Boilerplate Disclaimer: The various characters from the Kim Possible series are owned by Disney. All registered trade names property of their respective owners. Cheap shots at celebrities constitute fair usage.
Shego: If You're Just Drop-Dead Gorgeous, You Should Just Drop Dead
"What happened to your eye, Shego?" Drakken asked as I poured a bowl of Special K.
"I ran into a door," I snapped.
"It look's like a–"
"A door named Kim Possible, she'll be eating her breakfast through a straw." I doubted that was true, but it never hurts to imagine the best case scenario. More likely Princess would just have a fat lip.
"I hope she didn't follow you back here, I–"
"We came to a kind of understanding. We're going to ignore each other until your plan comes together."
"You aren't going to tell her when I–"
"Nah, she'll figure it out when you take over the world."
"Of course." Drakken still had no idea when his latest plan would come together, but still insisted it would be his greatest ever. His latest plan will always be his greatest ever. He's like some guy who's been divorced twenty-seven times and thinks it's always her fault – and that woman he met at the drugstore yesterday will be wife twenty-eight and things will be perfect with her. Yeah, just like the last twenty-seven.
He needs a healthy dose of reality, but he always resents it when I try and give it to him, so today I just smiled and nodded. I was in a good mood and wasn't going to let him ruin it.
There are some advantages to knowing your address for at least a few days at a time. After I got back from Nerdlinger's yesterday I checked out things to do around Middleton on the internet. April Smith was giving a concert tonight. How could that not put me in a good mood?
Ha Ha Tonka was on the bill too. I might have gone for Ha Ha Tonka alone, but for April Smith I'd kill to get a ticket.
Fortunately there seemed no reason to think I'd need to kill anyone to get in, or even get ripped off by a scalper. The joy of indie music, there aren't enough people who appreciate the good stuff to worry about most concerts selling out.
Just in case, however, I arrived at the Donner Party Theater a good hour before the concert, when the webpage said the box office would open. The Donner was old, and small – easily before the days of electronic speakers when the vaudeville performers had to project.
I went in. Most of the seats had been taken out long ago. I didn't mind standing. I smiled, there was a bar slash concession stand to the back and side of the theater.
It got better, they had a local microbrewery on tap.
"Can I see your ID?" the guy selling me the stout asked.
"I don't look twenty-one?"
"State law... And maybe I want to know your name."
I pulled out a fake ID and showed it to him.
"Kendra... Pretty name," he commented and gave me change. "If you need a protector, I'm available."
The reference was obviously to my shiner. "Thanks, but I fight my own battles."
"I have other talents, anything you need?"
He was cute, but so not my type. "Not at the moment," I laughed. "But I'll keep you in mind if I do. What's your name?"
"Bob. Bob Reynolds." He slid me a card. "My phone number's on it."
I put it in my pocket. I doubted I'd ever give him a call, but sometimes you just want to be with a normal human being – and Drakken did not count for that. I sipped the stout as Bob and the other concession workers waited on other customers.
He managed to ask a couple questions. I managed to be evasive in my answers.
Other people started filtering into the theater. It might turn into a large crowd, and down by the stage was THE place to stand. I didn't want to miss out. I chugged the last couple swallows and threw away the plastic cup.
"See you, Kendra," Bob called optimistically.
I waved politely and headed down to stake out a place for myself. I found a prime spot, on the right hand side of the stage, and started chatting with a couple other women. One was about my age. I guessed the other might be one of Pumpkin's classmates. Her clothes identified the teen as a hipster and her attitude marked her as far too smug... I've got nothing against smug – if you've earned it. I earned my smug. Nerdlinger had earned his smug. He was a genius and he knew it. Princess... Hell, my black eye proved she was good. Having been to one more April Smith concert than the other woman and having a member of Green Day autograph a CD did not give this chick any smug credits. But she displayed a vaguely infectious enthusiasm for the concert which reminded me of a puppy... Or the Wegos.
A couple guys, hipster wannabees, came over and were trying to flirt with the smug teen. It was amusing to watch. I liked to think I'd never been that clumsy and awkward in my teen years. The other woman and I smiled and rolled our eyes at the antics of the trio.
If Jane Austen were alive today I wonder what she could have done with these teens.
God, it felt so good to be out of the lair, doing something fun, and not having to worry about running into the damn cheerleader. Ten minutes until the concert started. I couldn't remember the last time I felt this good.
Let it never be said God doesn't have a sense of humor. Maybe he has it in for me because I use his name in vain so much. I can remember the taste of soap too damn well. Or maybe I'd given myself the evil eye. All I know is, five minutes after I congratulated myself on an evening free of Pumpkin I glanced toward the the back of Donner Hall and saw the redhead coming in with Doofus. I tried to shake it off. I'd come for a good time and I'd be damned if she would rob me of that.
