Marianne Elizabeth Hammer (top young adult novels TXT) 📖

“No, you’re not interrupting. I was just, um, joking around.”

“Oh, I don’t know...” Patrick shrugged slightly. “I think slow, snarky death is a pretty accurate description of my sister.”

Marianne tried to smile, but she could feel that it was horribly distorted.

Patrick winked at her. “That’s a nice line.”

Danielle walked over and slammed the spatula into Patrick’s hands. “Yes, it’s very poetic.” She turned and looked at Marianne. “Get the food on the table outside while I go summon all my flying monkeys.”

Marianne nodded and swiftly turned toward the stove; maybe Patrick would just leave if she ignored him. She pulled over the stack of plates and started yanking the chicken pieces off the sheet. They burned her fingers and left half their breading stuck to the pan.

The spatula suddenly appeared in front of her face. “Are you looking for this?” said Patrick.

“No.” Marianne shook her head and leaned away from him. Another stupid reaction. Thanks, Flustration, way to pull through again.

Patrick set the spatula down on the stove. “Just in case.” He stepped away but didn’t leave. He just leaned back against the refrigerator with his hands in his pockets; she could see it out of the corner of her eyes. Was he trying to make her head implode?

Marianne mumbled her actions under her breath just to silence the ringing in her ears. “Five for Mickey. Four for Adam. Four for Wolverine. Ketchup. Where’s the ketchup?” She stuck the pan in the sink and turned toward the fridge, but Patrick had already opened it. He pulled out the ketchup and handed it to her silently. Then he just went back to standing there.

Marianne started squeezing ketchup on each plate but stopped halfway through. She couldn’t stand it anymore and turned to Patrick. “Um, did you need something?”

Patrick straightened up. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” she shook her head, trying to act friendlier. “It just seemed like you wanted to say something.”

Patrick looked down at the tile. “Yes, actually. I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to start—”

“Listen,” she interrupted. “I need to apologize again for my behavior outside. And inside, before that. I really don’t know what came over me. I might be possessed—I don’t know. Either way, I’m an absolute, one-of-a-kind freak show. And I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t keep apologizing,” he said. “I was nervous, myself. That’s why I said that stupid thing about it being interesting to meet you.”

“Yeah, well, getting accused of sexually assaulting someone will do that to you.” Frick. She’d brought up her ass again. Marianne clamped her mouth shut and turned back to the ketchup.

“Ah, see—now you’re getting embarrassed again. Please don’t.”

Oh super, Patrick was a mind reader.

“I came in here with a mission,” said Patrick, exhaling. “And now I’ve botched it again.”

“If your mission was to make me feel better, you can just abort.” She turned her head and smiled at him. “I’m a loon, I know it, and nothing you can say is going to help that.” Lovely. That sounded like some sort of manipulative cry for attention. She didn’t want to hear the answer her words must have inspired, so she picked up as many plates as she could carry and walked toward the back door.

“How about if I ask you to dinner?”

Marianne stopped dead, and all the chicken dinos skidded slightly toward the edge of the plates. Did he just ask her out? It wasn’t possible; not after everything that had just happened.

Well, actually he hadn’t asked her out. He’d asked if she wanted him to ask her out. What a wretched question to ask a girl. Marianne turned and cleared her throat. “What?”

Patrick tipped his head toward her and spoke sweetly, as if he thought she was very sensitive and touchy. “Did you... want to go out with me?”

Marianne just blinked. What in heck was going on here? Was he serious? Was this a pity date? She was too dumbstruck even to tell him no, or maybe yes, so she deflected. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Patrick instantly made his face blank. “Like what?”

“You look...” Marianne struggled to find the right word for his exact expression. “Concerned.”

“Oh.” Patrick tried to smile, but it looked difficult. “I just felt sorry for you. You looked nervous. I came in here to make you feel better, not worse.”

Sorry for her? Sorry. For. Her.

There was that urge to stab herself in the gut again. Was she that bad? That horribly pitiful that every man she met felt compelled to humiliate her out of kindness? She realized after a second or two that her mouth was still hanging open in a silent moan. She closed it and shook her head. She looked ridiculous.

Patrick waited another long moment before speaking. “So... is that a no?”

Marianne nodded her head. “Correct.”

Patrick laughed uncomfortably and looked away. “Okay, then. You’re an honest girl.”

“No,” she said softly, “It’s just... You didn’t need to do this.”

Patrick knit his eyebrows together and opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Marianne waited, but he didn’t say anything, and that faux-confused look on his face was a little annoying. “You don’t have to play dumb,” she said. “You already told me why you’re in here.”

Now he looked annoyed. “I don’t understand.”

Liar. “You asked me out because you felt sorry for me.” Marianne stood up straighter and lifted up her chin. Defensive anger was great; she felt clear-headed and coherent for the first time in an hour. “I know I’m a nutcase, but I don’t need a pity date.”

Patrick gave her another nauseatingly sympathetic look. “I didn’t ask you out because of pity.”

“No, of course not,” she said. “You asked me out because of my rad social skills and charming demeanor.”

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” he said.

“Just admit it, dude.” Marianne dropped the gnarly street punk facade and shrugged. “You saw me make a fool out of myself, and you felt bad for me.”

“Well...” Patrick stared unfocused at the ceiling. “Yeah, a little—”

“See.” Marianne pointed at