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I parked my car in its usual, unofficially dubbed 'Dara's space' (so hands/wheels off!), and turned to look at my smirking passenger. I raised my eyebrows at him questioningly, waiting for some quip about my driving. I've never had such a vocal passenger before. He's always criticizing my driving. Jerk.

 

"Y'know," Jiyong began, "you haven't parked this car very well. I'm pretty sure you're over the white line."

 

I rolled my eyes, cutting the engine and got out the car, slamming the door loudly behind me. He followed suit slowly, doing so just to annoy me. I waited on the curb, hands on hips, assessing my parking skills. Okay, I won't ever vocally admit it, but I haven't parked particularly straight, and perhaps I've breached the white line to such an extent that another driver will be unable to park in the space beside me. Oh, well.

 

"Told you," he gloated, coming up beside me. I elbowed him in the arm, which he reciprocated with a mock scowl.

 

Until today, I haven't seen him since Dami's birthday party. I'd been worried that things would be awkward between us, and that I wouldn't know what to say and we'd be stuck in some kind of suffocating silence. I mean, I'm glad he's told me about his mom's alcoholism, but what advice can I give him? How can I help?

 

After his mom had left the house and I'd pulled him into a hug, we'd just stood there for the longest time. I don't know how long we'd stood like that, but when smoke began filtering through the crack in a window, we'd jumped apart, running inside to pull out the black remains of Dami's birthday cake. Fortunately, she hadn't been too upset, claiming she equally liked the dozen cupcakes we'd piled together, constituting as a cake with candles dotted on seven of the cupcakes. I'd offered to stay longer after Dami's friends had left, but Jiyong had rejected the offer, wanting to talk to his mom alone again.

 

I haven't yet asked him how another futile talk had gone (she was adamant she wasn't an alcoholic), because as soon as he'd slid into the passenger seat, he'd initiated our normal repartee.

 

It just isn't fair on him being burdened with so much responsibility. I'd suggested that perhaps we should tell my mom or another adult, gaining their advice on how to pursue this. Only Jiyong, being the stubborn fella he is, denounced such propositions.

 

"So," I began, "how did it go with your mom after I left?"

 

He shrugged. "Same as usual. She doesn't think she has a problem."

 

"Maybe you should talk to someone."

 

"No." He shook his head dismissively. "I don't want anyone to know. What if someone informed social services or something, and they wanted to take the kids into care, huh?"

 

"They wouldn't do that," I stated. Would they?

 

He said, "When mom's not around, I make sure the kids are fed and clothed, I help them with their homework and make sure they're picked up from school. I'm handling things just fine."

 

I nodded. "Okay. I never meant to imply that you weren't doing a great job…"

 

"I know," he interrupted, "thanks for your concern, but we really are fine."

 

We ascended the steps to the English department in companionable silence. When I heard the loud clacking of heels smacking against the floor, I turned around sharply, only to see a girl, who I recognized from class, rushing towards us.

 

"Jiyong!" she called. I groan and rolled my eyes, anticipating her usual futile flirting with him.

 

She stumbled to a halt, almost colliding with Jiyong before he stuck out his arm, resting it on her shoulder to steady her.

 

"Oh, you saved me from falling," she cried, "thank you."

 

Jiyong nodded, his face impassive.

 

"Let me make it up to you," she said, twisting a strand of bleach blond hair around her finger. Is she trying to look…coy?

 

Jiyong's eyes widened infinitesimally, shaking his head: no, no, no.

 

"Let me take you out tonight," she suggested, "we could go to a restaurant or a bar. Maybe a movie instead or…"

 

Okay, enough is enough: she has to go. Now.

 

"He can't," I interrupted. Her eyes snapped to mine, blinking, as if she's just suddenly realized my presence. I continued, "We're working on our English project tonight, and…" I glanced at my watch, grabbing Jiyong's arm, "we've got to go now, otherwise we're gonna be late for class. Bye."

 

I all but dragged Jiyong down the hall, not bothering to turn around to see the glares directed at the back of my head. He's strangely compliant with my tugging, which I found strange, so I relinquished my grip, glancing at him from out of the corner of my eye. He's wearing that unholy grin of his, his eyes dancing with humor. What?

 

"Jealous, are we?" he asked.

 

"No!"

 

"Really? Because, if I recall correctly, we're not working on our project tonight."

 

"Did you want to go out with that blonde bimbo?"

 

"No…"

 

"Than what's the problem?"

 

I didn't have to look at his face to know he's still looking smug, the grin still there. "It just seemed like you were jealous. We could go out instead," he suggested.

 

I scoffed. "What? No, of course not. You're being utterly absurd, because that would imply that I…that…well, I don't. So no, I'm not jealous, and no, I'm not going out with you tonight. I was just doing you a favor by giving you an excuse to not go out with her, that was all." And I was. How dare he insinuate that I…

 

"Right," Jiyong said, "keep telling yourself that."

 

I'm about to interject when he continued, "When are we working on our project together? Tomorrow night? I haven't got work then."

 

"Um…no, I can't," I said, "I'm going out with Jae." I fidgeted with the sleeve of my shirt, a fleeting wave of guilt washing over me.

 

Jiyong didn't speak for several moments, but when he did, he did so quietly. "Why are you with him?"

 

I'm startled into silence. I was expecting him to voice such a question, but not to administer it in such a soft tone.

 

"Because…because," I floundered for a moment, eventually replying, "he's a nice guy." I nodded enthusiastically, having found the thread of my argument. "Jae's a really nice guy, who…loves music, just like me."

 

He gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Other people like music, Dara, not just the wiener. You can do better than him."

 

I scoffed, rolling my eyes, sarcastically enquiring, "Like who, Jiyong? Who do you perceive as better?"

 

I fixed him with a hard stare, daring him to argue, which he refused to meet, his eyes glued to the floor and then to the wall. Anywhere except me. "There are people out there who would be better for you, that's all."

 

I sighed, preparing to retort, when I saw Mr. Yang standing beside his classroom door, clapping his hands impatiently for us to join the already sitting and awaiting class. Ooops.

 

"Are you guys together? I mean, as in, like, a couple?" A blonde girl asked from her seat, her tone reproachful.

 

"No!" I exclaimed, Jiyong responding in unison with, "Yes".

 

My eyes were wide and my mouth was agape. What the…

 

"Yes," he repeated, this time louder, gaining the attention of the whole class, "Dara is my girlfriend." I think that statement just broke about a dozen hearts in this room.

 

He placed his hand on the lower part of my back, half pushing and half guiding me to my seat. He sat beside me, something he'd lately become accustomed to doing. He claimed it was either sit beside me, or surround himself by the half dozen girls who kept persisting him for his number, flirting with him whenever possible.

 

"What was that about?" I snapped.

 

He looked away sheepish, biting his lip. "She keeps dropping hints that she likes me and wants to take me to some club. If you pretend to be my girlfriend, I won't have to deal with all their hassling."

 

My eyes are still narrowed, the frown still there.

 

He pleaded, "Please just go along with it."

 

"What about Jae?" I reminded him. "He's my boyfriend."

 

"And he also majors in Music, not English. They won't ever see him. Different sides of campus."

 

I sighed, tapping a finger thoughtfully against my chin. "Hmmm, I don't know. What's in it for me?"

 

He rolled his eyes, sighing, thinking. He snapped his fingers, a half smile playing on his lips. "How about I take you out to that steak house a couple of streets down? Order whatever you like."

 

Oh, it's tempting. I never turn down free food. Ever.

 

"Deal," I said, "but I'm a big eater, and I'll be having desert."

 

He flashed me a smile, his teeth barely discernible, making my heart give an involuntary squeeze.

 

My attention was snapped back to the front of the classroom when Mr. Yang declared, "I want to discuss Ambiguity today."

 

He leaned against his desk and folded his arms. "What have we learnt about Ace and Naomi? Has their relationship changed?"

 

I answered, "She no longer finds him so aggravating. She's learnt that there's more to him than meets the eye. He's cocky and arrogant and needs to be taken down a peg or two, but he shows he cares for her."

 

"Want to give an example?" Mr. Yang enquired.

 

I flipped through my copy of Ambiguity, finding my desired extract nearer the beginning of the novel.

 

"Okay," I began, "in Chapter 10, before the revelations unearthed about Naomi's mother, it clearly shows how protective he can be."

 

 

 

An extract from Chapter 10 of Ambiguity

 

Naomi regards the man across the bar wearily. He's swaying, eyes unfocused, a finished pint in his outstretched hand. He's drunk, no doubt, and she should refuse to serve him. Only, she's alone tonight behind the bar, Bob having popped out not long before to pick up a relative from the airport, and she's worried he might prove difficult to handle.

 

Naomi shakes her head. "I'm sorry, but I can't serve you anymore. I think you've had enough and should go home."

 

The drunk's dilated pupils focus on her infinitely then, the drunkard superseding to an angry and easily riled threat. His lips are pulled back in a feral snarl, his eyebrows drawn down into a frown. He leans close towards her and Naomi backs up, frightened. She casts a swift glance across the room: closing time is in twenty minutes, and all customers have filed out relatively early. All save him, who still demands more.

 

"I tell ya when I finished," he slurs, faces inches from hers. "Pour. Me. A. Pint. Now. If ya know what's good for ya."

 

"If you don't leave, I'll have to call the police," she says, surprised to find that her voice is steady and calm. Her eyes instantly flit to the phone on the other side of the bar, and her heart sinks. Even though he's drunk and will be slower than her, he'll still be able to reach the phone before her, perhaps barring her way.

 

The drunk slams his empty glass against the bar, smashing it, sending shards of glass across the bar and onto the floor. She jumps back, colliding with the back counter, knocking down half a dozen glasses.

 

The kitchen doors fly open. In unison, both the drunk and Naomi's eyes lock onto the figure in the doorway. She never thought she'd ever be so relieved to see his face.

 

Ace's eyes take in the scene, his eyes flitting from the drunk to Naomi and then to the drunk once again, his face taking on its own feral snarl. Ace's hands are curled at his sides, into fists.

 

"I think you should leave now," Ace remarks, his voice cold and steady. He takes a step towards the drunk.

 

"I want another drink," the drunk slurs.

 

"No…"

 

"I'm entitled to another drink. You haven't closed yet!"

 

"Yes, we have."

 

Ace grabs the drunk's arm, roughly steering him out the door. When the drunk begins to struggle, Ace's hand goes to the drunk's fingers, yanking his index finger back violently, incapacitating him. He cries out, struck by the pain. Ace knows all too well the effect he's created: pain rocketing up the man's arm and into his shoulder blades, intense and burning, becoming stronger all the time. The drunk doesn't even attempt resistance now: he's putty in Ace's hands.

 

Naomi breathes a sigh of relief when he disappears through the doors, leaning against the bar for support.

 

Moments later, Ace is beside her, his features worried. "You okay?" he asks.

 

"I'm fine," she half snaps. "I could have handled him, 'y'know."

 

He fixes her with a look that speaks volumes: really?

 

"Naomi," he begins softly, "he's big, stupid, and drunk. You're petite and were on your own here. He could’ve turned nasty… he was turning nasty."

 

She doesn't want to admit that he's right and that she's lucky he was here at all, for that matter. But what is he still doing here?

 

"Didn't your shift finish an hour ago?"

 

He shrugs. "It took me longer than expected to clean the kitchen and make sure everything's ready for prep tomorrow. Whoever the last chef was, they weren't very well stocked. I've had to flit from a couple of supermarkets to gain the ingredients I want for tomorrow."

 

She nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer. She suspects there's perhaps more to it than that, there's no reason he couldn't just bring the ingredients with him tomorrow, instead of coming back here, late. Didn't he want to go home as soon as possible?

 

"Well," Naomi begins, "thanks for helping when you did. That whole disabling-thing was pretty cool. I couldn't believe it when he stopped struggling like that."

 

Ace shrugs, a small smirk quirking his lips. "Did I ever mention I'm a black belt in Karate?"

 

"Seriously?"

 

"Honestly. It's a handy technique. I'll have to show it to you sometime."

 

She nods enthusiastically, a small smile playing on her lips.

 

There's still so much she doesn't know about him, but gradually, she's beginning to piece him together.

 

 

 

"Awww," a girl cried out, "it's so sweet. Ace's so nice and stuff, but Naomi can be really stubborn. It's been pretty obvious she's liked him from the very beginning, but for whatever reason, she just won't admit it."

 

I frowned. "How?" I asked. "She first perceived him as a total , doing all she could just to ignore him. She even commented that he was, 'the bane of her existence', and 'a torment she'd been subjected to endure'. She really didn't like him in the beginning." I closed the book decisively, believing I'd made my point, and very well, until Jiyong issued a small cough beside me. I rolled my eyes, anticipating the contradictory remark.

 

"Actually," Jiyong said, "I think you're taking her words too literally. I don't think she ever thought him to be a 'torment' or the 'bane of her existence'. I think she felt the very opposite towards him."

 

I sarcastically remarked, "Really? Care to provide some evidence to support that theory?"

 

His lips twisted into a snarky grin. "Gladly." He flipped through the book, in search of an extract. "Here," he pointed out, reading:

 

 

 

An extract from Chapter 11 of Ambiguity

 

Naomi's eyes quickly flit to the wall clock: 11:55. Ace will be here any minute to begin his shift. She runs a hand through her hair, feeling the wiry strands sticking up this way and that. The customers are sparse, the ones remaining all with full pints. She decides that her presence won't be too sorely missed for the moment, and slips into the bathroom.

 

She regards her appearance in the mirror warily. She'd rushed out the door quickly this morning, barely having time to brush her hair and teeth, putting on a bit of makeup, something she'd only been accustomed to doing of late. She wasn't sure where the compulsion stemmed from, as she'd never ranked her appearance as high priority before, but now, found herself checking in mirrors whenever possible before work. Assessing her appearance once more and deciding she isn't going to look much better than this, she exits the bathroom, only to see Ace talking to a young female customer.

 

Naomi regards the customer with some contempt. She's very pretty, Naomi realizes, dressed in a short mini skirt that showcases long legs, her short-sleeved shirt also revealing. The girl has a habit of twirling a stray lock of hair, over and over again, leaning as close towards Ace as she possibly can.

 

"Ace?" Naomi calls.

 

Hearing his name, Ace's head snaps up, his surprised eyes locking with hers. He turns to the girl once again and smiles, uttering what Naomi hopes are his excuses to leave. But just before he comes over towards her, Naomi notes the scrap of paper the girl pushes into his hand.

 

Naomi grits her teeth, glaring at the girl.

 

Ace appears completely oblivious to her disdain, cheerfully greeting her with, "Hey."

 

"I need you to change the barrels," Naomi says tightly. It isn't a total lie, as the barrels would need changing, and soon, but they could have waited until tomorrow.

 

"Okay," he says, eyebrows raised at her tone. "Is something wrong?"

 

"No," she snaps. "Who were you talking to then? I saw her giving you a slip of paper. I'm presuming it’s her number, right?"

 

A smug smirk flits across his face because he knows what she's implying. Naomi just glares at him.

 

"Jealous are we?" he taunts.

 

She scoffs and turns her back on him, settling herself behind the bar. "I just thought your standards weren't as low as that," she coldly states.

 

The smirk remains obstinate on his lips. "Just because a girl gave me her number, it doesn't mean I'm dating her. In fact, I even told her that I wasn't interested, but she was quite persistent I take it in case I change my mind. Which I won't, by the way."

 

Naomi doesn't speak, too embarrassed because she'd quite obviously revealed that she was taking some interest in his love life. She knows she shouldn't care, but she does.

 

"Anyway," Ace continues, "I have my eyes on someone else."

 

 

 

Jiyong shut the book, smiling smugly. "Naomi starts taking more of an interest in her appearance because she wants to look good for Ace. And then, when she sees him with another girl, she gets jealous. And why would she behave like that? Because she likes him."

 

I held up my hands in surrender. He had a point, I suppose, even though I am loathe to admit it.

 

"Good arguments," Mr. Yang commended.

 

The blonde pipes up again with, "I find Naomi quite annoying. We've just established that she's attracted to Ace, so why does she keep turning him down?"

 

Jiyong grumbled, barely discernibly, "She's stubborn."

 

I rolled my eyes at his comment, proposing, "How can Naomi be sure that his advances are genuine? Maybe his 'asking her out' is all part of their banter, he could be winding her up."

 

"Ace's genuine," Jiyong imminently protested, "he wants to be with her, but she's just being difficult."

 

"Is she?" I retorted, "I don't think so. Naomi can't be sure of his advances because he's never been direct and he never voiced his feelings for her. Okay, perhaps he hints, but she still can't be sure that he's genuine and it's not part of their banter. Also, he could have anyone he wanted, what with all his admirers, so why settle for her?"

 

Jiyong opened his mouth, about to protest, when I interrupted, "She doesn't want to risk getting hurt. If Naomi were to respond too eagerly to his advances, then she'd be leaving herself vulnerable."

 

Jiyong looked at me intensely, his eyes bearing into mine. I blushed, wanting to look away but unable to, his eyes like magnets, drawing me in.

 

"He would never hurt her," Jiyong stated.

 

"He loves her, she just hasn't realized it yet."

 

 

 

 

 

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Kyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

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