Unconventional Romance
© 2003 Black Tangled Heart
Disclaimer: I don't own the movie. Honestly.
Dedication: to my darling China Doll.
~*~
The room was nearly silent. If it weren't for the shallow breaths of a tempestuous young woman who stood facing an awed group of adolescents, a pin would have made a loud sound when landing on the tiled floor.
"I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even a little bit; not even close," Kat choked. "Not even at all."
She closed her binder, shaking. Tears were running down her cheeks. Her classmates sat in open-mouthed silence, obviously stunned at both the beauty of her sonnet and the emotion the bitch queen had let herself display.
Lifting her chin up and dragging a hand across her cheek, she prepared to leave the room and cut her humiliation short. Professing love was something she would have never imagined doing, but Verona had changed that. It didn't stop her cheeks from burning; she felt no shame, just a sort of raw exposure that scared her.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she strode past the desks with as much dignity as she could manage. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Patrick stand up. To her great shock, he walked to where Kat had stood moments before and cleared his throat.
She lingered at the classroom door, and heard his voice.
"I hate your big sarcastic streak," he began. Kat's wildly thrumming heart jumped into her throat like a fish out of water. "And the confusing words you use. I hate that you judged me before letting me speak; I hate to see you blue."
He was writing for her.
He'd written it for her.
She turned to him, never having expected to see him nervous. He was trembling, just as she had been. The paper was crinkled in his anxious grip. He caught her eye. "I hate your bitch chick music and your disgust for cigarettes." She let herself grin. He'd always shut off Bikini Kill and Sleater-Kinney when he drove her car. "I hate you when you're drunk, and when your sister wears a sundress."
The intoxication part was probably a lie, but it widened her smile nonetheless. She retraced her steps back to the front of the classroom, but he held a hand up to stop her from reading the messy scrawl over his shoulder. She hugged her binder to her chest and waited for him to speak again.
"I hate that you're so angry; I really wish you'd smile more." More tears trickled down her cheeks. She was smiling so hard she thought her face would break. "I bought you a Fender Strat so we can settle the musical score."
Her binder clattered to the floor. Sheets of loose leaf and assignments were strewn ever which way. Without batting an eye to the mess, she grabbed his free hand and yanked him out the classroom door. She ran with him out to the parking lot. When the sun shone on their backs, she raised her face to his and kissed him - hard.
"I bought it," he told her between kisses, "because I sang for you. Now you can play for me."
She pulled back and knit her brow together. "Material things won't make up for every future screw up."
He stroked her cheek and grinned. "There's always Sleater-Kinney concert tickets."
~*~
FIN
Author's Note: Sleater-Kinney is my favourite indie band. They weren't mentioned in the film, but Bikini Kill was. As far as I know, the band has broken up. I apologize for any confusion. I hope the story was enjoyable regardless.
© 2003 Black Tangled Heart
Disclaimer: I don't own the movie. Honestly.
Dedication: to my darling China Doll.
~*~
The room was nearly silent. If it weren't for the shallow breaths of a tempestuous young woman who stood facing an awed group of adolescents, a pin would have made a loud sound when landing on the tiled floor.
"I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even a little bit; not even close," Kat choked. "Not even at all."
She closed her binder, shaking. Tears were running down her cheeks. Her classmates sat in open-mouthed silence, obviously stunned at both the beauty of her sonnet and the emotion the bitch queen had let herself display.
Lifting her chin up and dragging a hand across her cheek, she prepared to leave the room and cut her humiliation short. Professing love was something she would have never imagined doing, but Verona had changed that. It didn't stop her cheeks from burning; she felt no shame, just a sort of raw exposure that scared her.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she strode past the desks with as much dignity as she could manage. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Patrick stand up. To her great shock, he walked to where Kat had stood moments before and cleared his throat.
She lingered at the classroom door, and heard his voice.
"I hate your big sarcastic streak," he began. Kat's wildly thrumming heart jumped into her throat like a fish out of water. "And the confusing words you use. I hate that you judged me before letting me speak; I hate to see you blue."
He was writing for her.
He'd written it for her.
She turned to him, never having expected to see him nervous. He was trembling, just as she had been. The paper was crinkled in his anxious grip. He caught her eye. "I hate your bitch chick music and your disgust for cigarettes." She let herself grin. He'd always shut off Bikini Kill and Sleater-Kinney when he drove her car. "I hate you when you're drunk, and when your sister wears a sundress."
The intoxication part was probably a lie, but it widened her smile nonetheless. She retraced her steps back to the front of the classroom, but he held a hand up to stop her from reading the messy scrawl over his shoulder. She hugged her binder to her chest and waited for him to speak again.
"I hate that you're so angry; I really wish you'd smile more." More tears trickled down her cheeks. She was smiling so hard she thought her face would break. "I bought you a Fender Strat so we can settle the musical score."
Her binder clattered to the floor. Sheets of loose leaf and assignments were strewn ever which way. Without batting an eye to the mess, she grabbed his free hand and yanked him out the classroom door. She ran with him out to the parking lot. When the sun shone on their backs, she raised her face to his and kissed him - hard.
"I bought it," he told her between kisses, "because I sang for you. Now you can play for me."
She pulled back and knit her brow together. "Material things won't make up for every future screw up."
He stroked her cheek and grinned. "There's always Sleater-Kinney concert tickets."
~*~
FIN
Author's Note: Sleater-Kinney is my favourite indie band. They weren't mentioned in the film, but Bikini Kill was. As far as I know, the band has broken up. I apologize for any confusion. I hope the story was enjoyable regardless.
