grapefruit tea

Ethan and Kay have nothing in common aside from Terrence and tennis. This is why they resorted to getting completely smashed. Only– they need to procure the alcohol first.

A Thin Line Between Drunken Teenage Passes and Hate

“He has plastic bags for shoes,” Kay said, in tones of utmost horror. “I cannot speak to that man.”

Ethan snorted, and made a motion towards said bag-clad man, who was preoccupied with the contents of his shopping cart and not paying much attention to the two of them.

“Do you want booze or not,” Ethan asked, as patient as he ever got with Kay. She gave him a look like he was a particularly slow child.

“You ask him,” she said, prodding him in the arm with a finger. “You’re closer to his social strata, you’ll be able to relate better.”

“Right, because middle class and living on the street are just one tax bracket apart!”

“Just ASK,” Kay commanded, ignoring his protests. “Before anyone I know comes by!”

“Hell no!” Ethan adopted a wide stance, in case Kay decided to shove him towards the bum in question. “I’m telling you, just flash some cleavage or something! It’ll take like no effort!”

“I’m sorry,” Kay said in an offhand sort of way, “I thought I heard you tell me to flash my cleavage at a bum who lives out of a shopping cart. Would you mind repeating that?”

“Yvonne would do it,” muttered Ethan, because while he wasn’t stupid enough to repeat himself, he wasn’t about to cater to Kay’s stupid little drama queen tendencies, either.

“Yvonne is a shameless penny whore. We’ve discussed this.”

“And you’ve already completely ruined your reputation just by associating with me,” Ethan said, giving Kay a look. “Seriously, what do you have to lose, anyway?”

“I’m not lowering myself to your standards!” Kay replied sharply. “Everyone knows that I only tolerate you because of Terrence and Terrence thinks of you as a…”

“Younger brother?” Ethan supplied, thinking about his tennis team captain and Kay’s boyfriend.

“I was actually going to say as a team mascot,” Kay drawled, examining her nails. “But if it makes you happy, sure. Younger brother.”

“Can’t we just call Yvonne?” Ethan grimaced as the wind blew their way and the wafting stank of unwashed human nearly made him gag. “Do you honestly think she has anything better to do right now?”

“Edward.”

Ethan wrinkled his nose. “That’s something I could have lived without hearing. And hey, you better ask him now because I think he’s walk–er, pushing his cart away.”

Kay looked momentarily alarmed as their would-be procurer of alcoholic delight, true to Ethan’s observation, began to wander away. Her expression shifted from anxious to irritated before finally settling on a sort of resigned determination.

“I’m not forgetting this,” she hissed, before drawing herself upright and striding after the bum, carefully avoiding the alley’s assorted detritus and larger puddles of stagnant rainwater. Ethan smirked and pulled out his video-capable cell phone.

“Neither will I,” he grinned, beginning to record just as Kay reached the hobo and caught his attention. Dear secular god, yes.

“Excuse me, sir,” Kay began, sounding as though addressing the bum as ’sir’ was no small degree of physically painful, “I would be most obliged if you would do myself and my companion the favor of -”

“Yeah yeah,” the bum replied vaguely, pushing her aside with one grubby hand. Ethan made sure to zoom in on the expression on Kay’s face when he made contact.

“Excuse me, EXCUSE me,” insisted Kay, as the bum kept doing… whatever it was he was doing. Ethan didn’t feel he had it in him to investigate. Kay heaved a sigh Ethan heard with crystal clarity even from his position at the alley’s entrance. “Oh for god’s sake.”

And then she undid the first four buttons of her shirt, leaned over (and by now Ethan was jogging into the alley to get better audiovisuals) and waggled a crisp fifty-dollar bill in the bum’s suddenly-interested face. “You. Go into the liquor store, buy me these items,” – at this point she slapped a post-it note to the bum’s forehead – “and keep the change. All right?”

The hobo shuffled off, like an unwashed, underfed, but remarkably well-trained puppy. Ethan snapped his mobile closed, and the sound caused Kay’s head to swivel like a radar dish. “That better not be what I think it is.”

“What, I thought you liked attention!” Ethan replied, mock-surprised and looking forward to hearing the highly expressive rant that was sure to come pouring from Kay’s mouth within the next few seconds. Kay just stared at him, face completely blank.

And then she made what he would later describe as a running leap onto his person, reaching for the phone with one hand, and aiming for his eyes with the other, as far as he could tell. Only his tennis-honed reflexes allowed him to dodge and evade, but unfortunately, Kay had developed the same reflexes he had — perhaps more so, given the sheer amount of girl fights that seemed to go on at Nightingale-Bamford‘s— and followed the motion.

It degenerated into an outright scuffle from that point on. They would later deny it profusely, but hair-pulling was committed by both parties.

“Damnit,” Ethan panted, backing towards the alley’s overflowing dumpster and away from Kay’s crazy eyes, “I swear to god, Kay, I will throw garbage at you!”

“You wouldn’t dare,” grinned Kay, flicking hair away from her face and approaching ever closer. Ethan came to accept three things in that moment: one, that Kay was actually kicking his ass in a fight; two, that he valued the contents of his video phone more than his physical well-being, which said unpleasant things about the nature of his relationship with Kay, and three, that there was a particularly slimy sack that may at one point have contained a banana only inches away from his grasp.

He whirled around, grabbed the sack with as little contact with his fingers as was possible, and flung it at Kay, with all the aim that usually went into his cross-court smashes.

“ETHAN, THIS BLOUSE COSTS MORE THAN WHAT YOUR DAD MAKES IN A MONTH!”

“Considering that he’s a stay-at-home bum, that’s not very hard!” Ethan retorted snidely. “Just take it to the cleaners!”

“You horrible, horrible boy! The only thing I’m taking to the cleaners is YOU!” With a fluid grace that may or may not have suggested that Kay had taken fencing lessons at some point, she tackled Ethan. Already giving up her designer Dior blouse as something akin to a hopeless cause, she socked him in the eye.

Ethan swore and retaliated by kicking her in the stomach.

The nameless hobo that Kay had accosted watched this all with mild interest before discreetly waddling away with his cart and a plastic bag of hard liquor.

Approximately five minutes and a lot of unflattering cuts and bruises later, Ethan and Kay both sat up against the brick wall of the alleyway and squinted at the opening to the street, breathing hard.

“I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“Of course he’s coming back!” Kay hissed. “Don’t you dare say he’s not. I flashed my cleavage at him.”

Mulling over Kay’s comment, Ethan tried to get the– actually, he didn’t know what the hell it was and he probably didn’t want to know– out of his hair. “Maybe he went blind,” he said, thoughtfully.

“I despise you,” Kay hissed, rummaging through her Gucci handbag for perfume, deodorant, air freshener–anything that might get her to stop smelling like used diapers. “We’re going back to my house and you are riding in the trunk.”

“I think I’ll take the bus.”

Kay paused for a moment. “What kind of a bus driver would let you get on smelling like socks and rotten vegetables?”

“It’s New York.”

“Point taken.” Kay wrinkled her nose. “Not a word of this to Terrence.”

Ethan snorted. “What, do you think I’m stupid?” He frowned, now wincing when he realized that he had just ruined his favorite green t-shirt. “Don’t answer that.”

“Shut up, I’m calling my chauffeur and shamelessly bribing him to get us booze and not speak a word of this to my parents.” Kay rummaged through her bag to locate her Sidekick mobile.

“Why didn’t we just ask him in the first place?” Ethan muttered. At Kay’s glare, he took a few steps back and decided to remain silent until Kay’s town car arrived.

**

Walter was a decent chauffeur and an okay guy, despite the fact that Kay disliked him immensely (or probably because of that) and Ethan thought it was very nice of him to buy them liquor and only overcharge Kay a couple hundred bucks.

“Walter’s taste in booze sucks,” Kay commented, looking at the can of beer Ethan offered her with distaste. “Keystone? I gave him $200 for booze and he brought back Keystone and Stoli?”

“Shut up, it’s all the same anyway.” Ethan rolled his eyes and hoped that Kay wouldn’t start shrieking or throwing her mother’s expensive china around or anything. The hired help around Kay’s penthouse apartment were more like useless authority figures than anything else. He tossed himself onto the couch with his drink in one hand, not caring if he spilled anything. It wasn’t like Kay’s parents totally couldn’t afford the reupholstering anyway.

His gaze wandered across the room; taking in the backlit sculptures and delicate orchid arrangements. It took him a second to realize Kay was talking to him again.

“That’s because your taste-buds are disgustingly plebeian. I specifically told him that I wanted rum and Coke. Or a margarita.”

“You could have raided your parents’ wine cabinet,” Ethan pointed out. “And those drinks don’t come that way. Seriously, you’re like, so high maintenance. Why does Terry even put up with you?”

“Terrence,” Kay said through gritted teeth, “was attracted to my wonderful personality and magnificent athletic prowess. I’m the president of student council and the French Club, I’m captain of the girls tennis team—”

“—and a pretentious, high maintenance bitch?” Ethan tried his best to look innocent.

“Screw you.” With a decidedly unladylike snort, Kay downed a can of Keystone and reached for another. “Despite what you may think, I’ll let you know that I had a very harsh childhood. My parents were very hard on me.”

“I’m sure that your childhood was full of trials and harsh sentences,” Ethan replied, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm despite his occasional slurring of words. “Tell me, do they still arrange for the maids to leave inferior chocolates on your pillow?”

“Terrence understands that about me. He knows how many sacrifices I’ve made to please my parents. Unlike your dad— he could care less about how well you handle school and sports as long as you’re good at tennis.”

Ethan didn’t bother to dignify that with a response. He sipped his beer and tried not to grimace at the taste. Kay had been right, it was awful, but he wasn’t going to let her lord it over him.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Just keep talking until my eyes glaze over.”

He took another sip and nearly choked this time.

It was ridiculous. He and Kay had nothing in common except tennis and Terrence. The fact that they had been forced to resort to drinking in order to pass the time (while Terrence was diligently studying for the SAT across town) was a testament to just that.

“Ethan,” Kay said sharply. He didn’t look up and he could hear her getting increasingly agitated before she pulled him forward by his shirt collar with one hand and pinned him down to the couch with another (in a way that really didn’t jive well with his ideas of personal space) and kissed him.

**

When Ethan woke up, his stomach did this improbable sort of upwards-and-sideways movement. He clamped his mouth out of pure reflex and heard a far too chirpy voice telling him that the bathroom was “down the hall, second door to the left”.

After praying to the porcelain god, he barely had the chance to ruin one of Kay’s monogrammed towels when she appeared out of nowhere and jerked him to his feet. He bumped into the sink while backing up.

“Jesus,” Kay said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not going to start ravishing you in my parents’ bathroom.”

“But you–“

“We will never speak of that incident again.” Kay glared, and crossed her arms. She had showered and looked fantastic again, her make up impeccable and her dress suited for a stuffy Sunday Brunch. That should have been his first clue. “And speaking of my parents, they’re going to be here in a half hour. Apparently, they want to—and I quote—have coffee and scones with us. They also want to meet you, God knows why.”

“But—“ Ethan’s mind blanked.

Kay’s dark blue eyes bore into him. “Would you please reconnect whatever wires between your brain and your mouth you’ve managed to sever with alcohol?” Her voice was beginning to sound shrill. “You are going to shower and have breakfast with my parents,” she stated coldly, leaving no room for arguments. “Toss your clothes into the hamper, I’ll try to find one of Terrence’s old things to fit you.” She paused. “Well?”

“I don’t like scones. Will there be croissants?”

Her only answer was to physically shove him toward the shower and belatedly, Ethan noticed that the bathroom was ridiculously spacious— far larger than his own bedroom. He then proceeded to have what was likely the fastest shower of his life, taking more time to figure out the knobs and shower controls of the penthouse’s ‘state of the art’ amenities than actually washing himself.

There was a knock at the door just as he stepped out, and he quickly wrapped a towel around his waist. Kay was there; she shoved an armful of clothing at him as well as a bottle of Advil and told him to try to fix his hair somehow.

After breaking two combs, Ethan gave up and wandered into the kitchen with his dark hair dripping water onto the back of Terrence’s old green sweater. Kay’s parents were there, amiably chatting about their week-long jet to Prague and eyed him curiously. Ethan looked at them and immediately looked down to make sure he was wearing pants. He was. Excellent.

Kay rose, playing the role of the perfect, dutiful daughter who invited her boyfriend’s protégé over for tennis— and not as though the two of them had spent last night getting completely wasted.

“Mother, Father– this is Ethan,” Kay said, jerking her head in Ethan’s direction.

“The brat?” her father inquired.

“The bane of your existence?” her mother said at the same time, with mild interest.

Ethan tried his best not to smirk. Nodding hello at Kay’s parents, he then turned to her, amused.

“Those two,” Kay declared rather huffily, “I have never seen before in my life.” She plopped down in her seat again, smoothing her skirt and pretended to be thoroughly absorbed with her cup of Earl Grey while her parents gently interrogated him to within an inch of his life all while feeding him baked goods.

Ethan eyed the plate of Magnolia Bakery Danishes near Kay’s elbow. “May I?”

Kay passed the plate. “Of course,” she replied cheerily. “Mis pastries son sus pastries.” Her eyes might have promised disembowelment, but the Danishes were good. Ethan thought that was a pretty good trade-off.

At the end of the ordeal, Kay excused him and herself by telling her parents that Ethan had a tennis lesson at noon. Her grip on his shoulder tightened, and her smile was considerably more forced after Mr. and Mrs. Ainsworth smiled and expressed their admiration at his dedication to tennis (“I wish Kay would practice seven days a week,” Kay’s father told him, “I’ve tried to tell her that she’s going to lose her title if she keeps lazing about.”)

By the time Kay steered him to the door, Ethan’s right shoulder ached.

“How do you play tennis with your nails that goddamn long?” he asked, rubbing his shoulder. Kay’s fingernails had all but cut off the circulation in that part of his upper body.

“You’re going home and you’re not going to tell any of this to Terrence,” Kay hissed, jabbing him in the ribs. “ Not a word. I’m burning your clothes or giving them to a homeless bum, one of the two. I expect that that you’ll return Terrence’s cashmere sweater and jeans somehow. I bought them for him, they probably cost more than the entirety of your wardrobe combined and they’re fucking Armani, you got it?”

“Whatever.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “The sweater itches.” He shrugged. “I’ll go. Thanks for breakfast.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think.”

Kay slammed the door in the face, and Ethan grinned. He waited for the elevator and wondered where the closest tennis court was and if he’d get beaten up for looking like such a ponce.

THE END

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Sophomore Year by Stacy