The word "date" echoed in Ethan's mind for two straight days.
It was a single, simple word, but it was loaded with more terrifying, exciting, and confusing possibilities than any cup final.
He found himself standing in front of his wardrobe, staring at his collection of t-shirts and hoodies with the same intensity he usually reserved for a tactical diagram.
What does one wear on a date? Was his best hoodie "date-worthy"?
It was a far more complex problem than breaking down a low block.
He woke up on Friday morning feeling a nervous, happy buzz.
He decided to do something special. He went downstairs and, for the first time in his life, attempted to make breakfast for the family. He was going to make omelets.
The result was less of an omelet and more of a scrambled, slightly blackened egg-like substance.
"It's... rustic," his mom said, trying her best to be encouraging as she poked at the sad, brown pile on her plate.
