Disclaimer: Shakespeare owns some. Disney owns some. In my opinion, Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles own some. I only own the OCs.

Author's Note: I was browsing through story ideas and hit on this one. I love the movie and I don't want to mess the plot line up, so don't expect this fic to take an AU turn somewhere along the way. It will stay true to the movie.

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Ring. Ring.

"Patrick?"

Ring. Ring.

"Patrick, are you going to get that?"

Ring. Ring.

With a sigh, Ashlee Verona set her book down and rose from the couch.

Ring. Ring.

"I'm coming. Gosh," she mumbled as she stumbled into the kitchen that was connected to the tiny living room.

Ring. Ri—

"Hello?"

"Hello?"

"Yes?"

"Hey, is Patrick around?"

"Yeah, somewhere. Who's this?"

"Who's this?"

"Um, you called me, so I really don't have to answer that question."

"Neither do I."

"In that case, I'm just going to hang up now. You'll have to catch Pat later."

"No wait, I don't want to talk to him. I need to ask you something."

"What?"

"Did he really eat the duck?"

"Is that what this is about?"

"I really need to know."

"Oh well."

"What?"

"Why don't you ask Patrick if he ate that duck?"

"He'd kill me."

"At least then you'd stop bothering me."

"You're his sister, right?"

"Nope, I'm his prison bud, Chuck."

"What the hell?"

"Bye now."

Ashlee rolled her eyes as she hung up the phone before heading back to the couch. Picking up her book, she opened it up to the bookmarked page and started reading again.

"Who was that?"

Looking up, Ashlee saw her older brother standing in the kitchen doorway dressed in a pair of long blue pajama bottoms and a white wife-beater. His dark hair was soaking wet from a shower and was dripping water into a pool around his bare feet.

"Oh, you know, just another call from an idiotic fellow student who wanted to confirm some rumors about you."

Patrick's eyes lit up and he moved to join her on the couch.

"No way, Pat, you're soaking wet! Gosh, don't you towel your hair when you're done?"

He ignored her and dumped her legs off the couch unceremoniously. "Scoot your big butt over, Ash," he demanded in a playful tone.

Ashlee pulled an expression of feigned offense. "How dare you! And for your – hey! That's my blanket! I draw the line at my blanket! You're wet, Patrick!"

Laughing, he began to shake his hair out like a dog shaking water from its fur. Droplets of moisture flew in every direction. Ashlee screeched and took cover under her blanket to wait out the storm.

"It's raining, it's pouring," Patrick's rich baritone voice belted out.

"And the old man is snoring," Ashlee poked her head out from under her make-shift shield, "you'd better not wake Grandpa. He finally went to bed!"

"Did he now? What was the problem this time?" He stopped moving and smiled down at her. "You can come out now; the flood is over."

"About time!"

"Noah had to wait forty days and forty nights."

"That was lame, Pat."

"Ahem, I asked what was wrong with Grandpa."

"Oh, he thought it was snowing outside, and that the snow was talking to him."

Patrick grimaced. "Yikes."

"Yeah. Oh, and he wanted Mom to be home. I had the hardest time getting him to understand that she was working late again tonight."

Another grimace. "I wish she wouldn't do that so much."

"Me, too," Ashlee sighed. "Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about that, Pat."

"About Mom working late?"

"About me possibly finding a job."

His face grew visibly upset. "Absolutely not. There is no way you're getting a job."

Ashlee glared at him. "Come on, I don't mean a stressful one with long-days and overtime. I was thinking of a part-time job that would bring in a few extra dollars. Mom wouldn't have to work late all the time. You wouldn't have to work so much. Sixteen's plenty old enough for a part-time job."

"Ashlee, no."

"Patrick, there is no reason –"

"Oh yes there is, and we're not even going to go into this. Just drop it, Ash. Drop it."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Ashlee jutted her jaw out and refused to look at her brother. After a few minutes of silence, he nudged her and said in a soft voice, "You know, your muscles are going to cramp like that, and you'll be stuck looking like a pissed off monkey for the rest of sophomore year."

Frustrated as she was, Ashlee couldn't help but giggle. "How anyone is scared of you, Pat, I just don't know."

"I make myself scary," he said in a pleased tone. "And I don't offer any information about myself, so I'm a mystery to them."

"Oh, big whoop. Fantastic. Whatever. You're so special," Ashlee drawled.

Patrick snorted at her sarcasm. "Hey, you're not exactly an open book at school either."

"At least I don't go around lighting up in the classroom and killing my biology experiments with gusto."

"They're already dead, Ash."

"I know."

"And it's not with gusto; it's with interest."

Ashlee smiled up at him, "I know, Dr. Verona. I know."

He matched her look with a grin of his own. "You know what I think, Ash?"

"What?"

"It's past your bedtime."

She whirled to look at the clock. "But it's only ten-twenty!"

"You've had a long day."

"Only because I had to wait for you to get out of detention again," she shot back.

"Touché. Now, bed," he said, pointing towards the hall.

Gathering up her blanket and book, she narrowed her eyes at him, "Fine, I'm going, but you have to put the kettle on to boil so Mom can have some tea when she gets in."

"Goodnight, Ash."

She paused in the door and glanced back. "'Night, Pat." Then, halfway down the hall she turned again and called, "Kettle, now!"

Patrick's laugh carried from the living room. "I'm on my way right now."

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Author's Note: And there's the first chapter. Let me know if I should continue it, please.

-- pj