Okay, so I said I would try to update sooner but I actually seem to write a lot better if I leave it alone for a week and then write it, so that is what I think I'll do from now on unless I suddenly get some spurt of inspiration. I really like this chapter myself so I hope you guys enjoy it.

Chapter 8

I glance at the clock as the numbers flip to show that it is seven o'clock. Since I specifically told Patrick to be early I am nothing short of livid when he is nowhere to be seen. Bianca is setting the table when I walk into the dining room area. She is practically throwing the silverware onto the sloppily placed napkins. She shoots me a glare as I stand opposite of her and straighten the silverware she has already set out.

"You know, it really isn't my fault that Dad made you stay home tonight," I begin, "First of all, he wouldn't have let you go to that party anyway. Plus, how should I have known he would make you stay?"

"Well you didn't exactly argue either," she replies coolly. Before a response can even reach my brain, the annoying chimes of our doorbell interrupt and I rush to the door.

"You're late!" I hiss at him in a hushed tone as I take him by the hand and drag him inside.

"Hi…" he says as I close the door behind us.

"I told you to be early so that even if you were late you would still be on time," I say eying the kitchen nervously.

"Punctuality is important. Point made."

We go into the living room where Bianca now sits sulking on the couch watching MTV. We plop down on the couch next to her and watch with her for all of ten seconds before Patrick speaks.

"Educational," he says of the screaming idiots displayed on the TV.

"I find television very educating. Normally when somebody turns it on, I go into the other room and read a book," I reply.

He smiles but makes no effort at a reply. If it weren't for the occasional "WTF" look showing up on his face I would think he actually enjoys it.

"Dinner is done!" calls my dad from the kitchen. With a grimace Bianca mutters something about going to wash her hands to prevent Swine Flu and then leaves the room as Patrick and I walk to the dinner table. I immediately know that she doesn't plan on returning any time soon. Sister intuition, I guess.

"Have you thought about colleges yet, son?" my dad asks as he seats himself and begins taking his helping of spaghetti.

Patrick chuckles and I can already tell that the next words out of his mouth are going to make me regret this entire night, "No."

My heart rate raises in sync with my father's eyebrows as his expression transforms into one of obvious disapproval, "Well, you know, Kat is going to Brown."

"Dad…." I say, ready to remind him that I haven't been accepted yet. He raises a hand that tells me that I am not involved in the current conversation. I sink in my chair, gazing pleadingly at Patrick to be pleasant and then at my dad to just eat his asparagus and be quiet, but at no avail because they both seem to be too interested in the conversation that has been commenced.

"I'm aware."

"And you don't plan on pursuing any education after high school?"

"None."

My dad pauses, his chin resting pensively on his fisted hand. He glances at me but quickly averts his attention back to an impassive Patrick.

"And you're aware that Brown, an Ivy League school, is located across the country?"

"Yes."

"And what happens when she leaves?"

"It's a year away."

"Dad…" I intervene more sternly, "this isn't relevant right now. We'll work this out when the time comes," I say, motioning to myself and Patrick.

"I just want to be sure that he won't be trying to keep my smart little girl away from further studies. No need for him to drag you down with him."

I glance at Patrick who is staring intently at me as he awaits my reply.

"Nothing would keep me away from Brown," I say, keeping my gaze away from him, "a zombie apocalypse could not keep me away from the school I have dreamed about going to since I was six!"

"I don't doubt that. But this is a boy, Kat. They tend to send girls off the right track. I don't want—"

"You should know me better than that. I am way above letting a silly high school fling affect my life that seriously."

As soon as the words leave my mouth I wish I could pull them back. Patrick is already half way out of his chair by the time I open my mouth to explain. I rise from my chair so quickly that I almost knock my plate of spaghetti off of the table. I shoot my dad a look as I round the table and follow Patrick through the living room to the door.

"Wait," I call weakly. The guilt has set in thickly by this time; after all he went through to get me—taking me to the dance even though his hatred for such gatherings exceeds mine, asking my father if he could take me to dinner, asking me to be his girlfriend, and all the while having to climb the massive emotional wall that I'd managed to construct over the years—I went and called our relationship a silly little high school fling, insinuating that it was of no importance to me. I did to him exactly what I was afraid he was going to do to me, "Patrick, please!"

He whips around with a glare of such intensity that I stop in my tracks, "It's very clear that both you and your father think you are way too perfect for me, so why should I bother?" His words are so composed and smooth that I wouldn't know he was mad if the words themselves didn't clearly inform me of it.

"That wasn't what I meant--"

"It was what you said."

"I misspoke."

"That wasn't misspeaking; that was letting your true thoughts come through in the height of an argument," He takes a step back and shrugs, "Now I know."

"An argument in which I was defending you."

"Really? It sounded a lot like you were defending yourself."

Without my protest he gets on his bike, puts his helmet on, and quickly starts up the bike and peels out of my driveway. I watch him drive away for the mere seconds it takes for him to leave my line of sight.