Unpredictability of Love

How to Deal with Douchebags

He couldn't answer my question - or maybe he could but I didn't hear it because the light had turned green, and I hit the gas pedal again. I drove like I had a host of the undead on my tail, weaving through the small number of cars whose owners had decided to wake up at such an ungodly hour. Not unlike most of my abilities, my driving skills had been bestowed upon me by dad, who always - and when I say always, I mean seven days a week - ran late, and ended up having to drive over the speed limit all the time without getting caught by the police - just to make to work on time. He had these list of rules which needed to be followed if a person chose to drive fast, and if those rules were followed properly, there was no way they would get a speeding ticket. Those included going just above the speed-limit but looking calm and composed while doing it, pretending to be surprised if a cranky cop stopped you, promising be more careful after that, and not driving like a crazy maniac until you're out of the cop's sight, and flashing your license innocently but not too proudly whenever asked to. I was a father's daughter, so he simply added these tricks into my driving lessons, knowing that I would need them at some point or another.

Simple tricks. But they worked. I didn't get a single speeding ticket since I'd started driving two years ago, and I almost always drove over the speed-limit - except when I had to drive a high Ethan home. Then I made it a point to compete with the slowest sloths to see how slow I could go. Right now, I was having the time of my life scaring him like he'd scared me the past week.

By the time I sped into the school driveway, Ethan was a comical sight. His jet black hair was askew, eyes wide, all the sleepiness gone from his naturally pale face to be replaced by fear which had turned it paler, knuckles white because of the force with which he was holding onto the seatbelt.

I laughed.

"I'm - I'm never letting you drive again," he said, with as much conviction as he could muster, but only managing to sound a little braver than a tiny mouse.

I rolled my eyes. "I have a license. You don't. So I'm the one who gets to dictate the terms here."

He shook his head - almost like he was trying to shake off the shock - then narrowed his eyes at me. "I own the damn car!"

"Yes," I agreed, grabbing my stuff and stepping out of the car, "but I'm still going to do the driving from now on. You know it's much safer that way." Sure, I drove fast, but Ethan drove rashly and inconsistently, and that was a lot more dangerous than what I did.

He couldn't disagree, so he just glared at me silently.

I leaned forward and pinched his cheeks, bringing back some colour in them.

He swatted my hands away in annoyance. "Stop that!"

I reached for his cheeks again."You look like a grumpy cat. Do you even know how adorable they are?"

He took my hands firmly and pushed them away, a cross expression on his face. "I'm not adorable. Don't call me that."

I laughed at that. I was already running late, and would probably get into more trouble with Horry, but the moment was too good to be true. "You woke up - what? Before five-thirty in the morning? - just to pick me up, even though you didn't have to. That's probably the most adorable thing ever."

He shrugged, a small smile blooming on his face at my recognition of what he'd done for me. "I couldn't miss my daily dose of getting my ear eaten-off by your continues chattering, could I?"

"You couldn't," I agreed, wondering if it was possible for anyone to get cuter than what he was right then - even with dark circles under his eyes, making him look like an over-worked raccoon. "I'll see you in the afternoon, although I wouldn't be surprised if Horry kills me for coming so late, and buries me in the middle of the school to make an example of me."