ETHAN’S OUTSIDE MY HOUSE, standing by his car. He’s looking down the block, seemingly lost in thought, and he doesn’t see me at first. I allow myself a moment to admire him. He’s wearing the black-and-green-checkered button-down he had on today at school, but he’s added a dark gray blazer and shiny black shoes. His blond hair is the perfect amount of unruly I’m convinced Ethan’s worked to achieve.
He’s cute. More than cute.
He’s also . . . nervous? While I watch, he rubs the back of his neck. The gesture sends a rush of endearment straight to my heart. I could stand here staring for an embarrassing amount of the night, but I clear my throat, wanting whatever’s going to come next. He looks up sharply, his eyes landing on me.
He smiles. It’s one of his genuine smiles, the exceedingly uncommon kind. The kind where I’m reminded, despite our years of conflict, I’m only just meeting this side of him.
“Hi,” he says. The way he says it holds other things he’s not saying. It’s a hi you look nice, a hi I’m happy to see you. Or I hope it is.
“Hey,” I say. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere fancy.” He shrugs modestly.
While intrigued, I’m suddenly nervous. “Should I change? Maybe I’m not dressed up enough.”
In reply, Ethan opens his passenger door, his smile looking more like a grin now. “Sanger. You’re literally always dressed up enough.”
I flush, enjoying the familiar irritation of Ethan’s chiding. Getting into his car, I wait for him to drop into the drivers’ seat. “I like looking professional,” I reply defensively when he does.
“Oh, I know.”
“You do?” I glance over, not expecting to find him eyeing me approvingly.
He starts the car, the engine humming and the dashboard blinking to life. “You don’t want anyone underestimating you,” he says. “It’s particularly annoying to someone trying to convince himself he’s capable of beating you.”
I let out a laugh, pleased inside to hear him pinpoint my reasoning exactly. “Fair. What’s your reason? Why do you dress like a president’s kid?”
“Because you like it,” he says like he’s telling me what day of the week it is.
“I do not.”
Ethan’s headlights glare into the night, illuminating lawns and hedges. We’re the only car on the street. He glides up to the stop sign with the measured control I remember from when he drove me home. “You’re usually a better liar,” he comments. “Aside from enjoying your admiring glances, I dress this way to keep up with you. I changed my whole wardrobe freshman year when I realized teachers respected you more because you looked put-together.”
It’s not what I expected, which was more overconfidence. Ethan’s kept himself a closed door for years, and I’m not yet used to him giving me occasional glimpses of what’s inside. His explanation reminds me of the first time he did, when he confessed our competition was the only thing driving him. Changing his wardrobe for me is no different. I find myself wishing his choices sprung from some fundamental Ethan-ness—watching Dead Poets Society and falling in love with the humanities and the entire world of education, or modeling himself on his dad’s Hugo Boss work wear—instead of just mirroring me.
It makes me a little sad. I change the subject. “I hope where we’re going has food.”
Ethan smiles. If I were to rate his smiles from one to ten, genuine to goading, this would be a six. “It’s a restaurant, so odds are good,” he replies.
“A fancy restaurant,” I elaborate.
“Nothing gets past you, Sanger.” Up to eight.
“Ethan,” I say softly, “what is this?”
He looks over when we reach a red light, his expression sobering with the shift in the conversation. “You said our relationship was immature,” he starts carefully. I meet his gaze, fidgeting the corner of my phone case while I wait for him to continue. “I’m going to show you it doesn’t have to be.”
I face forward, warmth spreading in my chest. It’s like the entire night has fallen into place. We’re not being driven by parents. We’re not talking about Mr. Pham’s class or school bonfires. We’re headed into the city, into a night of our own, being who we’re becoming. I imagine remembering this night in ten years. I know I will.
The light changes. Ethan drives forward, and I can almost see it—what’s to come.