Chapter 2 - Ella: Of Fast, Sleek Cars and Implausibly Tight Jeans

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(A/N: for the picture on how these lovely main characters looked like... its on the right corner. all credits goes to ReeechBeeetch)


[ Hi ella, its mickey dizon? How r u? ]

Thursday afternoon, the next week. Ella was watching TV listlessly on her bed in the two-bedroom flat she shared with her older sister Jen when she received his text.

It actually took him exactly six days to contact her. Six whole days. She had shrugged it off, not at all concerned that he was not that into her.

But he texted now, right, so he probably was? Or he wanted her to think he wasn't when in fact he was? Or was she overanalyzing everything yet again?

She waited a minute or two before sending a reply, licking the remains of the burrito she just scarfed down and crafting a casual, totally unaffected response in her head.

[ Oh yeah. Hey mickey. Wat up? ]

It took him approximately 56 seconds to reply.

[Nothing much? Was wondering if ur free tom nyt? My friends r having a back 2 skul party n la vista & i cud pick u up if ur n d mood 4 a drink? ]

A high school boy was asking her out to a high school party. How hysterically funny was this? She could practically hear her friends choke down their loud, jeering laughter.

[ Do u always txt n question form? ]

[ No. Hehe. Sorry abt that. So wat abt tom? ]

Dating a younger kid was out of the question. In fact, getting an older guy – the kind with a decent, stable job, had an engagement ring with a big, ornate diamond stowed away, sported clean cut hair and steered clear of implausibly tight jeans – was the objective.

But it wasn't as if Armani-clad, laptop-wielding yuppies were banging on her door, begging for a mere glimpse of her breathtaking beauty.

Far from it. While her love life wasn't a royal zero, it wasn't exactly flourishing either.

She flipped off the TV and crossed the cramped room to her small clothes cabinet. She surveyed its contents thoughtfully as her fingers flew over the keys of her phone.

[ I think ill pass, kid. M not a babysitter ].

[ Haha, french maid sounds lyk a gr8 hallown costume. ]

That was kinkier – and surprisingly wittier – than the response she was prepared for. She tried another tactic.

[ Ur just 16. How r u picking me up? W/ a driver? Yuck, rich kid. ]

Her phone rang instantaneously. She fought back a smile. But of course – barely out of pubescence and he already had a postpaid line.


"I do drive, you know,"

he said defensively, without even thinking of greeting her back first. She suddenly remembered how brazen (and cute and young, in that preposterous high school uniform) he was six afternoons ago.

"Hello Mickey," she said pointedly, then laughed.

"So how long have you been driving? Two whole days?"

He snorted.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I've been driving for over a year now," he said triumphantly.