Your's, eventually

tutoring Ethan

Gabriella had three rules for surviving an afternoon at Ethan's house.

Rule number one: Finish the mathematics assignment.

Rule number two: Do not get distracted by anything Ethan said, did, or thought was funny.

Rule number three: Leave before he managed to make her regret coming.

Simple.

Perfectly reasonable.

And, judging by the way her afternoon was going, completely impossible.

She stood outside Ethan's front door, clutching her notebook against her chest while checking the address on her phone for the third time.

This was ridiculous.

She had visited Paris with him. She had shared a tent with him. She had survived several days of his sarcasm without throwing a shoe at his head.

Yet somehow, standing outside his house felt like a much bigger challenge.

Perhaps because this time, there were no teachers around, no classmates to interrupt them, and no school bell to rescue her from his company.

Just Ethan.

His house.

And four chapters of mathematics she had absolutely no intention of allowing him to ruin.

She rang the bell.

A few seconds later, the door opened.

Ethan stood there wearing a dark T-shirt and grey sweatpants, looking irritatingly comfortable for someone who had invited a person over to study.

His eyes moved from her face to the notebook in her hands.

"Please tell me you've brought good news."

Gabriella frowned. "I've brought my mathematics notes."

"So, no good news."

"Would you like me to leave?"

"After you've explained why question seven has three different answers in your notebook? Absolutely not. I'm emotionally invested."

She stared at him.

He stepped aside.

"Come in, Gabriella."

She walked past him, determined not to smile.

She failed.

Only a little.

And Ethan noticed.

Of course he did.

He shut the door behind her.

"You're smiling."

"No, I'm not."

"Interesting. Should I call a doctor, or are you going to admit that being in my presence has improved your afternoon?"

"Neither. I'm going to start regretting this visit."

"Excellent. You're already making yourself at home."

She rolled her eyes.

His house was quieter than she had expected. Sunlight came through the living-room windows, falling across the furniture and the small table near the wall. There were a few books on a shelf, a framed photograph on a side table, and a jacket thrown over the back of a chair.

It looked ordinary.

Comfortable.

Nothing like the dramatic, mysterious place Gabriella had imagined after hearing Ethan make approximately seventeen sarcastic comments about his home.

She had expected a secret laboratory.

Possibly a collection of books on how to irritate people professionally.

Maybe a wall dedicated to his enemies.

Instead, there was a bowl of fruit on the table.

She looked at it.

Ethan followed her gaze.

"Yes, Gabriella. Those are apples. We keep them in the house. It's a fascinating tradition."

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"You were thinking something."

"That you talk too much."

"Ah. A thought so original that it deserves to be published."

He led her to the dining table, where he had already arranged two notebooks, some textbooks, pencils, and a calculator.

Gabriella looked at the materials.

Then at him.

"You prepared?"

"Try to contain your shock."

"I genuinely thought you'd forget."

"I considered it. Then I remembered that if you failed your assignment, you'd blame me, and I would have to listen to a speech about responsibility."

"I would not."

"You once gave me a ten-minute lecture because I borrowed your pen without asking."

"You broke the pen."

"It was a very fragile pen."

"It was a normal pen!"

"And now it's a tragic memory."

Gabriella sat down before she could laugh again.

This was supposed to be a serious afternoon.

She reminded herself of that as she opened her notebook.

She was here because she needed help with mathematics. Nothing else.

Not because Ethan had offered to explain the difficult questions.

Not because he had promised to stop making jokes for at least fifteen minutes.

And certainly not because spending time with him had become strangely easy.

She refused to think about that last part.

"All right," she announced. "Let's begin."

Ethan pulled out the chair opposite her.

"By all means. Educate me."

"You're the one tutoring me."

"Details."

She pushed the first question towards him.

For the next forty minutes, they worked.

Or, more accurately, Gabriella worked while Ethan alternated between explaining the questions and making comments that threatened to destroy her concentration.

He was, annoyingly, a good tutor.

He never made her feel stupid when she got an answer wrong. He explained the steps, waited for her to try again, and only interrupted when she made a mistake so spectacular that he apparently couldn't bear to let it exist unchallenged.

"Gabriella."

"What?"

"Explain your reasoning."

"I multiplied the numbers."

"Yes, I can see that. What I cannot see is why."

"Because that's how the question works."

"Mathematics is a fascinating subject. Apparently, it now operates on faith."

She snatched the pencil from his hand.

"Give me that."

"Certainly. I wouldn't want to interfere with your groundbreaking research."

She bent over the notebook, trying to work through the calculation.

Ethan leaned back in his chair and watched her for a moment.

She was concentrating so hard that she had tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear twice without noticing.

He looked away first.

"You're doing it again," he said.

She didn't look up. "Doing what?"

"Frowning at the paper as though it personally betrayed you."

"It did."

"It's a mathematical expression."

"It knows what it did."

He laughed.

And Gabriella, against her better judgment, laughed too.

For a moment, the room felt warm and ordinary.

She wasn't thinking about Xander.

She wasn't wondering whether Marielle had seen his latest message or whether he had noticed Gabriella's absence that morning.

She wasn't planning how to make him look at her.

She was simply sitting at a table, solving mathematics with a boy who seemed determined to make every ordinary thing unnecessarily entertaining.

The realization unsettled her.

So she concentrated harder on the question.

By the time they reached the final page, Gabriella had started to believe the afternoon might actually be productive.

Then Ethan discovered a mistake in her working.

A mistake she had made three times.

He placed his pencil on the table.

"Remarkable."

She narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"Consistency. You have made precisely the same mistake three times. That requires commitment."

"Ethan."

"Gabriella."

"Explain the question."

"I have. Repeatedly. The question and I are beginning to feel unappreciated."

She covered her face with her hands.

"I'm going to fail."

"No, you're not."

The certainty in his voice made her lower her hands.

Ethan wasn't smiling now.

"You understand the method," he continued. "You're just rushing through the final step. Slow down, check your signs, and try again."

She studied him for a second.

"That was almost encouraging."

"Don't spread rumours."

She smiled faintly and returned to the question.

This time, she got it right.

Ethan glanced at her answer.

"Well done."

Gabriella looked up.

He said it so casually that she almost missed it.

No joke. No sarcastic remark. No theatrical complaint.

Just two words.

And for some inexplicable reason, they made her feel better than they should have.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

He nodded towards the next page.

"Don't become emotional. We still have six questions."

"There he is."

"Who?"

"The person I came here to suffer with."

"Wonderful. I was worried you might have developed expectations."

She shook her head, smiling as she turned the page.

And then, somehow, the conversation changed.

It happened because Gabriella finished a question early and Ethan began looking through the pages of her notebook.

He found a small doodle in the margin.

A heart.

Gabriella immediately reached for the notebook.

"Give it back!"

He lifted it out of reach.

"Interesting."

"It's nothing!"

"A heart. Very subtle."

"It's a drawing!"

"Of a heart."

"Congratulations. Your observational skills are improving."

He turned the notebook slightly, examining the little drawing.

"Should I be concerned?"

"About what?"

"Your sudden interest in romance."

Gabriella snatched the notebook from him.

"I'm not interested in romance."

Ethan raised an eyebrow.

She regretted speaking immediately.

Because, naturally, Ethan had the expression of someone who had just been handed a gift.

"Not interested in romance," he repeated.

"Correct."

"At all?"

"At all."

"How extraordinary."

She folded her arms.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I'm simply impressed. Most people your age have at least thought about kissing someone."

Gabriella's eyes widened.

"Ethan!"

"What?"

"Why are we talking about kissing?"

"You made a declaration about your lack of interest in romance. I was conducting a follow-up investigation."

"Conduct it somewhere else."

"Unfortunately, you're the only available subject."

She stared at him.

He looked perfectly pleased with himself.

"You're impossible."

"I've been told."

"By everyone, probably."

"Mostly by people who lack the imagination to appreciate me."

She groaned and looked back at her notebook.

Unfortunately, Ethan wasn't finished.

"So," he continued, resting his elbows on the table, "what exactly do you find so objectionable about kissing?"

Gabriella slowly lifted her head.

"Excuse me?"

"Kissing. You know. The subject under discussion."

"I know what kissing is!"

"Wonderful. We've established the foundation of our lesson."

"There is no lesson!"

"Then why are you so defensive?"

"I'm not defensive!"

"You're practically shouting."

"Because you're annoying!"

"An unfortunate but unrelated condition."

Gabriella pressed her lips together.

She was not going to let him win this argument.

She was not.

"Besides," she said, "kissing is gross."

Ethan went quiet.

Not for long.

But long enough for Gabriella to notice.

"Gross?" he repeated.

"Yes."

"That's your considered opinion?"

"Yes."

"An eloquent argument."

"What do you want me to say? People put their faces together, close their eyes, and apparently forget how to behave normally. It's ridiculous."

Ethan tilted his head.

"Forget how to behave normally?"

"Yes!"

"Fascinating."

"Stop saying that!"

"I'm attempting to understand your position."

"My position is that kissing is disgusting, and I don't understand why people make such a big deal about it."

Ethan regarded her for a moment.

Then he asked, much more quietly, "Have you ever kissed anyone?"

Gabriella froze.

It was a simple question.

A perfectly ordinary question.

So why did it feel as though he had just opened a door she had spent years keeping shut?

"No," she answered.

The word came out faster than she intended.

Ethan's expression changed slightly.

Not into mockery.

Not into pity.

Something more thoughtful.

"And you're certain it's gross?"

"Yes."

"Despite having no experience with it."

"Do I need to eat a plate of mud to know I don't want to?"

"An interesting comparison. Not entirely convincing, but interesting."

She threw a small piece of paper at him.

He caught it.

"Violence. How mature."

"Keep talking and I'll find something heavier."

He set the paper down.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Ethan leaned forward slightly.

"Can I ask you something?"

Gabriella eyed him suspiciously.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether it's another ridiculous question."

"It probably is."

"Then no."

He smiled faintly.

"Do you think it's possible to dislike something simply because you've never given yourself the chance to understand it?"

Gabriella frowned.

"Sometimes."

"And sometimes?"

"Sometimes people just know what they don't like."

"Fair enough."

She blinked.

That was not the response she had expected.

He wasn't arguing.

He wasn't making fun of her.

He was actually considering what she had said.

It was deeply inconvenient.

"Why do you care so much about my opinion on kissing?" she asked.

Ethan's smile faded a little.

"I don't."

"You're the one who brought it up."

"I bring up a great many things. Most of them are regrettable."

"That isn't an answer."

"No," he admitted. "It isn't."

Something about the way he said it made her stop smiling.

For the first time that afternoon, she noticed that he seemed almost nervous.

Ethan.

Nervous.

The boy who could turn a teacher's warning into a sarcastic observation without blinking.

The boy who could make her furious and have her laughing thirty seconds later.

The boy who had somehow become the person she looked for when a day went wrong.

He was looking at her as though he wanted to say something and had absolutely no idea how to begin.

Gabriella shifted in her chair.

"Ethan?"

"Hmm?"

"You're being strange."

"I've been strange for years. I would appreciate it if you kept up."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"No, you're not."

He looked down at the table.

For a second, Gabriella thought he might finally tell her what was on his mind.

Instead, he said, "You really think kissing is gross?"

She stared at him in disbelief.

"We're back to that?"

"It's an important topic."

"It's a ridiculous topic."

"Perhaps."

"Ethan."

"Gabriella."

"Stop asking me!"

He looked up.

And something in his expression made her lose the next sentence she had been preparing.

He was no longer teasing her.

He was simply looking at her.

Not at her notebook. Not at the heart doodle in the margin. Not at the pencil she was twisting between her fingers.

At her.

The silence stretched.

Gabriella became acutely aware of the clock ticking on the wall, the faint sound of traffic outside, and the fact that she had suddenly forgotten what she had been about to say.

Ethan's gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes.

Her stomach fluttered.

She hated that.

She hated it because she knew exactly what it meant when a girl started noticing details she had previously ignored.

She had spent far too long noticing those details about Xander.

She knew what it was like to interpret every smile, every compliment, and every accidental brush of a hand as evidence of something that might never exist.

She wasn't going to do that again.

Especially not with Ethan.

"Ethan," she said, her voice quieter now, "what are you doing?"

He didn't answer immediately.

Then, before she could work out what he intended, he leaned forward and kissed her.

For one brief moment, Gabriella couldn't understand what had happened.

Her mind seemed to stop halfway through a thought.

One second, she was sitting opposite Ethan, preparing to tell him that he was the most irritating person she had ever met.

The next, his lips had touched hers.

It was brief, unexpected, and so completely different from anything she had imagined that she forgot to move.

She had imagined kissing before, of course.

She had imagined it with Xander.

She had imagined the nervous excitement, the sudden happiness, the way a first kiss might turn an ordinary day into something unforgettable.

But those imagined moments had always been neat and predictable.

Xander would smile at her.

He would say something sweet.

She would look into his eyes.

And then—

Well, she had never planned much beyond that.

Reality, it turned out, had a terrible sense of timing.

Because this was Ethan.

Ethan, who had just spent twenty minutes explaining why her algebra was wrong.

Ethan, who called her dramatic whenever she complained.

Ethan, who had no business kissing her while she was still trying to decide whether she needed to revise quadratic equations before the next test.

Her thoughts collided.

What is he doing?

Why is he kissing me?

Did he actually just—

Ethan drew back.

The distance between them was only a little more than before, but it suddenly felt enormous.

He looked at her.

Gabriella looked at him.

Neither spoke.

The room seemed unbearably quiet.

Ethan's expression changed when he saw her face.

Whatever he had expected, it clearly wasn't the stunned silence staring back at him.

"Gabriella—"

She stood so quickly that her chair scraped against the floor.

"What was that?"

Her voice sounded sharper than she intended.

Ethan rose too, his usual composure slipping.

"I'm sorry."

"What was that, Ethan?"

He didn't attempt to laugh it off.

He didn't make a joke.

He didn't tell her she was being dramatic.

"I shouldn't have done that without asking," he said. "I'm sorry."

Gabriella stared at him.

Her heart was beating so quickly that she could barely arrange her thoughts into sentences.

"You just kissed me!"

"I know."

"Without warning!"

"I know."

"While we were doing mathematics!"

He blinked.

For one absurd second, he looked as though he might point out that mathematics had very little to do with what had just happened.

Thankfully, he seemed to recognize that this would be a spectacularly bad time to be clever.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I did."

Gabriella opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Nothing came out.

She was furious.

At least, she thought she was furious.

There was embarrassment, certainly. Shock. Confusion. A strange, unfamiliar fluttering sensation that she refused to examine.

And beneath all of it was a question she didn't want to ask.

Why had Ethan kissed her?

Not a hypothetical question.

Not a joke.

Not another one of his ridiculous attempts to make her lose an argument.

He had actually kissed her.

She looked at him, searching for the expression she knew so well—the smirk, the raised eyebrow, the faint amusement he wore whenever he managed to surprise her.

It wasn't there.

He looked worried.

That somehow made everything worse.

"Why?" she finally demanded.

Ethan swallowed.

"I—"

"Why would you do that?"

He looked away for a moment.

When he looked back, his voice was quieter.

"Because I wanted to."

Gabriella's breath caught.

It was such a simple answer.

It explained absolutely nothing.

"That isn't a reason!"

"It is a reason. Just not a particularly good excuse."

She stared at him.

He ran a hand through his hair.

"And before you say anything else, I know I should have asked. I got that wrong."

For once, Gabriella had no sarcastic response.

She was too busy trying to understand the fact that Ethan had wanted to kiss her.

Ethan.

The boy she had spent so much time treating like a convenient ally in her hopeless campaign to win Xander's attention.

The boy who had listened when she was upset, even when she insisted she was fine.

The boy who teased her about everything except the things that genuinely hurt.

The boy who had held her hand in Paris when she needed someone beside her, even though she had never properly considered what that might mean to him.

A terrible thought entered her mind.

How long has he felt this way?

She pushed it away immediately.

It was too much.

All of it was too much.

"I thought you were joking," she whispered.

Ethan's face softened, but he didn't move closer.

"About what?"

"Everything. The questions. The way you kept asking me about kissing."

"I wasn't joking about all of it."

She looked down.

That answer hurt in a way she didn't understand.

Because if he hadn't been joking, then the afternoon had changed long before the kiss.

She had simply failed to notice.

Gabriella sat down again, mostly because her legs had started to feel unreliable.

Ethan remained standing for another moment before slowly returning to his chair.

He kept his distance.

For once, he seemed to understand that another sarcastic comment wouldn't repair anything.

Gabriella stared at the open notebook.

The mathematics question in front of her might as well have been written in another language.

She could identify the numbers.

She could identify the symbols.

She could not remember what any of them were supposed to do.

"I hate you," she muttered.

Ethan nodded faintly.

"Understandable."

"I came here to study."

"I know."

"I have an assignment."

"I know."

"And now I can't even remember what we were doing."

"That makes two of us."

She looked up sharply.

He raised both hands.

"Sorry. Bad joke."

She wanted to remain angry.

She really did.

But the apology, the careful distance, and the fact that he wasn't trying to turn the moment into something amusing made it difficult to know what to do with her feelings.

So she settled for glaring at him.

Ethan accepted the glare with the solemnity of a man receiving a formal punishment.

After a moment, Gabriella spoke again.

"Did you think I wanted you to kiss me?"

"No."

The answer came immediately.

She looked surprised.

Ethan continued, "I thought about it. I wondered if you might feel the same way. But I didn't know. And wondering isn't the same as knowing."

"Then why did you do it?"

He looked down at his hands.

"Because I let what I wanted matter more than what I should have done."

The honesty of that answer silenced her.

She had expected excuses.

She had expected him to claim that she had given him some sort of signal, or that she had misunderstood the conversation, or that he had simply been curious.

Instead, he had admitted that he had made a mistake.

Gabriella didn't know whether she was ready to forgive him.

She didn't even know exactly what she was feeling.

But she appreciated that he wasn't asking her to pretend nothing had happened.

"Are you going to do it again?" she asked.

Ethan looked up.

"Not unless you want me to."

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her notebook.

She should have felt relieved.

She did feel relieved.

But there was another feeling mixed into it, and she didn't want to give that feeling a name.

"Good," she said.

"Good."

A pause.

"Because kissing is gross."

Ethan stared at her.

For the first time since the incident, the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Naturally."

"I'm serious."

"I wouldn't dare question your scientific expertise."

"Ethan."

"Gabriella."

She narrowed her eyes.

"Don't make this weird."

He glanced around the room.

"Bit late for that, isn't it?"

She grabbed her pencil and pointed it at him.

He immediately held up his hands.

"Understood. No more commentary."

For approximately seven seconds, he kept his promise.

Then he slid the mathematics notebook towards her.

"Question eight?"

Gabriella looked at the page.

Then at him.

Then back at the page.

She couldn't believe him.

She genuinely couldn't believe him.

"You want me to do mathematics right now?"

"Well, we are here to study."

"You kissed me!"

"An event I am unlikely to forget."

"And now you want to continue with algebra?"

"Would you prefer geometry?"

She threw the pencil at him.

He caught it against his chest.

"Violence again. A troubling pattern."

"You're unbelievable!"

"And yet, somehow, still your tutor."

She covered her face with both hands.

She should have left.

She should have packed her things, walked straight out of his house, and spent the rest of the evening pretending that the entire afternoon had never happened.

Instead, she remained in her chair.

Because beneath the shock and the embarrassment, something had changed.

She didn't know what it was.

She wasn't ready to explore it.

And she certainly wasn't prepared to admit that the kiss had left her thinking about Ethan in a way she never had before.

So she did the only sensible thing she could think of.

She opened her notebook.

"Explain question eight."

Ethan picked up his pencil.

"With pleasure."

"And no more kissing."

His hand paused.

He looked at her.

Then he nodded.

"No more kissing."

Gabriella looked down at the page, willing her face to stop feeling warm.

They returned to mathematics.

Or tried to.

Because every time Ethan leaned over to explain a calculation, she became painfully aware of how close he was sitting.

Every time their hands nearly touched as they reached for a pencil, she remembered what had happened.

And every time he looked at her, she wondered whether he was remembering it too.

He was.

She could tell.

Neither of them said anything.

They didn't need to.

The silence between them had acquired an entirely new meaning.

An hour later, Gabriella finally packed her books.

She had completed the assignment.

She had revised two difficult topics.

She had even corrected the mistakes from her earlier questions.

By every reasonable measure, the tutoring session had been a success.

Except that she could no longer look at Ethan without remembering the kiss.

And she was beginning to suspect that he had exactly the same problem.

He walked her to the front door.

Neither spoke for several seconds.

Gabriella adjusted the strap of her bag.

"Thank you for helping me with the assignment."

"You're welcome."

"And..."

She stopped.

Ethan waited.

She didn't know what she wanted to say.

I'm angry with you.

I'm confused.

I don't understand why you kissed me.

I don't understand why I can't stop thinking about it.

None of those sentences felt right.

So she settled for the only one she could manage.

"Next time, we're studying at the library."

Ethan nodded solemnly.

"An excellent decision. The library has several advantages."

"Such as?"

"Fewer opportunities for me to embarrass myself."

She stared at him.

He sighed.

"That was meant to be self-deprecating. I'm clearly out of practice."

A small laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Ethan looked almost startled.

Then his expression softened.

"Goodnight, Gabriella."

She opened the door.

"Goodnight."

She stepped outside and started down the path.

Halfway to the gate, she glanced back.

Ethan was still standing in the doorway.

When their eyes met, neither of them looked away immediately.

Then Gabriella turned and hurried towards the road.

She didn't look back again.

Not because she didn't want to.

Because she was afraid that if she did, she might discover something about herself that she wasn't ready to understand.

That evening, Gabriella lay on her bed with her mathematics notebook open beside her.

She had intended to revise the final chapter before sleeping.

Instead, she had spent twenty minutes reading the same paragraph without absorbing a single word.

She closed the book.

Then opened it again.

Then closed it.

"This is ridiculous," she whispered to herself.

It was one kiss.

One unexpected, confusing, completely inconvenient kiss.

It didn't have to mean anything.

People kissed.

People made mistakes.

People got over things.

She could get over it.

She would get over it.

Tomorrow, she would go to school, greet Ethan as usual, and carry on with her life.

She would talk to her friends.

She would finish her assignments.

She would stop thinking about the way Ethan had looked at her before the kiss.

Most importantly, she would stop wondering whether he had been thinking about kissing her long before that afternoon.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from Ethan appeared on the screen.

Ethan: Did you get home safely?

Gabriella stared at it.

She typed a response.

Deleted it.

Typed another.

Deleted that too.

Finally, she sent:

Gabriella: Yes.

A moment passed.

Ethan: Good.

She waited.

Another message appeared.

Ethan: And for the record, I am sorry about what happened today. I should have asked first. You don't owe me an answer about how you feel, and I'm not going to bring it up again unless you want to talk about it.

Gabriella read the message twice.

Then a third time.

There was no joke at the end.

No sarcastic remark.

No attempt to make her laugh so that she would stop being upset.

Just an apology.

She rested her phone against her chest and stared at the ceiling.

She was still confused.

She was still embarrassed.

And she still didn't know what the kiss meant.

But she knew one thing.

Tomorrow, when she saw Ethan, she was going to have to look him in the eye and act as though nothing had changed.

She closed her eyes.

That was going to be difficult.

Because the worst part wasn't that Ethan had kissed her.

The worst part was that she had spent the entire evening trying to convince herself that it meant nothing.

And she wasn't entirely sure she believed herself.