Disclaimer: Shakespeare owns some. Disney owns some. In my opinion, Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles own some. But I only own the OCs. I also don't own Fall Out Boy, Belinda Carlisle, Carly Simon, or Friends.
Author's Note: So the first chapter was sort of the introduction. Starting with this one, the chapters are going to be significantly longer. I've been doing a ton of research and planning for this story, and I'm so excited about writing it! Thanks for the all reviews! I was pleasantly surprised to see people reading over the holidays! Here's chapter two: enjoy!
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Ashlee snuggled further under her covers and listened as the gentle hum of the washer and dryer filled the room. She was so tired! After a few more adjustments to find the most comfortable position, plus a couple of failed attempts to return to a subconscious state, Ashlee gave up and opened her eyes. Sunlight was peeking through the small window that sat high up in the opposite wall. It had to be close to noon. She lay there for a while longer, allowing her aching muscles to appreciate the luxury of relaxation, and studying the peeling puke green paint on the walls. Patrick kept saying he was going to paint the room a cheery mix of orange and pink, but he hadn't gotten around to fulfilling that promise yet. Ashlee couldn't blame him; he was so busy all the time: working two part-time jobs, completing his senior year of high school, and being the man of the house. Of course their mother, Lorraine, worked long hours at the hospital as a nurse and medical records officer, six days a week, trying to make ends meet. Times were hard, and oh god, she felt so useless.
Unbidden, her mind drifted to the previous year in Milwaukee. Grandpa Russ had been sick, resulting in the entire family moving out there to try and get him back on his feet. It was evident after a few months, though, that he wasn't going to be able to live by himself any longer. The family waited till the school year was over -- Lorraine didn't want to make Pat switch schools in the middle of junior year -- and moved back to Washington with Grandpa Russ. Ashlee, of course, hadn't been in school at all that year due to –
– angrily, her brain realized that she had been once again reminiscing. With a frustrated sigh, Ashlee pushed back the blankets and swung her legs over the side of her bed. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she set to work folding her covers and stacking them with her pillows on the dryer. Choosing to leave her bed open till she had changed from her pajamas, she crossed to her short dresser that was crammed in the corner. She had a good deal of French homework to complete today, secret hopes for a trip to the park, but also a doctor's appointment to attend. Deciding to go with comfortable yet presentable, Ashlee selected a pair of dark brown capris and a fitted blue t-shirt that read, "'Not a morning person' – doesn't even begin to cover it!" Pat had bought her the shirt the day before she started her sophomore year, again. With a shove, Ashlee pushed her bed into its futon position just as the washing machine finished its cycle and started the rinse. One bedroom successfully converted back into a laundry room. Ta da!
She grabbed her keys and backpack on the way out her door, only to stop when she realized the temperature of the rest of the house was significantly cooler than that in the stuffy room with the drying machine. Quickly, Ashlee went back and grabbed her brown hoodie from her dresser. The sweatjacket actually used to belong to Patrick, but he had long since outgrown it and she found it super comfie. Once in the kitchen, Ashlee retrieved a glass from the cupboard and filled it with orange juice. Setting it on the counter, she looked to her left down the hall and then to her right into the living room. Both empty. As quickly as she could, she dropped to a squat and reached into the bottom cupboard, feeling around until her hand closed on her prized Honey Bunches of Oats. With a triumphant smile, Ashlee stood back up and was greeted by her brother's tall frame and loud rendition of –
"SATURDAY-EAH! When these open doors were open-ended! SATURDAY-EAH! When these open doors were open-ended! Yeah-yeah-yeah!"
"Pat!"
He stopped singing and stared at her innocently. "What?"
One hand on her racing heart, the other clutching her precious cereal tightly, Ashlee squeezed her eyes shut and tried to not laugh. "You're an idiot. Grandpa's probably asleep!"
"I can't slee—eep! In the wake of SATURDAY!"
"Yes Patrick, it's Saturday. Shut up!"
Laughing, he stepped past her and fetched her a bowl from the top shelf. "Grandpa's watching TV; I just checked on him."
"Thank you," Ashlee said, taking the bowl and pouring herself her breakfast for lunch. "So, what are you up to today?"
Patrick lifted himself up to sit on the counter across from his sister before answering her question. "Oh, I've got an English Lit. paper to write, and I think Dave's coming over to fix the bumper on the Rover."
She nodded. "Hey Pat, could you pass me the milk?"
"Yeah sure," he said, leaning over to open the fridge and hand her the carton. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, Ash – which I'm not – but don't you have a hot date today with Dr. Harris?"
"Yes, I certainly do," she grinned evilly, "do you think you could paint my nails for it? I have the hardest time getting my left hand even!"
He flashed his wide devious smile that Ashlee loved so much. "That's because you're a darn leftie. When I paint my left hand, my nails look great."
With a snort, Ashlee began to eat her cereal. Through mouthfuls, she asked, "How was work this morning?"
"Oh, you know, the usual. 'I want a large mocha frappuccino light, with only two pumps of chocolate, no chocolate drizzle but a little caramel drizzle, and no whipped cream. And make it snappy.'" Patrick accompanied the high-voiced impersonation with a blonde hair flip and big dumb eyes.
"You're getting better at that," his sister commented, trying to keep a straight face.
"I know."
"Egotist."
"Sadist."
"Loser."
"User."
"Sucker."
"Fu—never mind."
Ashlee giggled at her victory. "I win."
"You cheated," Patrick said, hopping down from his perch on the counter and swiping her cereal box.
"I know."
He rolled his eyes and reversed the game. "Egotist."
"Sadist."
"Loser."
"User."
"Sucker."
"Fucker."
His eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. "Excuse me, Ashlee?"
She hid her smile behind her head, ducking forward in glee. "I win."
With a calculated expression, Patrick shook her Honey Bunches of Oats in front of her to make sure she was watching him. Then he opened up the bottom cupboard and put the cereal back in her hiding place.
"You've been spying on me!" she demanded.
"I win," he replied before heading out the front door.
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Two hours later found Ashlee still huddled over the island counter in the kitchen. Stupid French. Why did she have to learn French? It wasn't as if she was ever going to visit France! If the Verona family ever scrounged up enough money to go on vacation, they certainly wouldn't be going to hoity-toity old France!
"Lorraine?" a shaky voice called from down the hall.
Snapping, her French book shut, Ashlee stood and stretched. Then she quickly padded down the hall to the bedroom that Patrick shared with Grandpa Russ. "Grandpa?" she asked, knocking on the slightly ajar door.
"Lorraine?"
"No, Grandpa, it's Ashlee. Do you need something?"
"Where's Lorraine?"
"She's at work, Grandpa. Would you like a cup of tea?"
The door suddenly opened all the way, nearly pulling Ashlee into the dark room with the unexpected vacuum of air it created. Her grandfather stood in the doorway, his eyes wide. "Oh, hello, Ashlee. How are you today, sweetie?"
"Um, I'm fine."
"Ashlee, I need Lorraine. I need her to make me some Earl Grey."
"I can make you a cup, Grandpa."
He smiled. "Thanks, sweetie. Now, I've got to run; Friends is on."
Ashlee stared at the door as it shut in her face. With a sigh, she turned and headed back for the kitchen. Grandpa Russ was ever so slowly, but ever increasingly, going off his rocker. It made her sad; he used to be a Biology professor at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee and one of the most intelligent people she had ever met. He had been the one to encourage Patrick's love of dissection. He had helped them out a lot when they had moved back to the States. He had accepted Mum again, even though he hadn't ever approved of her running off with Dad. To see him losing his memories and sanity was heartbreaking.
"How's the French coming?" Patrick asked as he came through the front door with Dave.
Startled from her thoughts, Ashlee nearly dropped the teacup she was holding.
"Careful," Pat warned.
"Um, the French is being a butt like it always is. How's the bumper?"
"Well, seeing how the bumper actually is considered the butt of the car…"
"Shut up, Patrick. Geeze! Dave, how's the bumper?"
Dave fake-coughed. He was tall, like Patrick, but a lot skinnier. Not that Pat was fat or anything; her brother just had some muscle…and hair. The Mohawk that Dave sported was shaved on either side, and the kid had tattoos littering his skeletal arms. Patrick and him had been friends before Milwaukee and before the wardrobe and body remodel. "The bumper is now fixed," he announced. Despite the appearance change, Dave was still good old Dave. Ashlee didn't mind him, especially seeing how he kept Pat out of trouble a lot.
"Pat, could you make yourself useful and go take this tea to Grandpa?"
He took the offered cup without a protest and left the room. As he was leaving, Dave moved to look down at Ashlee's pages of scribbled homework. "I could always help you with that. My second stepdad was Canadian and spoke French."
Dave was an emancipated minor, living with a couple roommates in the apartment complex down the street. He had been through a lot of stepdads and a lot of crap before winning his independence in court. And he spoke French? "Okay," Ashlee began, "let's start with you telling me if I'm pronouncing this right. Jeh bluh bley bluh, fraynqua tulee too poo?"
The punk's face remained impassive. It seemed that only the strangest things amused him, and surprisingly such occurrences rarely had to do with Ashlee. "I take it my accent was slightly off, right?" she asked.
"Slightly. And I have no idea what you were trying to say."
Ashlee laughed. "That's cause I wasn't saying anything, duh!"
"Tulee too poo?" Patrick inquired from the hall doorway.
"Never mind," his sister said, rolling her eyes. "Now, Pat, we have to hurry or I'll be late for my date. You do realize that I haven't forgotten about your promise to paint my nails, n'est-pas?"
Glancing at his watch, Patrick wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. "Phew, there's no time for that. We have just enough time to get there by three. Come on. I'll go tell Grandpa that we're leaving and make sure he's set for a few hours. Bye Dave."
Ashlee watched Dave exit the house before she began shoving all her French books and notebooks into her backpack. She'd have to finish the last exercise that evening. Moving into the living room, she rummaged around the base of the couch until she found her purse that she had left there the previous night. Purse? Check. Hoodie? Check. Keys? Check. Patrick?
"You ready to go?
Check. "Yep," she answered, taking his offered arm and stepping out into the bright yet chilly November sunlight. Another reason Seattle won over Milwaukee: it had way less snow!
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"Have a good day, Miss Verona."
Ashlee flashed a small smile to the receptionist, "You too, Millie." The appointment had gone pretty uneventful. Pull out the charts. Check pulse. Do some tests. Ask a few questions. Jot down some notes. Offer a tootsie pop from the giant fishbowl of candy. Yes, very routine.
"Patrick?" she asked as she came down the steps outside Dr. Harris's office building and saw the Rover sitting there, empty. A muffled grunt came from around the corner, and Ashlee made it there in time to see Patrick snuff out his cigarette and shove a wad of gum into his mouth. Her brother looked at her guiltily and quickly disposed of the used butt in his can of Pepsi. "That's so gross, Pat."
"I know. I'm sorry, I didn't expect you out so soon, otherwise I would have gotten rid of it earlier."
"It's not like I don't know you're smoking whenever I'm not around, but I was talking more about the fact that you just dropped your cigarette in your soda."
His lips twitched in slight amusement as he studied the aluminum can in his hands. "I was done with it anyways."
Ashlee watched as he tossed the can in the trash and headed back to the car. "You should quit though," she called after him.
"Yeah, I know."
"They give you cancer, Pat."
His face contorted, then relaxed. "I know, Ashlee. I know."
The sincerity in his voice made her stop for a second. She knew he was trying to quit, and she knew it must be very difficult otherwise he would have already done so and put the habit behind him. Opening the passenger door, Ashlee climbed up into her seat. Patrick followed suit, turning the key in the ignition and setting off a blast of loud rock music.
"Sorry!" he yelled, quickly switching the radio off. "I forgot I had that on."
"I thought you were supposed to be writing your paper for Mr. Morgan while I was in there, not rocking out."
"I finished it."
Ashlee made a face. "You finished your paper already?"
"Yeah, it's an easy class."
"Just the same, I'm glad I don't have him. He's so…volatile."
"Hey, he puts Donner in his place. A lot. Any teacher who'll call Donner on his shit is all right in my book."
Watching as the doctor's office disappeared the side mirror, Ashlee let out a long breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Are you okay?" Patrick asked immediately.
"Hmmm?" she looked over, "I'm fine. Watch the road, will you?" Absently, she reached over and turned the radio on.
The sound of Belinda Carlisle came spilling from the speakers. "They say in heaven love comes first. We'll make heaven a place on earth."
"This is such a stupid song," Patrick complained, changing the channel.
"You're so vain, I bet you think this song is about you!" Carly Simon's sassy voice joined them in the car.
"This is music!" Patrick shouted in a relieved tone, before joining in. "You're so vain, I bet you think this song is about you!"
"Don't you! Don't you!" Ashlee added her voice to the mix.
Laughing, the two of them rocked out through several more oldies and somehow managed to stay driving on the right side of the road. Eventually, Patrick tried to say something over the noise and Ashlee had to turn the stereo off to hear him. "WHAT?" she yelled, then shrank against her seat, startled at the sudden volume of her question in the now quiet car.
"I SAID," Patrick shouted, still not used the cutback on decibel level either, "DO YOU WANT TO STOP AT THE PARK?"
"SURE!"
"CAN WE STOP YELLING NOW?"
"OKAY!"
He laughed. "Good, cause it's bad enough having to yell over the machinery all day Sunday. I can't exactly lose my voice, now can I? I mean, I don't think that would help my image at school."
"Oh please, it's not like you actually talk to anyone there. Well, besides Dave."
"Yeah, but say I needed to tell someone to bugger off or something. It could be potentially hazardous to both myself and the second party if I was unable to vocalize such instructions."
"Please, Pat," Ashlee rolled her eyes, "You know the only reason you care is because you don't want to miss your daily flirtation ritual with Ms. Perky."
Her brother made gagging sounds from the driver's seat. "I swear, I think that woman has written me in as a character in her latest novel. Every time I'm in there, she's eyeing me in this really freaky way. I just know that when I leave her office, she writes all these terrifying things about my character's sex life."
"You egg her on."
"True, but I egg everyone on."
Ashlee nodded her emphatic agreement as they pulled into the little park/playground's parking lot next to a cute pink BMW.
"Ah shit," Patrick grumbled as he took in the group of four teenage girls playing Frisbee on the green lawn. The siblings clambered out of the car and slammed the doors, Patrick keeping his head down.
"Speaking of your sex life, Pat," Ashlee began slowly as they made their way through the colorful metal gates.
He cut her off with a knowing look, "Don't even go there, Ash."
"Oh come on! You haven't dated in forever! Since Tina, I think," she paused, "Ewww, seriously, it was Tina! What the heck, Pat?"
"Tina? Really?" He look mildly surprised at this fact.
Ashlee sat down on a swing. "Yeah, Pat, it was Tina. That was, what, right after we moved to Milwaukee? That makes it like, over a year since you've been on a date!"
Patrick looked deep in thought for a moment. Then he shrugged. "So? Have you seen the girls around here?"
Ashlee cleared her throat.
"You excluded, but I can't date you, Ash!"
"Darn right, you can't," she confirmed as he sat on the swing next to her.
"Well, you've seen the girls in your class. They're all interested in their clothes and their shoes and their makeup and their stuff and their yadayadayada."
"No," Ashlee denied innocently, "I don't have anyone coughBiancaStratfordcough like that in my class."
Patrick smiled. "Yeah, that Stratford girl fits the bill for sure; all the girls in senior year are like that."
"I'm sure you're exaggerating, Pat. I mean, come on, there has to be at least one girl who doesn't care what people think. You only need one! Wait, you do still like girls, right?"
"Ash."
"What?" she said rather grumpily, pushing off the ground with her legs.
"Quit trying to set me up, okay? I'm too busy to be in a relationship right now."
She bit her lip, watching his face very carefully. Finally, she announced in a bland voice, "You're just covering for the fact that no girl wants you."
"Ooof!" Patrick yelped suddenly, falling backwards off his swing and holding his stomach. Ashlee swiveled in mid-air to see him hit the sand with his eyes squeezed shut.
"Pat?"
"Oh god, owwww!"
She jumped from her swing and ran to his side. "Pat, are you okay?"
One of his eyes popped open, taking in her concerned expression. Then he stopped groaning and smiled. "Ow! Your harsh words hurt me so much!"
"Ass."
"I pass."
"Wimp. I still win."
"That's only because I let you win," he said, pulling his feet down from the swing so he lay flat in the playground sand.
Ashlee sighed. "Do you know how many cats use this place as a litter-box? Not to mention how many little kids have accidents here?"
He was standing in a flash, swaying slightly from the sudden change in altitude. She gave him a tight smile.
"Hey!" a female voice called, "are you okay?"
The Verona siblings turned as one and saw the four Frisbee players jogging over. Pat clenched his teeth.
"Be nice, Pat," Ashlee warned.
"Oh my gosh, we saw you fall!" one of the girls exclaimed.
"Are you all right?" another asked.
Patrick was silent, boring into them with a piercing stare.
"Don't I know you from somewhere?" the third girl said, stepping forward. Suddenly her eyes got big. "Oh, hi. You go to Padua, don't you?"
Patrick kept staring.
The girl continued, "Right, you're in my Biology class – oh god!"
All four girls looked at each other and took a step back. The last girl gave Ashlee an almost pitiful glance. "Are you okay?" she asked.
Ashlee elbowed her brother. "I'm fine. He's fine. We're all fine. Pat was just messing around. Thanks. Bye."
They made sounds of offense at her snappish tone, then turned and stalked back to the lawn muttering about ducks and porn careers. Patrick gave them the finger.
"Come on," Ashlee said, taking his hand and shutting it in hers, "let's get home."
He followed her back to the car without saying a word. Once on the road again, Patrick turned the radio on to the classical station to fill the silence. Ashlee leaned her head against the window, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over her. Patrick was obviously upset, but there wasn't anything she could do about that at the moment. The last comprehensive thought that passed through her brain was about the French homework she wasn't going to complete tonight after all. Within a mile from the park, she was sound asleep.
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Author's Note: Wow, I really wasn't expecting to update this soon, but I couldn't stop writing. Let me know what you think! Peace out!
-- pj