"What type of music do you like?" Estella asked me as we made our way off of school grounds, and I sent her a funny look.

        "I gave you control of the AUX chord for a reason. We're not supposed to be focusing on my music taste."

        "I know, but..." She thought about it for a second. "I like all music, so I'm curious on which one you'll be most impressed by."

        I smirked her way. "You wanna impress me?"

        She had a closed-lip smile. "That's why we're doing this, right? So you can finally see the real me, and not the girl you think I am." She wasn't lying there. "So, what is it?"

        It was a no-brainer. "Rock and metal."

        Estella's eyes went big. "Rock and metal?" I nodded. "And you're in hip-hop company?"

        "Why not?" I made a turn and hung an arm outside Verda's window.

        "Please tell me you at least like hip-hop."

        "Not really," I replied, and confusion edged her face. "I don't hate it, but I wouldn't listen to it outside of practicing my routines."

        "How is that possible?" She stared ahead as she processed what I had just told her.

        "C'mon," I said while sneaking glimpses at her. "Do you listen to classical music and marches in your spare time?"

        She scrunched up her face. "Of course not."

        "But you're in band," I pointed out, and she pursed her lips into a thoughtful pout. "My point exactly."

        "I guess you're right." She let it go and reached for the AUX chord again, and she plugged her phone in. "Do you mostly listen to American rock and metal?"

        "Mostly."

        She shook her head. "What a shame. Time for me to change that. Have you ever listened to symphonic metal?"

        "Symphonic metal?" I winced as I thought about it.

        I had never heard of such a thing.

        "I'm guessing that's a 'no.'" Her gaze stayed on her phone as she searched for whatever music she was about to play. "I usually don't like listening to band music in my free time, but symphonic rock and symphonic metal is the closest I'll ever get to listening to anything symphonic, outside of band."

        "Whatchu got?" I peeked down at her phone, but she kept it hidden and turned up the volume as the music began.

        "This is Within Temptation," she said.

        A woman's voice emitted from the stereo and various symphonic instruments played in the background, and as the song progressed, the familiar sound of a blaring guitar and loud drums joined in.

        As we listened to the music, I couldn't help but bob my head to it, and Estella laughed as she watched me get into the song. I was surprisingly engrossed in the music.

        It was metal, but at the same time, it wasn't the type of metal I usually listened to.

        "What song is this?" I asked her as the bridge of the song passed, and she looked my way.

        "It's called 'Frozen,'" she said. "This is the first song that made me fall in love with Within Temptation and a bunch of other European, symphonic metal bands."

        "Wow." I couldn't help but keep sneaking peeks at her. "You like European music?"

        "I listen to everything," she said while playing a new song after the old one ended. The woman's voice returned, but this one sounded a lot more haunting. "This one is called 'The Truth Beneath the Rose.' Another one of my favorites."

        "What does everything include?" I refused to let it go.

        "Everything meaning almost everything," she said. "I love European music, Hispanic music, Asian music, African music, Middle-Eastern music. Everything—whether it's metal, rock, pop, hip-hop—I don't care. If it sounds good, it sounds good."

        Wow.

        I never expected this from Estella. I always assumed she was a mainstream, American pop kind of girl due to the way she dressed and the way she carried herself.

         Who would have known?

        "I just love music from different cultures, y'know?" she went on. "There's something beautiful about the way music unites people, no matter how different they are. Art as a whole is very inclusive, and anyone can appreciate it, even if you don't come from the culture it originates from. At the same time, it's all about respect and appreciation for the culture and its people. If we can be grateful for the artists that create our favorite songs, why can't we be grateful for the very people who created a culture we're appreciating?"

        We stopped at a red light, which I was grateful for because all I could do was stare at her.

        That was probably one of the sexiest things a girl could ever say.

        It was even more surprising coming from Estella.

        I always perceived her to be very closed-minded and stuck-up, but hearing this was a wake-up call. Maybe it was time I stopped making assumptions about her.

        Even though she was still weird, she became a little more intriguing.

        The light changed, and I refocused on the road. "I gotta say, Estella, I'm impressed."

        "I know."

        My brows furrowed together with a smile on my lips. "You know, maybe you are vain."

        "Maybe," she said while staring ahead. "No one's perfect."

        "Oh, yeah? What are some of your flaws?" I asked. "Other than being annoying, of course." I couldn't resist, and she smacked my arm. "Hey! Don't slap someone while they're driving. Are you trying to die?"

        "I can't even with you." She huffed and stared out the window.

        She made this too easy.

        "You're lucky I can't drive," she mumbled, "or I would have just stolen your car and driven myself home."

        "Like that would work." She stuck her tongue out at me. "Add that to the list of flaws." She tilted her head to the side. "Your immaturity."

        She pouted. "I'm very mature."

        "Mature girls don't pout as much as you do."

        She almost pouted again, but she stopped herself and curled her lips into her mouth instead. "I'm not immature," she repeated with her arms crossed.

        "Okay," I said slowly, "then prove me wrong. You don't drive, but do you at least have a permit?" She was silent. "You're kidding me."

        "I haven't gotten around to it," she defended. "Unlike other people, I don't really care about driving anytime soon, but it'll happen." I watched her carefully. "Eventually."

        "Fine," I said. "Another test. Do you know how to cook?" She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. "Do you know how to cook something that doesn't involving microwaving it?"

        "I can cook ramen," she said, but I wasn't buying that shit. "It's the one that comes in the packs, but you don't microwave it. You have to boil the water and put it in the pot and put the ingredients in and everything."

        "That doesn't count," I cut in before she kept blabbering. "Okay, so 'no' for cooking." Estella twisted her lips to the side as she glanced out the window. "Do you do your own laundry, at least?" She completely hid her face from me now, and my jaw almost dropped in shock and amusement. "You can't be serious."

        "Okay, fine!" She shifted in the seat to face me with a faux glare directed at me. "I can't drive. I can't cook, and I can't do my own laundry. That doesn't mean I'm immature."

        "You're right," I agreed. "It doesn't always mean a person is immature, but in your case, you are." I chuckled but she continued to watch me with that firm look, and my own smile died down. "C'mon, Estella. I'm messing with you. Yeah, those things make you different, but it all makes you you. Wear your immaturity with pride."

        I nudged her arm, but she refused to look at me, and my smile diminished. "Estella." I elbowed her again, but she still wasn't looking at me. "Are you actually upset about this?" She angrily crossed her arms and shifted her body away from me as she focused solely out the window. "You see?! That's exactly what I'm talking about. Mature people don't do that."

        "Whatever, Jax." She finally turned to me with a scowl on her face. "Fine. I'm immature, but you're not perfect either."

       "Never said I was."

        "Okay, then," she said. "I'm immature, but let's talk about your list."

        "Go at it." I briefly raised my arms before returning them to the wheel and out the window.

        "You're the definition of 'anti-social.'"

        "How's that a flaw?" I joked, but she didn't look amused.

        "A lot of people are scared to talk to you," she continued, "and I'm amazed I talk to you."

        "Why do you?" I was genuinely curious.

        I didn't understand why I talked to her either.

        We had nothing in common, but for some strange reason, she didn't annoy me, even though she was generally an annoying person.

        I didn't know what it was about Estella that I was tolerant of.

        "I honestly don't know," she said. "I can talk to you for hours, without a problem, even though you're one of the most difficult guys to maintain a conversation with."

        "Thanks," I said with sarcasm coating my voice, but she wasn't lying. I wasn't a conversationalist, and I honestly didn't care to be one. "What's the problem?"

        "The problem is, how the hell can I talk to you of all people but barely have the guts to talk to Brice?" she blurted out. "Eep!" She clasped a hand over her mouth, and my head snapped in her direction.

        "Brice?" I came to a slow stop into her driveway and killed the engine. "What about Brice?" I removed my seatbelt and turned in my seat to face her as she stared at me wide-eyed. "What about Brice, Estella?"

        She shook her head with a look of pure horror on her face.

        Did she...?

        "Why do you want to talk to Brice?" I decided to play dumb instead, needing to hear her deny it or admit it.

        Her hands slowly came down from her mouth, but her gaze averted away from me. "It really isn't that big of a deal. Pretend I didn't say anything."

        "No, say it," I urged her. "What about Brice?"

        Estella cautiously held eye contact with me, and she swallowed before saying, "I have a crush on Brice."

        I almost wrinkled my nose.

        I expected it after that outburst, but it still sounded peculiar. A lot of girls had a crush on Brice, but it was just bizarre having Estella be one of them.

        "Wow..." I didn't know what else to say. "Brice, huh?"

        She nodded as she lowered her head and peered up at me.

        Estella and Brice?

        It was a weird combination. I didn't know how to feel about it.

       I scratched my head. "Interesting."

        "Please don't tell him," she pleaded while grabbing a hold of my arm.

        I released myself from her grasp. "Trust me. I have better things to do than go around exposing your crush." She released a relief breath. "Brice." I grinned, deciding to mess with her some more. "Is that why you hang out with me? To get closer to Brice?"

        "Of course not." She rolled her eyes while my grin didn't waver. "I naturally like to torture myself, so I talk to you."

       "Whatever." We both stared out the windshield, not saying anything.

        Brice and Estella...

        I still couldn't wrap my head around it.

        After a couple seconds, Estella chewed on her lip with her gaze flickering between me and her lap. "I don't want things to be awkward." She had my attention now, and I adjusted myself in the seat. "Right now, we're acting as if I just told you that I like you."

        "What's wrong with that?" I teased.

        "You're not Brice," she said with a smile.

        She was being jovial and cute, like she always was, but that statement left a sour taste in my mouth.

        "I don't wanna be Brice," I retorted, "so it's a win-win. Plus, Brice likes mature girls." Estella frowned. "If you want him, you might wanna work on that."

        I patted her knee and unlocked the door, so she could escort herself out whenever she wanted.

        I was getting bored of this conversation.

        "How 'mature' do they have to be?" she asked.

        Was she actually taking this seriously?

        I was messing with her, like I had a tendency to do. As soon as Brice's name came up, it was as if she forgot all about how things worked between us.

        "Estella," I said with a sigh, "don't worry about it."

        "How mature?" she egged on.

Those who gave him sex without being too clingy.

        In all honesty, I wasn't giving Brice enough credit. He wasn't that shallow.

        "Women," I answered. "He likes women, not girls."

        Estella narrowed her eyes. "And that includes Sabrina Fraser?"

        My jaw tightened with my eyes slitting. "I don't know. They did break up, after all."

        The last person I wanted to think about was Sabrina Fraser. Then again, the last thing I wanted to think about was Estella's crush on Brice. I needed to get home.

        "I have to go, Estella," I said while putting my seatbelt on, and she grabbed her backpack.

        "Yeah, sorry." She unplugged her phone and when she was set to go, she smiled at me. "Thanks for the ride."

        "No problem." I looked ahead but could sense her stare from my peripheral.

        "We're good, right?"

        I peered over at her as she eyed me, and I nodded. "We're good, and now I know more about you."

        Like her taste in music and men.

        Her shoulders relaxed. "See you later, Jax." She opened the door, but stopped mid-way and glanced back at me. "Oh, and the French test? It was a breeze, so be prepared to lose that bet."

        "You wish," I said with a scoff.

        "We'll have to see." She winked at me before stepping out and closing the door behind her.

        I watched her make her way to her front door, and I didn't drive off until she waved back at me and stepped into the safety of her house.

        The whole ride back felt off. As soon as Estella mentioned Brice, things felt different between us. The ease and nonchalance I usually experienced around her deflated, and I was reminded of a sad fact.

        Estella was a little more intriguing than most people, as of now, and she didn't piss me off, but she was still one thing.

        Predictable.

        Like everyone else.

When I got home, my father was passed out on the couch with the TV off, and my mother was at work. I trashed the empty beer bottles and grabbed one of the torrijas laid out on the table. My father loved making them on his rare cooking sprees, even when it wasn't Lent.

        I munched on the pastry as I headed up to my room. I finished the last bite, and I received a call from Ximena as soon as I stepped into my room. "Hola?" I answered and threw my backpack to the side.

        "Hola, Jax," she purred. "Haven't heard from you in a while."

        "Why are you calling?" I flopped down onto my bed, kicking my shoes off in the process.

        "Can't I call my boyfriend?" I didn't miss the snicker in her voice.

        "You can," I said, "but there's always a catch."

        "Well," she started, "we haven't talked since you returned my call after I drunkenly called you." That was almost a month ago. "Plus, Ana wants to call me in a couple minutes, and I need an excuse to not talk to her."

        Of course. Ana was Ximena's mother.

        "You could have just ignored the call," I said, and she didn't respond immediately.

        "Jax, don't make this difficult."

        I brushed my hair back with my hand as I released a long breath. "Why do we do this, Ximena?"

        "Do what?" There was the familiar sound of sheets ruffling. She was probably climbing into bed.

        "This." I motioned with my hands as if she could see me. "Whatever this is between us. Why do we do it?"

        "I don't know," she said, "but we both know we can't do any better, so we might as well make the best of it. Am I right, Iago?"

        That sounded off, too—her calling me Iago.

        "Sure," I said anyway.

        "Exactly." There was more ruffling. "Now, estás solo?"

        She wanted to know if I was alone in my room.

        "Si."

        She chuckled. "Will your parents be walking in anytime soon?"

        "Nope."

        I knew where this was going.

        "Let me FaceTime you then." She ended the call, but a minute later, I was getting another one from FaceTime and I picked up. "I'm back!" She was seated on her bed, her legs criss-crossed, with shorts and a tank top on. Her phone was probably propped up against something because both her hands were free. "Now, why don't we have some fun? Let's remind each other exactly why we do this."

        Both hands grabbed the hem of her tank top, and she pulled it off, revealing her lace bra. I sat up against my headboard with my eyes locked on her.

        We were separated by distance and a phone, but this would do.

        "Lead the way," I said as I removed my own shirt and started working on my jeans.

        Ximena would have been the perfect girl for Brice because he would get sex without any strings attached. I doubted Estella would give him that. She was way in over her head, but then again, so was I.

        "I hope all those high school girls haven't made you forgotten what it's like to be with a mature woman." She slid out of her shorts while I discarded of my jeans.

        "No," I said, "they haven't."
        Once Ximena and I started dating, I hadn't slept with anyone else.

        "Bueno," she said before unclasping her bra.

        This was the best both Ximena and I could do.

        It was time I followed her advice and made the best of it.

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* I'm excited for the upcoming chapters because things are starting to get interesting now. 😀

* Song is "The Truth Beneath the Rose" by Within Temptation. They're the first band I ever became obsessed with. If you're into their sound, I definitely recommend them.