629A Cliché Waiting To Happen
- Chapter Two: The Art of Stalking Patrick Hayden -
Meggin
There's an art to stalking. It's a skill, a gift. There's a certain finesse required to pull off something so sneaky and clever and, ummm…illegal. Unfortunately, finesse is not exactly something Belinda or I possess.
Not that we're stalking Patrick Hayden exactly. I'm just saying that, if we were stalking Patrick Hayden, (which we're not) there would be an art to it.
We just happened to spot him stepping out of Industrie – looking incredibly scrumptious, might I add – on our way to the ladies' and decided (conveniently) that we were absolutely starving and that, therefore, it was only natural that we should follow him to the food court.
Really.
Nothing wrong with that.
Ahem.
Of course, Anna, who's just about the smallest and most graceful person I know, could easily have become well versed in such an art form but she, unlike Belinda and me, has enough sense to, uh, not resort to following good-looking guys through a crowded shopping centre at eleven-o-clock on a Saturday morning.
In fact, she's probably already gone through all of the shops in the plaza since half an hour ago, when she decided – and wisely - to leave the acts of Borderline Creepy to the two of us.
"Where'd he go?"
"There."
"Where?" I peer over my shoulder as discreetly as possible (which is, to say, not), trying to pick the guy out from the crowd.
"To your left." Belinda points across the food court to a tall, lean figure in a striped polo shirt, depositing coins into the vending machine, and I have to resist the urge to swoon. The guy makes depositing coins into a vending machine seem completely dreamy.
"Are you insane?" I hiss, slapping her hand down. She has made absolutely no effort to hide the fact that she's pointing to the guy because, obviously, the girl doesn't know the meaning of 'discreet.' "Now, not only will he know that we're stalking him, but other people will know that we're stalking him and, most likely, will have us arrested for stalking him. Which, by the way, I am not doing – stalking him, I mean – because, regardless of what Anna says, I am not the type of person to stalk other people who I hardly know on the basis that he is one incredibly fine male specimen and, oh God, did I just say that? Because now I'm certain that everyone will think I'm stalking him – which I am not doing, by the way."
Am I hyperventilating?
Let it be said that I've never been good with or around guys, in case it weren't already blatantly obvious with the whole Ric Micallef situation. It seems I can never master the art of thinking rationally and simultaneously breathing properly whenever Patrick Hayden is within the vicinity.
Which is pretty sad considering that I've only ever met him once, and have exchanged a grand total of – dun, dun, dun - three words with him. Those three words being 'hi, I'm good' to his 'I'm Patrick. Nice to meet you.'
And yes, I know that my response made absolutely no sense in context but I'm a complete loser so shut up.
"Of course you're stalking him," Belinda says cheerfully, peering over her strategically placed magazine to take another good, long look at him. "Same as a lot of the girls at my school. It's one huge, happy stalking community."
"Yes, but we aren't stalking him. We have dignity."
Although, hmmm, I'm pretty sure my parents wouldn't exactly call following a guy into three different stores on the way to the food court 'dignity' but oh well. Let me live in my own blissful little world, as deluded as I may appear to be.
At least now I know that he has a pet cat that prefers Friskies to Whiskas and that he collects Star Trek memorabilia when he has the money.
…
Dear Lord, I am sad.
Belinda steals a chip from my plate and grins. "Anna missed out."
"Anna missed out," I agree. "Although, knowing her, the bitch has probably already picked up a score of hot male specimens in the span of one morning."
A lot of guys seem to go for the petite, long-haired, elfin-quality look. Unfortunately for them, the girl is a sucker for teenage movies, clichés and cheesy romances, and the poor, naïve soul is still holding out for some badass on a motorbike who will one day whisk her away from her boring, humdrum life.
Of course, being picky has its perks. Like, for instance, it's kind of an insurance policy that you won't spend the rest of your life sad, lonely and behind bars for stalking attractive males in the local community.
Not that we were, you know, stalking anyone you understand.
"Shit," Belinda hisses. "He's coming this way."
Eep.
"He's not coming to talk to us, is he?" I ask, toying with my plastic fork nervously. If he did, I'd probably say something incredibly stupid and they say first impressions always last, don't they? His first impression of me must have been horrible. Worse, he'd probably only remember me as 'that weird chick who can't formulate sentences properly' and, if he spoke to me now, I wouldn't be any better.
Bel glances upward and then quickly slides her gaze back down to her magazine, trying to look nonchalant.
"Yeah," she says. "I think he is." She shoots me an urgent look and quickly clamps her mouth shut. "Just play cool."
I try to appear as interested in my empty plate and plastic fork as possible, which is kind of hard when there's nothing particularly interesting about plastic cutlery but, when Patrick stops at our table, I'm kind of glad that he hadn't caught me staring at him look a pathetic loser.
"Hey Belinda," he greets her with a smile that makes me feel like my heart is pooling in a gooey puddle at my feet. I'm so lame. "Hey - " he scrunches up his face a little as he directs his attention toward me " – I've met you before, haven't I?"
"Meggin," I supply.
"That's the one." He grins, his brown eyes twinkling. "Sorry, I'm not good with names or remembering faces."
Actually, I don't think I'd ever managed to stutter out my name at our first and only brief encounter.
Belinda laughs. "In year seven," she tells me, as if we haven't squealed over the exact same story a thousand times before, "he kept calling me Melinda and the first time, I just let it go. And then, after that, I didn't have the heart to correct him and so then – "
"So when this sub, Ms. Mackintyre, asked me where Belinda was, I said 'there must be some kind of mistake, Ms. We don't have a Belinda in this class.' And she freaked. Thought she'd lost a kid or something." He shakes his head sheepishly. "Man."
I nod, chuckling politely at their anecdote but not trusting myself to speak. I have to admire Belinda for how easily she's handling this because she's been crushing on the guy just as I have – probably even more so, seeing as she sees him practically every day. But then, maybe that's it. Maybe she's just used to interacting with the opposite sex.
"Do you, uh, want to sit down?" I venture, gesturing to the empty seat that isn't weighed down by shopping bags. Fleetingly, I hope he doesn't recognise the bags as mostly coming from the stores that he'd been to this morning. Stalker, much?
"Nah," he smiles this lopsided sort of smile and I feel the urge to 'squee' like Anna when she goes absolutely postal over anime guys and their weird gravity-defying hair. "I just recognised Bel on my way out of the food court and thought it'd be rude if I didn't say hi. But thanks anyway." He checks his watch and looks apologetic. "Well, I have to run. Oh-" Mid-turn, something seems to occur to him and he inclines his head. "Are you going to the start of the year dance, Bel?"
"Yeah, I'm going with Ric."
I feel my eyes widen at this and Belinda quickly avoids the dirty look I throw her way.
Patrick nods.
"Micallef? He's a good guy. Guess I'll see you there then." With a wave, he's off and I decide to wait until he's disappeared into the crowd before I go ballistic.
"You're what?" I demand, incredulous. "You'd better hope I interpreted that conversation wrongly."
"I didn't tell you?" She shifts in her seat. "Haha, I could've sworn I'd told you."
"You're going to the dance with that dickhead?" My brain is kind of in temporary-dead mode but that doesn't matter. I don't need my brain to be able to insult Ric Micallef. It comes as naturally as blinking, breathing and being better than him.
God, I wish I could be this witty to his face.
Unfortunately, she doesn't see things my way and tuts in annoyance. "Meg, seriously I'm telling you this because I love you, but you've got to get over your stupid grudge or whatever it is. You're acting like a little kid! Besides," she adds as an afterthought, "Barbie was way better."
Why does everybody always say that?
I cross my arms over my chest and pout, which unfortunately only serves to prove her point. "I am not acting like a little kid!"
Uh huh. Real smooth one there, Meg. Next time you should probably try for sophistication and go for 'I know you are but what am I?'
"Besides, he's the immature one," I add, trying to salvage the situation, desperately trying to convince her that he's the idiot and I'm the one who's completely rational about this whole thing. "I swear, the guy goes out of his way to piss me off."
She rolls her eyes. "Because he's really the one who held a grudge for ten years over a stupid Barbie doll."
For the record, it was Skipper. And Belinda just doesn't get it. It's the principle of the thing. He never even apologised! And when I went postal and threatened to slit his throat with the plastic knife from Barbie's Tea Set ™ I'd been the one who'd gotten into trouble. Where is the logic in that? Seriously.
And, come on, throughout the ten years that he's lived next door he's never shown any remorse for what he did or anything else he's done for that matter. In fact, every conversation we've ever had has always included an exchange of insults and he thinks it's amusing. The guy has a skewed notion of funny.
Belinda's expression softens and she pats my hand reassuringly. "Look, it's nothing serious anyway, okay? We're just going as friends. So all I'm asking is for my best friend to forget her grudge for one night, okay?"
Which can be translated to: you and Anna are going to be smiling and helping me get ready and when Ric comes you're going to pretend that you don't want to slit his throat with plastic cutlery or I'll cry and make you feel guilty and never speak to you again, okay? Okay. Enter nice, cavity-inducing, Best Friend smile.
"Okay," I sigh, because, really, what other choice do I have?
Ric
Dear God,
I promise that if you get me out of this seriously awkward situation I will go to church every Sunday and participate willingly in the church fundraisers. Heck, I'll even play Joseph in the Nativity Play at the end of the year if that's what it takes for you to do me this one, tiny, tiny favour.
Please hear my prayer.
Desperate and willing to do anything (except pose as a female foreign exchange student again, which, by the way, was not even my fault)
- Ric
It's not often that I wish I were in school but right now I really, really wish that I were. In school, I mean. I know. On a weekend. Creepy, huh?
But here I am, sitting at the Rendine's kitchen table with Janet as I wait for Jay to get out of the shower. And here Janet is staring at me while I do my best to pretend that I don't notice her staring at me.
And it's hard not to notice because, as careful as she's trying to be about it, I can feel her eyes boring into my face like…uhh…like Cyclops' laser-eye thingy from X-Men.
But then…maybe she's just sleeping with her eyes really, really open.
…
Wait…
No.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat and try to think of something – anything – to say that will stop her from eyeing me like a piece of steak. 'Cause, shit, that's just creepy as hell.
"So, uh, Janet," I begin. "How's year twelve for you?"
Lame, Ric. Real lame.
Thankfully, I hear the sounds of the water being turned off and quickly estimate just how long it will take for Jay to get his arse downstairs. Unfortunately, not soon enough.
"Oh, you know. School's school. There's not really much to say." She brays like one of those donkeys in that movie with the puppet and his tweedfuck cricket. Pinichio or something or other. "How about you? I mean, not that we really bother to turn up anyway, right?" Hee-haw, hee-haw.
"Uh, yeah." I crack a smile, relieved that at least her eyes aren't doing that weird non-blinking thing that they were doing before. "It's, uh, I mean. It's a waste of time. I'm just thinking of dropping out, really. I used to have the soccer team but, shit, since the bastards wouldn't keep me on because of my grades – well," I shrug. "If I could find a job or something. But whatever."
"It's such a shame," she agrees, bobbing her head. "You were such a good uhhh – a good - "
"Striker," I supply. She probably doesn't even know the first thing about soccer. Probably used to only watch the games to perve on the team. Though, I mean, with me on there, could you really blame her?
"Yeah." A pause. She bites her bottom lip like she's about to say something embarrassing and I have a feeling that I don't really want to hear it. "You know Ric, I was really thinking that you and I could go to the - "
"Jay!"
The chair makes a loud noise as I jump up, relieved to see Jay appear at the foot of the stairs, his hair all jazzed up 'cause he's a freaking pretty boy who lets his on-and-off girlfriend take him shopping. Sometimes the guy is so whipped. But I am so relieved that I swear I could kiss him. Or, uh, not really, 'cause that would be uh…weird. But you get what I mean.
"Hey Ric," he greets me as he heads straight for the fridge and starts rummaging around like he hasn't probably already had breakfast three times already, unaware of the seriously stupid and helluva uncomfortable situation I'm in. Because I swear, his sister was just about to suggest that we go to the dance together. He gestures to my seat. "Make yourself comfortable, man. I'm just gonna have a bite."
I clear my throat, desperately trying to send some sort of telepath(et)ic message that will get through his thick skull. Janet resumes picking at her fingernails. Her cheeks look creepily pink and I try not to groan.
This is so stupid. She probably thinks this is one of those scenes from those girly books of hers. The ones with the hot blonde twins. Ah, shit.
"Ahem."
"Oh, sorry, man. Did you want something?" Jay looks up at me in surprise, his mouth full of masticated meat. Haha. Masticated. Funny word. Amazing what you pick up in English when you can actually be bothered going. Oh and when you're not busy flicking rubber bands across the room.
I try to do that whole pointing-at-Janet-with-my-eyes-discreetly thing and Jay gets the hint.
"Ohhh." He nods slowly.
And keeps eating.
"Ahem."
Janet looks up and smiles at me. I smile back.
Jay smiles at the two of us smiling eat each other.
Well, isn't this nice?
Uhhh, no. Hell no.
A whole freaking month must have passed before Jay puts down his food and wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve, being the classy guy that he is. He grins and stretches backwards in his chair slowly, languidly, like he's enjoying seeing me squirm like this. Bastard.
"Well," he says all casual-like, finally propelling himself out of his seat. "Ric and I are gonna hang around the city. Tell Mum I'll be back around five. See ya."
Janet looks like she's about to protest or even invite herself along but, thankfully, seems to think better of it.
"Yeah, see ya, Janet." I grin weakly and drag Jay out of the kitchen as subtly as I can. "It's been nice -" having you stare at me for ten minutes straight " – sitting with you."
The grin fades from my face as soon as the front door bangs closed and I take the opportunity to whack Jay over his stupid spiky head with the palm of my hand.
"Hey!" he protests, his hands reaching up instinctively to protect his hair as we stroll in the direction of the train station "What was that for?"
"Why the hell was your sister staring at me so obviously? Does she have an eye problem?" Please let her have an eye problem,I pray. Maybe she has a disease. Some weirdarse kind of eye condition where she can't…uhh...blink. That she just suddenly developed. Anything but…well, anything that doesn't involve her, you know, acting like she's going to ask me out any time soon.
I mean, it was okay before when I kind of knew she had a stupid crush on me but, then, she never did anything about it. Now it's like she's about to die or something and wants to, like, jump my bones before she carks it. Hell, I dunno.
"Dude, you're so stupid. She wants you to take her to the start of year dance, duh, you fool. She'll probably want one of those flower thingies to go with her pink dress and -"
I stop in the middle of the street and gape at him.
"Wait. Backtrack a little. You want me to go with your sister?"
A car beeps furiously as it turns into the street and narrowly misses hitting me. I flip the driver the finger in response as it speeds off but I will my mind to start functioning again and, thankfully, my legs obey.
Jay shrugs and looks at me as if it's the simplest thing on earth, digging his hands into the pockets of his pants. "Sure. Why not?"
"Jay," I say slowly because maybe he hit his head in the shower or something. "Haven't we been over this shit? This is me." I point to myself and nod with exaggerated patience. "Your best friend. And over there -" I jerk my thumb over my shoulder in the general direction of his house. " – over there is your loser of a sister. I can't take her to the dance. Now do you want me to go over that again?"
"She's not that bad," he attempts but, I mean, he's her twin brother. He has to defend her. But he slaps me over the back anyway and shrugs. "Don't take her then. Whatever. I'll just tell her you're going with someone else."
He chuckles to himself as if he finds the notion incredibly funny. Granted, I usually go solo because it's way more fun picking up a handful of chicks over the night than being stuck with one the whole time but hanging out with Belinda actually seems okay. Better than okay, actually.
We're already at the station, depositing coins into the machine for our Met tickets when I clear my throat and decide that maybe I should make it clear that I kind of am taking someone else.
"I am going with someone else."
"Who?" He drops a coin in his distraction and stoops to pick it up. "Stupid machine won't take my dollar. You got change?"
"Belinda Donohue," I reply as I dig into my jeans and hand him a dollar coin. I find a packet in my pocket too and am pleasantly surprised when I shake its contents and find that it's full. With a grin, I pull out a white stick-like object from its contents and pop one end of it into my mouth so that the rest sticks out from between my lips.
God, I love these.
They're always so relaxing.
Plus, they look like cigarettes, which works for my image. Nobody need ever know that they're really those long, white stick candies; I check the label on the box – Fads.
"No way." He looks genuinely surprised as he swipes the ticket out of the machine and collects his change. He takes a Fad from the box I offer him and accidentally drops it on the platform.
"Do you know how much those cigarettes cost?" I demand, loud enough to make sure that the other people waiting on the platform hear.
" Yeah, 'cause cigarettes really taste like candy." He looks disgruntled as he plucks another Fad from my box even though he knows how stingy I get over them.
I grin. "Shhh. People think they're smokes. Gives me an edge."
"You badass, you. No, people think you have a candy fetish."
I shrug lazily. "Whatever. Anyway, you were there. You heard her ask me and I said yes, remember?"
"I thought you were just playing around. She's in year eleven," he protests,
"I know."
"And she's best friends with your neighbour."
"I know."
"And -"
"Shut up, okay?" I demand, prickling in annoyance. "I already know that crap. It's not like I'm an idiot or -"
"And she has a thing for Patrick Hayden."
"Eh?" I blink. "Come again?"
"Like she's freaking obsessed, you know." Jay nods his head like he's freaking Einstein or whoever and I feel the need to whack him over the head again.
"Ouch!"
"No she's not." I frown. Patrick Hayden, is like, one of the biggest freaking brown-nosing tweedfucks in year eleven, I swear. Just 'cause he's in the Student Council and probably gets decent grades and…what? Just 'cause some chicks actually dig that stuff and suddenly he goes around thinking it's cool for him to play soccer and get a hard-on over weird sci-fi TV shows. Nerd.
So Belinda can't like Patrick Hayden.
"Yeah. She day I got detention I caught her in the classroom, going through the pencil sharpener 'cause she was looking for some sharpening of his pencil. And you're saying that's not obsession?" He raises an eyebrow, nudges the fallen Fad over the train platform with the toe of his sneaker.
"She has a pencil sharpening collection," I lie. "Anyway, she asked me to take her to the dance."
Jay shrugs, looking bored. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, whatever. Bet she's probably out there, stalking the guy right now."
Pfft.