Best Served Fake

thirty // you know, platonically

A/N: oop i hope you're prepared. i wasn't.

I felt nervous and itchy in the driver's seat of Kai's car on Thursday morning.

It had been five days since our conversation in his bedroom, and my thoughts had been rooted to this moment ever since. When I'd climbed into his car on Monday morning, I'd almost defenestrated myself halfway to school. And even though we spent all our time in the hallways glued to each other, I'd spent the whole week feeling jumpy. Every time I looked at him, I couldn't meet his eyes. Instead, my gaze flicked to his lips, his jaw, his neck, the space between his collarbones, and I thought about kissing every square inch.

It was not very conducive to concentration and productivity, and where I wouldn't have even noticed Kai in my Maths class three weeks ago, I was uncomfortably aware of him now. He sat in the back row, and I could almost feel myself heating up under his eyes.

Anticipation was making an idiot out of me.

"Why am I driving again?" I asked, looking quickly over at him. The question seemed pertinent, given my hands were shaking, and it was only my steadfast dedication to not running us off the road that forced them to operate and my brain to coherently run.

"Oh, you'll see," Kai said enigmatically.

"If you say so."

He'd made me drive every day this week. As soon as he pulled into my drive, every day since Monday, he slid out of the car and moved around to the passenger seat, tossing me the keys as he went. I hadn't asked any questions—maybe he was still nervous after wrecking my car—but it had been four days without explanation.

"You're a good driver," Kai noted.

I didn't know how to tell him that I was usually better, given that I was currently resisting the urge to pull over and make out with his face. You know, platonically.

"It's pretty easy. Accelerate, break, turn, don't crash into the parked car of a super fun and sexy chick from school," I explained.

My eyes were on the road, so I couldn't see him smile. "Next time, I'll crash into the parked car of a super boring and ugly chick from school," said Kai.

"Baby steps, my friend, baby steps."

"Did your Mum teach you?" Kai asked, curious.

I thought of all the hours Mum had spent in the passenger seat, teaching me the basics of driving, making me park and turn and break, pointing out street signs and never panicking, between hours of work and long, restless nights, caring for a daughter without any support and never once complaining.

I nodded. "Yeah, she did. Dad isn't exactly—" I waved a hand in the air "—around. And Mum is amazing. She taught me and did the whole 120 hours shebang." I thought about Kai's rundown house, the complete absence of any adults. He'd mentioned his mum once or twice, but he'd never, ever mentioned a Dad. Like me. "Who taught you to drive?"

"Will's parents," said Kai, and I'd never heard so much affection in his tone for anyone but Isabelle. "My dad isn't exactly 'around' either. And Mum is... well, she's around, but that doesn't necessarily mean much."

His voice didn't bridge any further discussion, but it made my mind whir. There were rumours about Kai's home life; we didn't come from an area where broken homes were a commonality. But Kai and Isabelle were so bright, so optimistic, so full of life. It was hard to imagine them growing up without any real care, any real guidance. It made sense that Kai and Will were so close, why they seemed more like brothers than friends; why Isabelle looked at Will as if he were her hero, and Will looked at Isabelle like she was one of his favourite people on the planet. The Kennedy household was all that the Delaney siblings had had, outside each other.