I am drowning in limbs, female limbs, to be precise, and I know that somewhere beneath this tangle of arms and legs and groping hands, Ethan is being devoured, and I need to dive down as far as possible to save him.

A big spider lands on my face with long hairy legs tickling my skin, and I freeze at this new, unexpected horror, wondering if it is going to eat the women dragging Ethan into the abyss or if it is going to eat me... and then it licks the tip of my nose.

My eyes fly open with a start to find two green ones gazing down at me, and here comes the sandpaper tongue again to clean my face. "Meow," the spider says and pats my nose with its tiny white paw.

"Scamp," I sigh, relief making me feel a little lightheaded. "Where did you come from?"

"He came with me," the sound of the familiar voice shivers pleasantly down my spine, and I jolt upright, surprised to see Ethan leaning against the frame of my open bedroom door, his arms folded, his feet crossed, and his biceps bulging in the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. "Are you going to sleep all day, or are we going to the service in Scarlet Park?"

"I need coffee," I croak, collapsing into my pillows and covering my face with my hands. It is too early in the morning to be confronted by the smiling splendour of the god of beauty, dimples and all.

It doesn't take me long to shower and pull on some shorts and a tan-coloured Pokémon t-shirt featuring an Eevee surrounded by hearts, blowing kisses, and Ethan has coffee and bran rusks ready for me when I join him and Daddy in the kitchen.

I only half-listen to Ethan telling my father about the games he'd played with his friends after I came home. It can all be summed up succinctly in one word. Bedlam. I'm happy to hear that he had fun, but gazing at him eating all the leftovers from our refrigerator while chatting animatedly with my father, the thought of Ethan picking only one girl out of all his adoring fans keeps on milling around in my head.

Could that girl really be me? Could I truly tick all the boxes for someone like him? I have my doubts. Ethan is a force of nature, a young man with many facets, and I love them all. Could I ever be enough?

Delia eventually breezes into the kitchen to let us know that the food is packed in the car and her parents are ready to go, and soon, we're settling down on soft blankets in Scarlet Park with our families, ready to listen to the message Pastor Ed is going to bring us today.

There are various religious groups, and denominations scattered all over Scarlet Park, some combining to form larger groups, and the atmosphere is filled with a rare sense of unity and harmony. Glancing around me, I can see a general expression of relaxation on all the faces, and I'm starting to think that I am the only person here today who is not relaxed at all.

I've been plagued by restless thoughts when awake and nightmares when asleep all night last night, and now, sitting next to Ethan, his strong shoulder cradling mine, supporting me from falling over, I am a bundle of raw nerves. Pastor Ed's message is a good one, as usual, all about finding your unique gifts, fulfilling your purpose in life and, through grace, being the best version of yourself that you can be.

I don't hear all of it, though; I am simply too distracted. I wonder if Ethan is distracted too. He hasn't asked a single question or made even one remark, and I've noticed our pastor giving him a concerned look more than once. He is not used to Ethan being this well-behaved and docile.

Neither am I.

When the last 'amen' fades into the chirping of the birds playing amongst the branches of the surrounding trees, I excuse myself and hurry to the restroom facilities to splash some cold water on my face and wash my hands for lunch. I cannot let Ethan give up on one of his favourite activities to spend time with a living corpse instead. If he is not going camping, I should at least make it worth the sacrifice.

Feeling marginally refreshed, I leave the bathroom, heading back to where everybody who came to the park is pooling their lunches, mingling sociably while they eat together. Passing one of the many memorial structures among the trees and shrubs, I'm startled out of my reverie by a voice calling. "Oi! Kira!"

I stop, glancing around me fruitlessly, until I finally think of looking up and slightly behind me to find Wendy Dawson sitting like Snoopy on the roof of a large stone dollhouse with a little moss-covered girl sitting cross-legged in front of it, forever playing with her dolls. It is one of the more elaborate statues in the park, and as kids, Dell and I often brought our dolls and sat with the stone girl whenever we came to the park with the family.

Wendy is crouching to look over the edge at me, the smoke of whatever it is she's smoking curling around her head. Her hair is tied in a messy bun, and she's wearing a light green tank top with a black and white shirt loosely hanging open over it. The knees of her black jeans are torn, but I think it is part of the design. As always, she exudes a careless sex appeal and a raw beauty; not even her swollen, bloodshot eyes and busted lip can diminish.

"Last night, I said some stuff," she says hoarsely. "And I did some stuff too."

I wait for more, and I'm not sure, but that might've been her idea of an apology since she ends her sentence with a shrug, tilting her head to the side and taking a drag from her cigarette, watching me through the smoke trailing from her mouth. "I was just trying to be a bitch for some reason."

So, there is more, after all.

"Don't be pissed at Ethe, it's not his fault."

Well, apology, explanation, intersession on behalf of her friend, call it what you like, but I think it's the best the girl is capable of, and I finally relax my face into a smile since she, for once, doesn't look like she's searching for an opening to punch me.

"Okay," I start, trying to think of the appropriate thing to say in this unfamiliar situation, but apparently, that's enough for Wendy because she just says "cool" and turns away from me, making herself comfortable against an overhanging branch of the tree sheltering the statue, to continue her smoke. End of conversation.

Well, that was not weird at all!

Lunch is an adventure of dishes from various households and cultures, and I always enjoy these potluck meals. It is like having a small window into other people's lives. When everything is eaten, the crowds begin to dissipate, many making plans to have a nap and then go to the beach now that the worst of the winds are starting to die down.

Daddy, Uncle Ian and Aunt Gemma leave us to take a drive to look at the progress of the building complex Uncle Ian's company has almost completed. They will be home much later today because they're meeting up with Aunt Gemma's sister for coffee and probably dinner too, at an Inn just outside of Palm Grove.

The guys are ready to leave for their camping adventure and are all trying to change Ethan's mind about going with them, but after spending a few minutes fielding their arguments, he just takes my hand, says goodbye to them and leads me away. Only James remained quiet during the discussion; he gave Ethan an encouraging smile, squeezed his shoulder, said goodbye and went about checking the tarp on the back of Lurch's dad's utility truck, covering their camping gear, while the others argued with Ethan.

I'm sure that if James had added his voice to the others, Ethan would've changed his mind about staying behind, but, for some reason, he just submitted to Ethy's decision without trying to talk him into joining them.

I honestly don't understand why Ethan is not going with them today. We've spent loads of time together this weekend, and he'll be back tomorrow afternoon for some more. I'm still living right next door to him; we can see each other as often as we want to.

We already have plans for tomorrow. Ethan is going to build us a two-mast sailboat from Flotsam tied together with grass strips, and we're going to write our dreams for the year on pieces of Aunt Rose's paper, stick them on the two masts and set our dreams afloat together. It is going to be special, and he'll be back in time for that.

Holding onto my hand as if he's afraid that I'll let go and run off, he leads me among the quiet stone children, cradling pets and favourite toys, until we reach the river, gently gurgling over rocks. Finding a path through the thick underbrush, he pulls me along, only stopping once we reach a large flat-topped boulder sticking out from the river bank, hovering over the water. This is one of my favourite spots to sit and think.

"I like coming here to think," he tells me, and I am surprised to hear that. Not that Ethan sometimes thinks, though, that in itself is quite a revelation, but that we share this place for a common goal. The boulder has just levelled up to a new rank of specialness in my heart.

"Me too," I tell him, grateful for his help in getting up. I usually have a bit of a struggle to get up here; it is worth it, though. There is enough shade to make it cool, and the murmuring of the water below usually has a soothing effect on my nerves. I often fall asleep while I'm sitting up here.

I'm not even remotely sleepy right now. I'm sitting tensely beside Ethan, overly aware of his lemony fresh fragrance and his blond hair rippling in the breeze. That is one of the perks of being in Scarlet Park; it always has a gentle, cooling breeze, even when there's no wind to be found in any other part of town, but when the trees at the beach are bending to gale-force winds, the mountain protects the trees, shrubs and statues in the park from being assaulted too.

"Why don't you want to go camping with the guys today, Ethy?" I finally ask the question everybody has been asking, and Ethan sighs, running his fingers through his thick hair.

"I told you-."

"No," I stop him from telling me what he'd been saying to his friends. "You can hang out with me virtually any time, so that cannot be why."

"Did you want a break from me today?" he asks, really looking at me now, his eyes peering into mine, drilling right into my soul.

"No," I answer truthfully. "I would've loved to sleep in for a bit, but I don't need a break from you."

"We can go sleep," he grins slyly, and I punch his arm, rolling my eyes.

"Come on, I answered your question truthfully, so, your turn."

He is quiet for a while, gazing into the leaves above us, probably imagining how he would photograph them, and then he turns his head to look at the river flowing by. Just when I think he's not going to answer, he turns his eyes on me again, the pupils dark in their aquamarine backdrops.

"It feels like we're hovering at a crossroads," he shrugs. "And I don't want you to pick a direction while I'm gone."

Wow, Ethan can be deep sometimes. I am not sure what to make of this statement, though. I'm not at a crossroads. I've thundered off the road and am bundu bashing some place rough and wild where our spreadsheet cannot find us and no longer rules.

Is he standing at a crossroads? Does it mean that he feels that our tutoring has reached its conclusion? Does he feel ready to shout: The End?! Is he better prepared now to go throw his heart at the feet of that girl who broke it last year? Oh, my soul! Did he stay behind to break up with me?!

I'm going to be sick...

The first waves of panic crash into me, causing my heart to lurch and topple; my world is about to fall apart. I focus on my breathing, trying to at least appear calm and normal, while Ethan narrows his eyes, frowning at me.

"Why are you looking like that now?" he asks, and when I'm unable to answer, he reaches out and runs his fingertips along the contours of my face, stroking stray strands of hair from my cheeks. "Kicks?" he whispers, and when I can only blink at him, trying to regain control of my faculties and read his gentle expression, he pulls me closer.

My mind is flooded with warmth, the nausea flushed away in a sea of tranquillity when he lowers his head and touches his lips to mine in a feather-light kiss. When was the last time he kissed me? Was it only yesterday? It feels so long ago. I've missed these soft lips so much. This taste.

I am not sure how to react or how I want to react, but that doesn't matter because my lips know exactly what they want and how to get it. More of Ethan! I'm startled to realise that I am now the one taking the lead. I am kissing Ethan with all my heart, all my longing, saying with my lips what I failed to say with my voice yesterday.

Usually, I simply react to him and follow his lead, accepting whatever he does, but this time, it's different. It is my lips capturing his, the tip of my tongue exploring their softness, and when Ethan utters a soft groan, opening his mouth, it is me who deepens the kiss.

I'm not used to being the one in control like this, and I am relieved when Ethan takes over, tilting me until I'm lying on my back. His lips leave mine to scorch a blazing trail of kisses along my jaw and down my neck, calling goosebumps out to play all over my skin. I gasp when he nibbles at my ear lobe and follows the same route back to my lips, plunging his tongue into my mouth.

Groaning softly, I become startlingly aware of his fingers tracing gentle patterns on the skin at my ribs, gradually climbing higher and higher under the fabric of my T-shirt.

"Ethan!" I gasp, alarmed at the roar of my blood in my ears, the uneven, fast thumping of my heart pounding in my chest and the sound of Ethan's ragged breathing when he lifts his lips from mine to see what is frightening me. "Ethan..."

"Shoot, Kicks! I'm sorry," he growls, his eyes growing wide, and, sitting up, he pulls my shirt back in place. "I got a little carried away," he huffs, sounding as though he'd run a mile. Actually, I've seen Ethan after he'd run a mile or two, and his breathing was always just fine. He is in much worse shape now.

I peek at him from the corners of my eyes, too embarrassed by my zeal to face him completely. What must he think of me? His face is flushed, and when he looks at me, and I turn my head to see him better, his eyes appear almost completely black, like Wendy's last night when she was drugged.

"I'm sorry," he says, frowning, trying to bring his breathing under control, and I shake my head, wondering why he is laying it all on himself. I was as involved as he was... more so... I have never kissed anybody like that before, and the scary part is that I really want to do it some more. Right now!

"I cannot do this," I gasp.

What?! No, I can! I want to!

Ethan is looking as startled by my words as I am, and I hurry to find the right words and say them instead. "How are we going to get back?!" Nope, those are not the words I was looking for.

"We just follow that path..." he starts to explain, waving a hand in the direction we came from, but he knows that I know the way. I'm trying to tell him that I love him, that he is my world. I'm not asking for directions. I think Ethan kissed away most of my brain cells, though.

"I mean to Kira and Ethan..."

"We're not Kira and Ethan?" he asks, and he might think that I have sunstroke, and I don't blame him. "Who are we, then?"

"Confused."

"Kicks-."

"Ethan, you are the best boyfriend. You are really good at being a boyfriend. You don't need tutoring. Any girl will be lucky to have a boyfriend as good as you are. That girl you love should be happy that someone like you loves her."

I don't think my words are coming out right because Ethan's frown is deepening, and he is starting to shift uncomfortably.

"You don't need to change. I'll tell Grandpa that you're everything he should be proud of. He'll definitely give you the car."

"The car?" he blinks at me, shaking his head.

"Please, Ethan, I don't want to be your tutor anymore... I want-."

"Kicks, are you breaking up with me?!" he exclaims.

No! I'm doing the opposite! I'm un-breaking up with him. Why am I so bad at this?!

I cannot quite read the expression on his face, mostly because he has lowered his eyelids and is peering at me the way he always does when he thinks I'm cheating at cards, except that he's not smirking suspiciously, and I'm not cheating at cards.

"Am I?"

"Aren't you?"

Seriously, why can't I get the words living in my heart to come out of my mouth? Why does everything that pours out of me sound like my fear and confusion and nothing like the overwhelming love I'm trying to convey to him? Why can't I just say: 'Ethan, I love you; please be my boyfriend for real'? Why is it so hard? Why do the words keep on sticking in my throat?

Is it because I'm afraid of his rejection? If he stayed behind to break up with me, why did he kiss me like that? Why did he touch me with such urgency and increasing intimacy? Was it simply in reaction to what I was doing? I wish I could ask someone. Daddy, Delia, Aunt Gemma, or one of our grandmothers? No, no way! Perhaps I could Google it or ask the school counsellor... I know! I'll write to Dear Betty, the agony aunt column in the local newspaper. Yes! No!

"I can't..."

"Can't what, Kicks?" Ethan is now the one who looks like he's going to be sick, and I don't think it's just because he cleared our refrigerator and still happily helped Barn empty all the containers brought to them by friends and neighbours so that they didn't have to take leftovers home with them.

"I... Ethy..." Great, I'm about to cry now, stuck in a rut in my mind where the words are gathering like debris in a clogged drain, unable to make their way out. I am too afraid of opening my mouth and saying more wrong words. The best I can do right now is to run, go hide, take a shower, or crawl under my bed until the panic passes. If I stay here and keep on trying to talk, I'm going to end up breaking up with the guy, and that is the direct opposite of what I want to do.

"Time out!" I shout, scooting away from Ethan and sliding down the boulder on my bum; I jump when I'm close enough to the ground to do so. Getting down is always so much easier. When all else fails, I could always just fall. It is much harder to fall up a boulder than to fall down it.

"Kira! Wait!"

No, I don't want to wait; he can break up with me later when I've found the words to beg him not to end whatever this is growing between us. I don't wait, obviously. I run. I run, and I run, weaving among the stone children and the fountains and past the flowerbeds and miniature ponds. I dodge Delia, extracting herself from Simon's arms where they are cuddling in the shade of a tree and when my sneakers hit the tarmac and the wind, though not dangerous, still strong, starts to rip at me, I just run faster.

Part of me wonders why Ethan's voice, calling me, is not drawing closer and why it dissolves into cuss words just before it fades away completely. He is so much faster than I am.

I know all the shortcuts home, and I use them, staying clear of the routes where I know the wind will blow me away if it is still strong enough to do so. I don't stop running until I enter my bedroom, closing the door behind me.

I drop onto my bed like a boneless ragdoll, gasping for air to fill my lungs, and then it hits me: the best idea I've had this entire weekend. Why haven't I thought of this before?

"I'll gasp, gasp, send, gasp, gasp, him, gasp, gasp, a text!" I announce, sitting up to find my phone on the nightstand where I'd plugged it in to charge this morning when we left the house. Everybody I could possibly want to have contact with was in Scarlet Park with me... until Daddy and the Fletchers left... I didn't need it with me, and it was close to flat.

I hear it receiving a message before I see it, and my heart drops to my feet when I recognise the warped chime for what it is, and sure enough, the cable isn't plugged into the charger completely. My phone is about to die!

"Nooooooo!" I yell, grabbing it, and the screen unlocks, the message opening. It is from Ethan.

"Did you just break up with me?"

I want to plug my phone in fast and then write the beautiful text already forming in my mind. I don't care if his question is hopeful or not; I'm saying my piece, but I first have to plug in the phone because if it dies, I'll have to wait for it to recharge up to 5% before I can even try to start it up again. It is a battery problem that I've never cared to resolve since I always charge my phone before I leave the house with it, and I don't spend a lot of time on the device anyway.

I didn't have a boyfriend I needed to declare my love to before...

I have the phone in my hand, open at Ethan's message while I fumble with the cord, and then the worst thing happens. Ethan calls me!

Startled by the phone going nuts in my hand, I drop it, listening to the melody warping and die while I'm crawling around on the floor, trying to plug the cable into the charger plugged into the mini power board on the floor behind my nightstand.

I know, before I lift the phone to look at it, that the screen is going to be dark, the charging cursor slowly starting to make its unenthusiastic appearance.

"Nooooooooo!"

I stay on the floor, sitting up with my back against the side of my bed, waiting for the phone to show me that it has reached 5% battery life so that I can turn it on again. This could take a long time, but I'm desperate, and surely every electronic device has some kind of desperation detection function, don't they?

I'll write a letter! Yes, I'll write it and see if I can catch a bird to deliver it to Ethan for me. If Snow White can grab random birds and give them letters to deliver, then so can I. Wait... did Snow White do that? If so, who did she write to? Her stepmother? The prince? The dwarfs? Maybe she had a thing going with the hunter who let her go...

Maybe I do have sunstroke!

"Ugh! I'm going to have to run back to the park, aren't I?" I don't want to run back; I've barely started breathing almost normal again. "I'll send him an e-mail!"

I put my phone on the nightstand, making sure that it is still doing its best to charge and pull myself off the floor. Sitting down at my desk and opening my laptop, two things occur to me simultaneously. One, I should've installed the messenger app on my laptop for moments like this one and two, Ethan never checks his e-mail. I could e-mail Dell, but she is so busy gazing into Simon's eyes she won't check her e-mails anytime soon.

Who mails us anyway? Advertising mailing lists, that's who!

I could still type my speech and print it and give it to Ethan when I see him again... if he even wants to see me again. He was swearing quite a bit earlier. He was really mad. Why was he so mad?

I can feel the anxiety building in the pit of my stomach again, and I get to my feet and leave my room, hurrying to the garage to check on my ecosystems and feed my beautiful ant farm. Looking at the busy bugs doing their thing and the ants tunnelling away, carrying eggs and food around, always calms me down, but today it feels as though all my ants have escaped and are crawling up my butt, and I finally give up and go back into the house to have a shower instead.

"This feels like déjà vu," I blurt when I leave the bathroom dressed in one of our Stranger Things t-shirts - the dark grey one with Will's face on a milk carton - my hair flopping wetly around my shoulders, and I enter my bedroom. I'm not entirely sure whose shirt this really is. There are three in circulation, and Dell, Ethan and I are constantly stealing them from each other. They became our communal shirts. They probably belong to Ethan since they're big enough to fit him well, and I drown in them.

Delia is sitting on my bed, playing with my moon, making it flash green and purple and red. She looks ready to go to war, and I suddenly feel like I've come full circle now.

♂♀