"How do I look?"
"Fine," Patrick said without looking up. He was sprawled across Ned's bed with his feet on Ned's pillow, reading one of the WhoTeen magazines his sisters left lying all over the house. "Did you know that what drives men wild is a woman's 'delicate yet extravagant use of hair dye'? Is it possible to be delicate and extravagant at the same time?"
"Who cares?" Ned asked, his eyes darting from the shirt he'd half-unbuttoned in a panic to the mirror. "Does this shirt look good?"
Patrick finally glanced away from the magazine. His eyebrows twitched. "Unless you're going for the Fabio look, I wouldn't wear it like that."
Ned looked down at himself, yelped, and began unbuttoning with such fervor that Patrick thought he'd tear the fabric. Fabio indeed, he thought with a smirk, and turned back to the magazine, listening to Ned battle with his clothing and sighing at the beautiful young woman who insisted that "my music is, like, totally from the heart, y'all. It's about what all of us feel deep down inside. Like, where the heart is. 'Cause it's inside, you know?"
"How do I look?"
"Fine," Patrick said, assuming that he didn't actually have to see Ned. As long as he had his underwear on the inside of his pants, he ought to be fine.
He heard the frantic scrambling of another outfit change. "How do I look?"
"Fine."
Another. "How do I look?"
"Fine."
Another. "How do I look?"
Patrick sighed, setting the magazine down yet again. "You look horrible, Ned. Appalling. Hideous. Mine eyes doth bleedeth and mine heart crieth at the sight of such an abomination. Is that what you'd like to hear? Because I have fall fashion tips to get back to, here. It's only July fifth; I have to start planning my wardrobe."
Ned just stared at him, his eyes huge gray disks. After a moment he burst out laughing; the sound was only slightly shrill and panic-stricken, which Patrick took as a good sign.
When Ned had reached a point where he could breathe again, Patrick pointed into the closet. "Pick a shirt. It doesn't matter which one it is, because your shirts look almost exactly the same. By the way, do you even own something that doesn't button up? You look like a really short accountant."
He slipped into the closet and pulled out a long green shirt. He held it up for Patrick's inspection.
"Good. Now put it on. Don't miss any buttons. Double-check that you're wearing pants, triple-check that your pants have cash somewhere in their recesses, and maybe run a brush through your hair. Then sit down and read about purses with me."
Ned shook his head and snickered, and Patrick decided that his friend would be okay. Once he was dressed — and had made sure, several times, that the outfit was acceptable — he knelt down on the bed. "Are you really reading about purses?" he asked.
"Not anymore," Patrick said. "I've moved on to tips on not being fat. Apparently the secret is not to eat." He looked down at his considerable paunch. "Nah, I don't feel like it. I just finished an article on how to be satisfied with your body, and I'm feeling comfortable with my inner femme fatale."
"You're weird, aren't you?" Ned said, pulling a wad of crumpled money out of his pants pocket and scurrying over to the window to make sure that Sally hadn't decided to show up two hours early.
"I prefer to think of myself as eccentric and charming, myself," Patrick replied, flipping through the glossy pages and marveling at the astounding amount of crap that women read. "Where's the literature in these things? The Whodyssey? Les Miserwhobles? This is all so mind-numbing! 'Where Are They Now?' 'Look Who's Richer and Thinner Than You!' 'Hate Yourself? Here's Why!' It's sickening!"
"I know. It's great," Ned mumbled, still fixated on the street outside.
Patrick rolled his eyes. "It's enough to make a man turn gay, right? Don't you feel gay just listening to this stuff?"
"Yep," Ned said.
"So it's settled. We'll forget about this date with Sally, and we'll run away and get married. Your dad will be thrilled. Sound good to you?"
"Sure." He blinked and turned around. "Wait, what was that about Sally?"
Patrick laughed and went over to Ned, patting him on the back. "Nothing. Just keep up your vigil and don't let any ninjas in, okay? I'm going home to call Sarah. We have to keep my house safe; those pesky ninjas see me as their Number One Suspect. After you, of course."
"Yeah," he said, his head turning back to the window. "Good. Have fun."
"That man," Patrick said, closing the door behind him and slipping out into the night, "holds the future of Whoville in his hands."
It was probably the first time that Ned had seen Sally dressed up, unless he counted her grandmother's funeral, or that one New Year's Eve party his mother had tried to throw before realizing that formal affairs were not for women with fifty children below the age of ten. Or school picture days, or any times Sally felt bored with her normal wardrobe and wanted to look pretty, or when she was trying to impress some guy or another. Really, there was rarely a month in which she didn't dress up at least once.
But it was the first time she'd ever dressed up for him, and that made it different. She looked special, like her fur was glowing (to be fair, that was probably the glitter she'd put in it, but the point still stood). Her hair was curled around her face, and she'd abandoned the typical orange-yellow color scheme for a bright blue dress that made her fur look even redder. In contrast, Ned felt just as lanky and scruffy as ever. He tugged on the collar of his shirt and smiled, wondering if Sally would up and decide that it wasn't worth it, that she couldn't date such a slob, that she should just go home and watch TV. When her eyes widened, his worst fears were confirmed.
She beamed, looking him up and down. "You ready to go?" she asked. He nodded and took the hand she held out. As they made their way into town, she leaned in and whispered, "Wow, I had no idea you cleaned up so well, Ned," and his worst fears were dispelled. The sky seemed teeming with stars and possibilities, and he squeezed her hand tighter. This is going to be perfect, he thought as she took one of the handles of his picnic basket and he took the other. Absolutely perfect.
At that exact moment, the stars were hidden by clouds and the skies opened up. To compliment the dramatic change in the weather, there was a crack of thunder loud enough to make them both cringe. With the wind slapping sheets of icy water at them, they sprinted to the nearest store, panting and dripping. "Oh no, oh no," Ned moaned, looking out at the town square, which had transformed into a nightmare of flashing lightning and freezing water; people everywhere were ducking into shops and cars, and one brave — or possibly stupid — soul was trying to swim after his purchases, which had been ripped from his hands.
Sally lifted up the soaking wet blanket that covered the wooden basket. "Everything still seems dry," she said. "It's all sealed up and perfectly edible. And you know this will clear up in a few minutes, anyway. It's not like we've never had unpredictable weather before." She wrung out her hair and shook her arms. "We can just camp out in here until the storm subsides."
"Uh, actually . . . you can't." They turned to see the store clerk hovering over them, looking guilty and a little embarrassed. "This store is only open to Whos 21 and older. Kids aren't allowed in." He pointed to the sign, which had a slim red bottle on it and a picture of a small Who in a circle. The circle had an X through it. "I'm sorry, guys, but you have to leave or it could be bad for me."
Ned groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Of course," Sally said, hooking one arm through his and picking up the basket — which was heavy for just her, but she didn't have the heart to ask Ned to carry it. "We'll be fine. Look, it's started to calm down already."
That was sort of true; the rain and wind were letting up, and the lightning had left as soon as it came. However, it was being replaced with . . .
"Oh no." Ned glanced up long enough to see the phenomenon before hanging his head again. "Is that snow?"
"It's fine," Sally said, pulling him out onto the slippery sidewalk. "We've seen snow before."
"Not in July!"
She considered that for a moment. "We've seen it in August once or twice."
"This is a disaster," Ned said. His clothes and fur were plastered to his skin, and he looked absolutely miserable. "A complete disaster."
Sally shook her curls out of her face, though they couldn't be called curls anymore; they were really more like limp strands of red seaweed. "It's nothing of the sort," she said. "Come on, you big baby. Let's go find somewhere to eat this."
Ned took no notice of the teasing. "This was supposed to be fun," he mumbled. "It was supposed to be perfect."
"If you'd quit moping and look around, you'd see that people are having fun! It's snow, Ned! It's beautiful!" He looked up and saw that most of the Whos had emerged from their hiding places and were looking around, amazed. An elderly couple was trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues, and a few teenagers were already starting a snowball fight. "Besides, perfection is in the eye of the beholder." She stopped, putting her cold hands under his chin and forcing him to meet her eyes. "Like beauty." Sally leaned forward and kissed him.
It was a very simple kiss, a peck that was held for a little too long. Really, it was nothing special, a fact that was made obvious by the cacophony of hoots and jeers from the snowball-playing teenagers, and the cry of "Take it off!" accompanied by a half-formed ball of slush tossed their way. They jerked apart, wiping the snow off their faces and blushing. Straightening her dress and ignoring the kids — who, she realized by watching them out of the corner of her eye, were Tom Birch and his friends, and who had returned to their game without another word (or snowball) — she held out her hand for Ned to take. "I think this date's going pretty well, don't you?" she said.
Ned nodded, looking dazed. "W-where would you like to go eat?" he asked.
She beamed, and pecked him on the cheek. "Somewhere with a view," she said.
They ended up trudging all the way back to Ned's house and, since the snow had stopped falling — was, in fact, already melting — decided to sit on the porch and eat. Sally was wrapped up in a huge blanket, and had called her mother to say that she'd be spending the night with Ned's siblings, since they were wrangled into short-notice baby-sitting duty so that Mimi could have another shot at that date.
Ned unwrapped a cupcake and handed it to Sally, listening to his sisters argue over phone privileges. "I'm going to have to settle that, aren't I?" he said, licking frosting off his fingers.
Sally nodded, picking up a raspberry and setting it on top of the cupcake. "We'll have to go inside in a minute. We could hide the rest of this under the porch so that it doesn't get stolen."
He sighed. "I wish this hadn't ended up so . . . ordinary. It was supposed to be a lot more romantic and a lot less baby-sit-y."
She shrugged, turning her face up to his for a kiss. "I don't know. For a first date, it wasn't too bad." She wiggled out of her cocoon of down, picking up their trash. "Though you'll have to be careful not to make the next one quite so weather-dependent. There are only so many times Mimi will let me borrow her pajamas, I think."
"Next date?" He sat up. "You want one?"
She turned to him and rolled her eyes. "Of course I want one! Don't you?"
He stood, taking the trash out of her hands and shoving it into his back pocket so that he could hug her. "Absolutely."
A/N: All right, so I didn't take an ENTIRE year to write this. I think I should get brownie points for that.
Okay, apologies for the unforgivable dry spell. I'm sure I've lost all my readers at this point, and I deserve it. Most of this chapter was written between eleven-thirty last night and two this morning, and I'll do my best to be more timely (oh ho, the age-old promise strikes again!). Thanks to my most recent reviewers for making me feel guilty enough to start writing this, and thanks to anyone who still sticks around. I'm not sure where I'm going with this from here, and I would love anyone who'd be willing to share a few PMs trying to sort this out with me; it'll help me keep this moving, I think.
Sorry for the shortness and the sappiness, but I did my best. And you gotta love Whoville: Nothing ever goes wrong, except for weather catastrophes once in a while and some seriously awkward romance scenes. I hope I didn't disappoint anyone, and that you enjoyed this!