This is fun. I like Patrick. I like him lots. I wonder what Kat's point of view would be like. Anyway. ROCK ON, JULIA STILES!!!!
Workshop again. This seems to be my favorite place to think. And, as usual in the past few days, it's about Kat. Or Stratford, whichever. Still the same person. I haven't tried talking to her yet since the Donnor-trashed-car episode; figure I might root around a little, see what she likes, stuff like that.
There's some whispering going on to my right—oh, Lord, it's the Eckpad and Perky group. All I can catch is "I'm not a fool!", but I could have a lot to say about that.
Perky kid's obviously decided to take his chances. He doesn't seem to care that I'm heating a piece of metal and that he's standing within hitting range.
"We know what you're trying to do…"
Yeah. I'm finishing up a project, dickhead.
"…with Kat Stratford."
Oh, that. "Is that right?" So what, jerk? "What are you planning to do about it?"
"H-help you out."
Okay, so this might be beneficial, but—
"Why is that?"
Eckdork kid pads in. "You see, the situation is this…my man Cameron here has a major jones for Bianca Stratford."
Jesus. Turning off flame; have decided not to hit the babies. "What is it with this chick; she have pear-flavored nipples?"
"Hey!" Ooh; I pissed off the Perky kid. Cameron, I'm guessing.
"Ah—" Eckfield cuts in—"I think I speak correctly when I say Cameron's love is pure." Love? Jesus. Sounds just like a sixth-grader, tripping over his own toes to fall in love. There is 'dating' and there is 'sex'. There is no 'love'. "Purer than, say, Joey Donnor's?"
Oh, that. "Look, Donnor can plow wherever he likes. I'm just in it for the cash." And the challenge, but they don't need to know that. Kat certainly is a challenge.
"Hey!—there will BE no PLOWING!" Pissed off Cameron again!—that kid needs to take some sort of relaxation pills, or else he'll explode…
I'd better put the drill away; the saw's shoved somewhere under the desk, and I really should try to retrieve it. And damn it if that Manneck kid isn't following me.
"Ah…Patrick…Pat…lemme explain something to ya here. We set this whole thing up so Cameron can get the girl. Cameron! Joey's just…a pawn."
A pawn? Donnor? It's about time someone saw him as more than a pretty boy…flaming imbecile is my point of view, but I don't want to bother thinking about him. But what this means is—
"So you two're going to help me tame the wild beast?" That could work.
"Absolutely. We'll do some research; we'll find out what she likes. We're your guys!"
That speech wasn't too bad, besides that he draped his arm around Cameron's shoulder at the end of it. Who, I think, has caught onto the raised eyebrow I gave them.
"A-and he means that in a strictly non-prison movie type of way."
Eckdick kid finally got the message; he dropped his arm and pulled this bright yellow sheet of paper out of his pocket.
"Ah—hm—let's start here. Now. Friday night…Bogey Lowenstein is having a party. It's the perfect opportunity!"
To go boil your balls? "For what?"
"For you to take out Kat," he says as if it should be obvious. Well, it should be. Shut up.
"I'll think about it."
So it's a good suggestion. So what? Doesn't mean I'll use it. Well, unfortunately, I will. Those two aren't that bad, and they'll probably help me without my having to pay them. But honestly, what is it WITH all these idiots going after Bianca? She's an insipid, tasteless, boring, shallow little witch who…who's got an extremely untameable sister. Attempt the unattainable, Patrick!
Shit. Mum's sick again. What is it with her and migraines? I'm guessing it was the Clorox fumes. Either way, there's no dinner unless I care to make it, which I don't, because I'm lazy, and she's curled up in bed watching an old Humphrey Bogart movie. My mom's got strange tastes. I had to leave for the bar downtown to get anything decent, because if Mum's playing Casablanca, I'm gonna have the Marseilleise stuck in my head for the next few weeks. And I don't like singing the French national anthem over and over again—did you know that's one of the bloodiest anthems there is? I mean, heck, the last line talks about soaking fields with the blood of the enemies…
Actually, the Mum being sick is an excuse to be here, even though she is. I told Cameron and Martin I'd be here—Cameron said he'd sound out Bianca on Kat. So I get to wait around for them. At least the beer's decent.
There they are; and it's about time. Mumbling something about hepatitis, but who am I to care. What do you wanna bet they've never been in a bar before?
"So, what've you got for me?" I ask as soon as they get over to my pool table.
"A little insight to a veeeery complicated girl," Cameron says. And then Marty interrupts, just as I'm trying to take a drink.
"Excuse me—ah—just one question, before we start…Should you be drinking alcohol when you don't have a liver?"
What the fuck? "What?"
"Nothin." Good thing he said that, too—is that another one of those stupid rumors? What'd I do this time, sell it to get a concubine or something?
"Arright." Cameron glared at him, along with me, and I think I did a better job. "First thing. Kat hates…smokers." He pointed to my cigarette.
Not just pointed. Took it out of my hand, dropped it, and stomped on it. I think I'm losing my touch. He's not scared. But I'm a bit pissed. Why can't that girl accept people as they are, for Christ's sake?
"So you're telling me I'm a…non…smoker?" What else will I have to go through—will I have to start looking like Donnor and join the soccer team? If that's the case, good-bye to that source of revenue.
"Y-yes. Just for now," they say, trying to make amends.
Cameron looks a bit troubled, and now he comes out with it. "And here's another problem. Bianca says Kat likes…pretty guys."
Excuse me? What're they trying to say here?
"You're telling me I'm not a pretty guy?"
Oh, this is hilarious. I seriously doubt either of them are gay, but they're simply falling over themselves trying to reassure me that I am, indeed, a pretty guy. But Matt's going overboard, and he's pissing me off doing so, with the winking thing.
"Er…okay." Cameron pulled out a sheet of paper. "Likes: Thai food, feminist books, and—" this sounds like a bad quote—" 'angry girl music of the indie-rock persuasion'. Here's a list of CD's she's got."
Letters to Cleo is the first band mentioned. Oh, hell no!
"So I'm supposed to by her some noodles and a book, and sit around listening to chicks who can't play their instruments?"
They don't really answer, so I'm taking that as a yes. Why can't that girl have more compatible tastes?
"Have you ever heard of Club Skunk?" Marlow asks. Huh?
"Her favorite band's playing there tomorrow night," Cameron explains.
Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, NO!
"I can't be seen at Club Skunk!"
"But she'll be there. She's got tickets."
Shit.
"Listen. Assail your ears for one night!"
No! I swear, anywhere but Club Skunk. I'll be drowned in heaves of snotty, sweaty chicks and waves of terrible music. Jesus, what a waste of an evening!
Well…if Kat's there, maybe. I guess I might have to.
"She has a pair of black underwear, if that helps."
Okay, I don't want to know HOW Cameron found that out, and I don't intend to ask.
"Couldn't hurt, right?"
If that Eckpad kid hits me on the shoulder one more time, I'm really gonna punch him. (He's not providing the information; Cameron is.)