically. 

She came to Egret's Rest at the beginning of our first year in high school, and I've never shared any classes with her. I only see her in the company of Ethan and his friends, and I generally avoid her as much as possible. She scares me. She has a way of looking at people as if she's looking for a reason to beat them up, and if she takes me on in a fistfight, I have no doubt that I'll lose.

I've never understood her relationship with Ethan; I never see them alone together, and I know they're not dating... 

Oh! Obviously not! He's dating me!

Delia always says Wendy is alright, but she'll be able to fight back if the girl goes feral on her, and I've never seen her give Dell any hostile looks. I think the reason I don't know her is because we have nothing in common... except Ethan.

"Since you started dating Kira, you don't cuddle me anymore," she laments. Well, hello! Obviously not! "You haven't kissed me in..." she scrunches up her face, counting on her fingers, and I think she sees more fingers on every hand than she actually has because she's counting most of them more than once. Ethan is holding onto her upper arms, both preventing her from scaling his body and from toppling over. I'm impressed by his ability to multi-task, especially since he manages to toss me beseeching looks every chance he gets.

"About two years," he grumbles the answer evading her, and she blinks up at him, slowly nodding her head.

"Yeah," she agrees, "two friggin' loooooong years! I thought you loved me."

"I do love you," he huffs, looking annoyed and sad and too many other emotions not fully formed yet. "We're friends."

'No, I mean loooooooove me, as in marry me and have my babies..."

"No, you didn't think that," Ethan says tonelessly, the way he does when Jet and Lurch come up with weird fantastical schemes for them to get up to, and he is not onboard for a change. Ethan has some boundaries. They're vague and make no sense, but they exist.

"I thought you and I were meant to be," Wendy complains, tossing her head forward to lie against Ethan, but all she manages to do is cover her face with her long, tousled hair. She is now a fair-haired version of Sadako, the scary girl from that Japanese horror, The Ring. Wendy scares me more because Sadako never tried to steal my boyfriend.

"Nope, you didn't think that either," Ethan sighs patiently, and I'm getting the impression that he's had this conversation with her before. He strengthens his hold on her when she stumbles, crashing into his chest. "Come on, Wendy, don't do this. We've already talked about this, remember?"

"Oh, right!" she giggles, wiping her hair out of her face to see Ethan. "I forgot. Sorry."

"Just tell me what's wrong, huh?"

"Nothing," she says, pulling away to glare at him and, wincing, she uses the tip of a finger with a broken nail to dab at a pearl of blood forming on her busted lower lip. "I walked into... aaaaaaaaaa... window!" she announces, throwing a hand triumphantly into the air when she sees Ethan looking at her mouth.

"You walked into a window last Sunday," he informs her and reaching up, Wendy touches a fading bruise near her hairline.

"Oh, right," she grins. "We have a lot of windows and doors and staircases at my house."

I am beginning to feel extremely uneasy. The girl is wearing a dirt-streaked white blouse hanging loosely with rolled-up sleeves over a black T-shirt and stone-washed jeans. Her hair is a mess, and the cut lip is not her only injury; she has a scrape on her arm too. Has she been in a fight? An accident? She is clearly quite drunk.

"Come on, I'm taking you to the first aid tent," Ethan sighs, trying to steer her towards one of the open sides of the area bustling with activity as people gather at the long tables set out on the large area surrounding the dance floor and the musicians set themselves up on the small, temporary stage, tuning their instruments.

"Nooooo! Dance with me, please," she begs, trying to drag him to the dance floor even though there's no music playing yet. He decides that the best way to deal with her for the moment is just to find a chair and manoeuvre her to sit down on it while he holds her in place as she leans against his leg, her eyes dark and unfocused.

"Kicks!" Ethan exclaims, alarmed when I start to move away from them. "Please, don't go!" I'm surprised to hear a note of panic in his voice.

"I'm just going to see if I can find her some black coffee," I tell him, and his stressed face relaxes into a smile. Tilting my head, I return his smile warmly. He has given me no reason to be jealous of his relationship with Wendy. I may not completely understand it, but I know that her wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling his hip is not his doing and doesn't mean what it might look like it means. Uhm... Yes... I'm sure... I think... It is actually sweet of him to take such good care of his friend. "I'll be back soon."

"Good idea, thanks."

I hurry to the food stalls forming a wall on one side of the tarped area and am glad to see that since most people are in the process of drying up spots for them to hang out in tonight, there is no line at the coffee stall yet. At least, that is what I think until I reach the counter and realise that they are still in the process of setting up for the night.

"Sorry, Love, we're not quite ready for you yet," the elderly man who is going to take the orders and handle the payments tells me. Since tonight's proceeds (donations, food and beverage purchases, and the small fee to attend the event) will all go to Silver Oaks, the local retirement village nestled in the heart of Summerfields County, most of the services are provided by its more spry residents.

"I'm sorry to be a bother, Sir," I tell him, "but do you have any coffee to spare at all? Even a little bit. Just black. There is a young lady over there that needs to sober up fast, or she might be injured badly." I do not add that I'll be the one doing the injuring, but glancing past me, the man finds what I'm referring to, and he clicks his tongue disapprovingly (you and me both, Grandpa), his eyebrows shooting up.

"Such a shame when someone so young and so pretty behaves like that. Hold on a second, Love," he says, raising one bony hand, indicating for me to stay put, while he turns to address his associate working the coffee machines. "Tony, do we have a cup of black coffee ready?"

"About three-quarters of a cup of the filtered kind available so far, Luther," Tony confirms.

"That will do."

I watch Tony pluck the one pot from under the dripping filter, hastily replacing it with an empty pot so that he can pour the contents into a paper cup and pass it to Luther.

"Here you go, Love, nice and strong," the man called Luther smiles. Placing the cup on the counter within my reach, he waves my money away when I try to pay him. "It's all good, Love; this one is on me. Go take care of your friend, and have a good one!"

"Thank you so much, Sir; you have a good evening too," I smile and, grabbing the cup, I hurry back to the dance area to save my boyfriend from the girl with her arms wrapped around his neck while he crouches at her feet, balancing her on her seat. I almost throw the hot beverage at her; that is how much I hate this tender, intimate scene, but the sad look on Ethan's face before he sees me stops me from doing it.

"Try this," I say, handing him the cup when I reach them. I force myself to smile when he looks up at me with a look on his face as if I've caught him trying to feed rubber insects to the bobtail lizard living in our yard again. No, it's not a pet; it just showed up one day and stayed... Ethan's fake snails and crickets never fool it...

"Kicks..." he says, his eyes searching my face, and reaching out, I run my fingers through his wet hair.

"I know, Ethy."

"Hey, Wendy, drink this," he instructs, giving the girl a gentle shake to rouse her from his chest.

"No!" Wendy lashes out, almost causing Ethan to spill the coffee. "I don't want to sober up. I wanna fly! I'm flying hiiiiiiiiiiiiigh!!!"

"I don't think she's just drunk, Ethe," I didn't even see James arrive; he just suddenly appeared from somewhere to kneel beside Ethan. He did the same thing earlier today when he appeared and saved me from Marshall. It's a pretty neat skill. I watch him peel Wendy off Ethan, and right now, at this moment, I realise that James Hessian is my hero.

"You came!" Ethan exclaims, sounding surprised, glad and relieved, all plaited together in a tight braid, bringing a happy smile to his face.

"Yeah, and I'm already regretting it," James grins, and then he tilts Wendy over his arm so that he can look into her eyes. I'm not sure what colour her eyes usually are - I've never gazed into them - but right now, the irises are completely black and unfocused, and it's clearly not just because of the dim lighting we find ourselves in. "What did you take, Wendy?" he asks her in a stern voice, and she looks up at him, slowly blinking her eyes.

"Did I take something? I feel nooooo pain," she tells him, speaking in slow motion.

"Drink this, and we'll talk, okay?" he suggests, taking the cup from Ethan and though his tone is gentle, he is clearly not going to take no for an answer and to my surprise, Wendy moves her lips to the cup he is holding and obediently sips from it, a thin trickle dribbling down her chin.

"I loooooooooove you, Buuuurlap," she mutters, spluttering coffee.

"Yeah, love you too. It's okay, Ethe, I've got this," James says, smiling at Ethan. "I'll let her finish the coffee and take her to my place to sleep it off."

"I'll help you," Ethan objects, and I'm really touched by how much he cares about his friends. It is one of his traits that truly warms my heart.

"Marry me and have my babies," Wendy tells James, running her fingertips over his cheek. "Ethan doesn't want to, and I like red hair."

James pulls a face, giving Ethan a freaked-out look, but he just laughs and shrugs. "She's in the mood to defy biology, and you have pretty hair," he suggests. "And the two things are somehow related?" 

James chuckles, shaking his head. He carefully tilts the cup to help Wendy drink it all, and unable to stand it any longer, I yank a tissue from my purse and crouch down to dab at the coffee dripping from her chin.

"You're not so bad," she pulls her head away from the cup to tell me, running her sleepy eyes over my face before she goes back in for some more of the warm, dark liquid.

"You and Kira are here to enjoy the dance; you should do that," James says, smiling at me when I straighten up next to Wendy's chair, not sure what my role is right now, and then Ethan rises to stand next to me, putting an arm around my shoulders.

"You'll call me if you need help?" he asks James with narrowed eyes, relaxing when the guy nods his head.

"Of course."

"Thanks, Burlap," Ethan says, giving his friend's shoulder a supportive pat.

"No problem." He hands Ethan the empty cup to Ethan, which he holds for me to stuff the tissue inside. James rises to his feet, holding Wendy in his arms as if he is about to carry her over the threshold.

"You have such yummy biceps," she tells him, wrapping her hands around one of his upper arms, bulging in his light grey sweater, relaxing into his shoulder as if she thinks she weighs nothing. If she's a heavy burden to carry, James is not showing it.

"Thanks," he chuckles. "Please don't try to taste them again; I still have a bruise from last time."

"I'll call you later if I don't hear from you first," Ethan tells James, who nods and turns to look at me with a smile filling my body with warmth.

"You look really pretty," he tells me and I can feel my cheeks flush hotly while a nervous giggle bubbles up in me. I'm not used to hearing that; I can see he really means it. "Have a great dance, and don't worry about this. I've got this," he adds, reassuring Ethan. "See you guys."

I make large eyes at Ethan when James says goodbye and makes his way through the crowd and into the misty rain to run to the car park with his cargo.

"Sometimes she bites," Ethan shrugs, taking my hand and guiding me to sit on the chair Wendy just vacated while he sits down on the one next to it, nervously playing with the empty cup, his forearms resting on the long, floral plastic covered steel table we're seated at. "I'm sorry about that, Kicks."

"It's not your fault," I shrug, lacing my fingers with his, and he lets the cup fall to the tabletop and turns to face me. "Is she going to be alright? She looked a bit roughed up."

"Yeah, for some reason, she always listens to Burlap. She has some domestic issues," Ethan mutters, a muscle in his jaw jumping tensely. "Her stepdad sometimes dives to the bottom of a bottle and comes up fighting mad. Fortunately, it never lasts long."

"That is horrible, Ethan!" I am appalled to hear this; the girl always seems so sure of herself and rebellious. I never would've guessed she had a bad situation at home. "Can't they report him to the police?"

"Believe me, we've tried, but her mother always covers for him. According to her logic, the fact that he takes good care of them financially and behaves well when he's sober makes it fine for them to put up with a slap here and a punch there since he doesn't injure them severely. I guess she's afraid of losing her financial security. She's a cleaner at the hotel, and her pay is apparently not great. He is a dock worker and does okay.'"

I swallow against the bile rising in my throat. Nobody should have to put up with abuse just to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs, especially when there are children involved. I think I can now understand why Wendy seems to be perpetually angry.

"It doesn't look like Wendy is taking it in her stride too..."

"No, but I think her current state might have more to do with her stepbrother," Ethan heaves a sigh and reaches out to touch my cheek. "Look, Kicks, please don't think anything of the things she said. Wendy and I are friends."

"With benefits?"

"Only the kind where I knock her stepfather on his ass so he can sleep it off, and we listen to each other when one of us needs to talk."

"And kiss her sometimes," I add, feeling a little sulky.

"Two years ago. Two!" he exclaims, making me jump when he pokes me in the ribs. "And not just me. Wendy is not in the market for a boyfriend. Sometimes she thinks she is, but she's really not." He smiles, tracing the contours of my face with his eyes, dark in the dusky light. "Besides, she's not the girl I want."

"Are you sure she's not in love with you?" I ask, feeling breathless and squirmy under the intensity of his gaze. "She sounded upset about us."

"Nah, she's not. She just needed to know I'm still her friend and there for her. She doesn't really want me. She's totally cool with us."

I am not so sure about that. How could any girl not really want Ethan?

Okay, so I can tick Wendy off that list of girls he might be in love with. Only nine million three hundred and seventy-five more females to go.

"I've kissed many girls through the years, Kicks," he says, passing a hand over his forehead, wiping away the moisture that congregated there from his wet hair. "I could give you a list, but if you want to be angry about all of them, you're gonna spend a lot of time angry."

"No thanks, I'm not angry, and you're right; we should just steer clear of our sordid pasts."

"You have a sordid past?" he grins cheekily, tilting his head.

"Very!" I laugh.

"Well, there is Liam... how sordid did that get?" Before I can even begin to interpret the look he is giving me, he turns his head away, his eyes roaming the people milling about.

"We built the entire life-cycle of the Hercules beetle with clay... that was pretty sordid..."

He chuckles, slipping his hand from mine, once again picking up the cup to play with it. He is doing it a little forcefully this time, the muscles in his jaw working the way it often does when he's feeling tense. What?! He really wanted details?! Fair enough, he told me way too many details about his love life; I should give him something.

"We kissed about three times... I think... I wasn't always paying attention."

"What?!" Ethan laughs, his hands stilling as he looks at me, and I shrug. There really isn't much to say about this. "Didn't you like it?"

"Not rea-." I start to answer truthfully, pulling a face, and then I realise that I do not need Ethan to know just how pathetic I really am. "Oh! I loved it! It was brilliant!" I say dramatically. "In fact, I might go find him for some more hot kissing right now!" I snatch the cup from his fingers and get to my feet to stomp away and drop it in one of the many bins scattered around the area for that purpose.

"Kicks," he catches up with me at the bin and wraps his arms around me from behind, completely robbing me of my breath. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scratch where it hurts."

"Oh, dear," I say and turning to face him, I rest my hands on his chest. "It doesn't hurt, except in the sense where it is just so pathetically mundane. Could you still try to be a little bit jealous, please?"

 Ethan's eyes grow wide, and then he's laughing, bending over to press his forehead against mine. "You are so clueless," he whispers, and suddenly, I know that now is the time to tell him how I feel about him. Right now, with the rain softly pattering on the tarps and the lights losing connection at irregular intervals, making crackling sounds, causing me to fear that they are going to catch on fire.

"Ethy-."

"Come on, let's go dance," he says, plastering a kiss on my forehead and taking me by the hand, pulling me towards the dance floor when the Geriatrics Band launches into a stomach-curdling, rather crooked rendition of Achy Breaky Heart... I think... it could also be the national anthem.

"Hold on, I'm wet," Ethan says when we take our place among the people, having startling muscle spasms all around us, and he's about to take me in his arms. He suddenly lets me go, and I stare in startled delight as he pulls off his shirt to wring out the worst of the water. The muscles of his arms, shoulders and chest are beautifully enhanced by the dainty lights swaying above us, catching the sheen of moisture and making him shine.

I think I might've made a soft mewling sound or a groan just now; I'm not sure because I'm not the only one doing it. I count at least six other girls and women in the vicinity staring at him with large eyes and vapid expressions on their faces until he pulls his shirt on. I once again feel my own brand of violence bubbling up from my darkest core.

"Yes, let's dance!" I growl, startling Ethan by grabbing his hand and pulling him into a section of the dance floor where there are fewer gawky females and where Delia is dancing with Simon. He can obediently follow me or slip on the puddles and fall over his feet. His choice!

"Sy, move your feet a little more and loosen up your arms," Delia instructs, and I'm suddenly painfully aware that using the term dancing to describe what they're doing requires a lot of imagination. "You look like you're about to lay an egg. It is very off-putting. I might break up with you if you don't stop doing that."

Delia is apparently teaching her boyfriend to dance, and the only rhythm worse than his is that of the band.

"I actually like Sy's style," Ethan tells his sister, and I cringe, amused, when he tries to imitate Simon's robotic chicken dance.

"Are you having a fit?" Jet asks, staggering onto the dance floor, being hauled there by Barn, who is now also trying to do the Robo-Chicken. Seeing him do it is even worse since he is tall and rather large and in danger of hurting someone with his upper body jerks.

"Seriously, Barn!" Delia exclaims. "You are single; you are the one who can least afford dancing like that. What girl is going to want to dance with you after seeing this?"

"Girl, do you know how many STDs you can get from dancing with somebody? I am dancing by myself; I'm not crazy!" Barn informs her, and his rendition of the dance is growing in complexity and levels of disturbance.

"No, I don't know," Delia grunts, rolling her eyes. "Please list them for me."

"I can't be seen with you people," Jet growls, giving the three contorting boys a disgusted look, and, turning away, he dodges past Lurch, who is close dancing with Tonia, not caring that what is playing is a rather lively, very unromantic tune destroying our eardrums. 

Jet is soon intercepted by two girls, grabbing his arms and pulling him into a disconcerting dance sandwich, which he apparently has no issues about being seen taking part in. I honestly question that boy's standards and logic.

It takes me a while to realise that I am the only person on the dance floor not dancing. I'm standing like a statue, stunned into inaction by all the weirdness going on around me.

"Hey," Ethan says, pulling me into his arms and snapping me out of my entranced state. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I mutter, nestling the side of my face into his chest, not caring that the moisture of his shirt is destroying the ringlets Delia worked so hard to create. The rain already gave it a bit of a beating. I love hearing Ethan's heartbeat as we move to its soothing rhythm; like Lurch and Tonia, we are soon completely lost in music of our own.

This is rather romantic. It is perfect.

"Ethy," I whisper, tilting my head back to look up at him, marvelling at the strength of his jaw and the muscles in his neck. Even from this angle, Ethan manages to take my breath away. "Ethan, I-."

"I'm hungry!" Barn declares when the mouthwatering fragrance of frying meat and spices starts to waft through the area, announcing that the food stalls are finally ready for customers. He slaps Ethan on the back, causing his hunger to contaminate him, and from there, it spreads like wildfire to Simon and Lurch and even Jet way over there, dancing - or wrestling - with the two girls. It's hard to tell from here.

"Want a meatball sub?" Ethan asks, already stepping away from me, ready to follow his friends to the food stands. Nothing can ever stand between Ethy and his appetite. I love those subs, and yes, I am fairly hungry, but come on!

"Yes, please, with loads of cheese," I smile, knowing that he won't hear a word I say if his stomach is grumbling and his nose is telling him that there are yummy things within eating range.

"Awesome!' Ethan grins, and I watch him run off to buy us some friggin' bread rolls with meatballs, cheese, salad and sauces in them. How many times have I tried to tell him tonight that I love him? At least three times in less than one hour! This is ridiculous! Give me a break!

How does the saying go? When at first you don't succeed... beat someone up until they give you a chance to get it right... Well, that's the saying now!

I am starting to feel like I'm the protagonist in a love story where a weird keyboard-wielding middle-aged woman is doing her best to sabotage me! Stop it!

♂♀