Silent Scream (Hiatus)

Chapter 8

He smirked, putting his feet down. "I thought we weren't talking."

"I can make an exception to yell at you."

"Do I get any exceptions?"

"What do you think?"

"Um ... no? I would think that would be your answer. But I also think that you can make an exception about your non-exception."

"Uh – what?" I questioned, slightly baffled.

"The bottom line is, we're going to talk whether you like it or not. It's inevitable."

"Oh is that so?" I saw him nod from my peripheral vision.

"Ugh! Fine, I give in."

"I knew you would," he grinned.

Our talking paused. "So what is it exactly, that you're so desperate to talk about?"

"Nothing specific, really."

"Okay, so, first, when you say 'nothing specific, REALLY' that's code for 'there's lots of things I want to talk about.' Second, I find you extremely annoying."

"Is that so?"

I nodded, mimicking him from a few moments ago. "So, spit it out."

"You caught me. I want to talk about your name – in that I still don't know what the hell it is."

I smiled. "And so it will remain."

"Do you always never tell your friends your name?"

"So, we're friends now?"

"You tell me," he challenged.

I didn't say anything to that. For some reason it really got to me. Me, friends with Patrick? "The closest you're going to get is my middle name."

"I already know your last name. Channing."

"Wow, how intuitive you are," I said, sarcastically.

"Hey, be nice."

I rolled my eyes. "Its Penelope."

He pondered that for a moment. "Hmmm Penelope ..." He paused, deciding if it was an acceptable name. "I like it."

Like I would care if he likes my middle name. Phhft. "That's nice," I sarcastically replied. "What's your middle name?" I questioned.

His eyes widened. "Uh – I don't have a middle name." I chuckled to myself. He has one; it's just probably something bizarre like Blanket. Man, what was Michael Jackson thinking?! Oh yeah, Rest in Peace MJ... I contemplated, thoughts verging on a rant.

"Oh, come on! Don't give me that! You have a middle name!" I exclaimed.

"No ... I really don't."

I gave him "the look." You know, the persuasive one? "Fine ..." He crumpled under my convincing stare. "My middle name is ... Cake."

I didn't want to laugh and make him feel bad, so I'm sitting there, holding my breath, and turning pink. But I couldn't help myself and I let it out, bursting into laughter. So it IS bizarre like "Blanket."

Laughing, while trying to drive at the same time, I exclaimed, "C-c-cake?! Are you serious?!"

Looking at his lap, he responded, "And it gets worse."

I looked at him. "What could be worse than Cake?"

"Patty ... Cake."

My eyes widened. "Patty Cake?"

"Yes ... Patty Cake." I guess the look I had on my face made it seem like I didn't get it. "You know, like ... the nursery rhyme thing. Patty-Cake Patty-Cake bakers ma-"

"I know, I know," I said, stopping him from continuing. "People called you 'Patty Cake'?" He nodded. "Well, that sucks." I guess it makes sense too because his name IS Patrick.

"Yeah, I know. It pretty much scarred me."

"I'm sorry," I said, actually feeling bad for him. "But you know what? I'll tell you something embarrassing that people called me just so we're even."

"You don't have to do that."

"I WANT to."

"Okay then ..."

I took a deep breath. This wasn't easy for me to say. It scarred me, it really did. "When I was in elementary school ... people called me ... 'Caveman.'"

He looked confused. "Why would they call you that?"

"Well, I kinda had ... really bushy eyebrows and ... a bit of a uni-brow."

"No way?!"

"Yup."

"I never would have guessed."

"Yeah. Over spending on 'WAX AWAY!" really paid off." He laughed - An awkward silence followed. Pulling up to his drive-away, I turned to him and said, "So um ... as much as I hate to admit it," smiling, I confessed, "this was nice. I'm really glad I almost ran you over with my car," I joked.

He smiled. "Yeah." He got out of the car, and stood by the open door, slouching over and glancing into my vehicle so he could look at me. Another awkward silence followed. He looked as if he was waiting to say something. "So um ... did you want to come in?"

DO I want to come in? I asked myself.

"Well ... I-"

He cut me off, "You know, to work on the drama scene ... n stuff."

"Oh, um ... sure."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh."

He smiled. "Great." Yes, superb ...

I pulled my keys out of the ignition, silencing my rumbling engine. I climbed out of the vehicle and said, "I just have to call my mom."

"Alright." I followed him up the driveway and he opened the front door for me.

And I stepped into Patrick Abbot's home for the second time.