Chapter Ten
Cruel to be Kind
A/N: I keep hearing there's a bit here about 'I get to pick the tunes!' but my copy must be strange, 'cos I don't have that bit, so I've just done it from where mine cuts in, at 'I should do this!' If this note makes any sense whatsoever, I'm surprised.
I feel better now. We're in the car; Letters to Cleo are playing full blast.
"I should do this!" I gesture towards the radio.
"What?" asks Patrick from the drivers seat.
"This!" I gesture more extravagantly.
"What, start a band?"
"No - install car stereos!" I say sarcastically, but without malice. "Yeah start a band. My father would love that!"
We reach my house. The music goes off and he looks at me.
"You don't strike me as the type that would ask your father for permission."
"What, so now you think you know me?"
"I'm getting there."
"The only thing people know about me is I'm scary." Suddenly I'm so fed up of the whole mucked-up system! Can I not have my own likes and dislikes without being hated by everyone!
"Yeah, well, I'm no picnic myself." I look up at him quickly, remembering what Mandella said. 'His reputation's almost as bad as yours.'
He notices the moment. When it's got uncomfortable, he relieves the tension a little by saying, "So, what's with your dad, is he a pain in the ass?" He looks sympathetic.
"No, he just wants me to be someone I'm not." I reply, thinking.
"Who?" he asks softly.
"Bianca!" in the most fake, cheerleader, full-of-silicon voice I can muster.
"Oh." He laughs a little, then straightens his face. "You know, no offence, I know everyone 'digs' your sister." Love the quotations - ".but, well, she's without." He makes a sorry-if-I've-offended-you face at me but doesn't cringe, which I like. A lot. In fact, I really like this guy.
"You know, you're not as vile as I thought you were," I whisper, moving towards him. My eyes close.
"Maybe we should do this another time."
What? My eyes snap open. I thought he liked me! I could almost cry, but no, I'm Kat Stratford, I never cry. And especially not over stupid, unwashed screwboy miscreants.Curls.
I get out the car and slam the door, storming off into the house without looking back.
I can't believe him!
Cruel to be Kind
A/N: I keep hearing there's a bit here about 'I get to pick the tunes!' but my copy must be strange, 'cos I don't have that bit, so I've just done it from where mine cuts in, at 'I should do this!' If this note makes any sense whatsoever, I'm surprised.
I feel better now. We're in the car; Letters to Cleo are playing full blast.
"I should do this!" I gesture towards the radio.
"What?" asks Patrick from the drivers seat.
"This!" I gesture more extravagantly.
"What, start a band?"
"No - install car stereos!" I say sarcastically, but without malice. "Yeah start a band. My father would love that!"
We reach my house. The music goes off and he looks at me.
"You don't strike me as the type that would ask your father for permission."
"What, so now you think you know me?"
"I'm getting there."
"The only thing people know about me is I'm scary." Suddenly I'm so fed up of the whole mucked-up system! Can I not have my own likes and dislikes without being hated by everyone!
"Yeah, well, I'm no picnic myself." I look up at him quickly, remembering what Mandella said. 'His reputation's almost as bad as yours.'
He notices the moment. When it's got uncomfortable, he relieves the tension a little by saying, "So, what's with your dad, is he a pain in the ass?" He looks sympathetic.
"No, he just wants me to be someone I'm not." I reply, thinking.
"Who?" he asks softly.
"Bianca!" in the most fake, cheerleader, full-of-silicon voice I can muster.
"Oh." He laughs a little, then straightens his face. "You know, no offence, I know everyone 'digs' your sister." Love the quotations - ".but, well, she's without." He makes a sorry-if-I've-offended-you face at me but doesn't cringe, which I like. A lot. In fact, I really like this guy.
"You know, you're not as vile as I thought you were," I whisper, moving towards him. My eyes close.
"Maybe we should do this another time."
What? My eyes snap open. I thought he liked me! I could almost cry, but no, I'm Kat Stratford, I never cry. And especially not over stupid, unwashed screwboy miscreants.Curls.
I get out the car and slam the door, storming off into the house without looking back.
I can't believe him!