Just Friends [✓]

4. Dear, Ethan

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Chapter Four – Dear, Ethan

Tell Him – Celine Dion and Barbra Streisand

"You owe me," she seethed, "Big time."

I groaned into the phone, letting myself free fall backwards onto the bed. "I know Karla, I know."

"I mean feet rubbing, lunch buying, homework doing big time, Spence."

I rolled my eyes. "I hear you Karly. I'll make it up to you I swear."

She grunted and then hung up the phone.

Things had gotten quiet. Just a few minutes ago, dad was yelling about how much of a disaster this was. He most likely hated Ethan now. Mom – even though she was much, much calmer wasn't exactly Mary Poppins about it either. I was grounded and banned from seeing Ethan for the time being.

I wish I could say this was the first time this had happened but the sad reality was that it wasn't even close to it. Ethan and I had been prohibited from seeing one another numerous times before. Of course we still did.

We were the proverbial reincarnation of Romeo and Juliet...you know, without the whole suicide thing.

We even wrote letters to one another. If I remember correctly, last Spring Ethan's said:

'Dear Spence,

Despite your parents wanting to kill me for peeing my name onto the family car,

I want to see you, my bro. Did that sound gay?

I sure hope so.

Anyways, can we meet up? I mean like, at the spot or somewhere secretive maybe?

I have stuff to tell you. I've been dating this chick and she's crazy in bed.

Got to tell you the details. You can say you have band practice.

I know you don't have a single bone in your body that knows how to play an instrument but your parents don't know that.

Sometimes I get jealous of how nonchalant your parents are about the daily happenings of your life.

So, best bro, call me, text me, write me back... do something so I know we're still ES...PN.

Sorry I had to write that. I know how much you like TV references.

Anyways, Dude. Talk at school.

Much love, your best Bro,

E.'

It's strange how I remembered that entire letter. Strange since Ethan's horrible hand writing made it difficult to decipher what he was trying to say.

My attention turned to the dresser where that same letter was framed next to a picture of me and Ethan when he won his first football game when we entered high school. He was dirty and sweating and smelled like rotting cabbage but it was his moment and I didn't care.

"Spencer."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Mom?"

"Lights out."