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It was a lovely June evening. Kat's father had been called away for an emergency birth, so Kat and Patrick were sitting out on the porch, talking quietly about nothing in particular. She was wearing a black tank top and long blue skirt. Her sandals were somewhere else on the porch. She'd painted her toenails the same deep blue as her skirt.She was precariously balanced on the railing. He kissed her shoulders, hoping she wouldn't fall. "Tell me a lie," Patrick said."I'm a virgin," Kat said, immediately and sincerely, her hands jumping up to her neckline. Patrick laughed. "Tell me something funny," Kat said. "You're a fantastic dancer," Patrick said, idly patting her knee. She scowled and kicked at him. He dodged it and smiled. She smiled back. "You're a wonderful singer," she said. "And dancer."He fluttered his eyelashes at her. "Why, thank you.""You're welcome."They smiled at each other for a moment. "Take me dancing," he said, kissing her bare shoulder."Maybe later.""Stay off the tables," he said. She sneered at him. "All right, you can dance on the tables if you want.""You wouldn't kiss me after I did," she said."The dance wasn't why.""Then why?""You were drunk, you'd thrown up on me, and you had a possible concussion.""A trifecta of reasons.""Do you need more?" "No.""Good.""Write me a poem," Kat said.Patrick laughed. "What?""You heard me.""Oh, like the sonnet you wrote for me?""Yes." Patrick kissed her cheek, rubbing the small of her back with his hand. "That really isn't my style, Kat."She pulled back. "Can't you find a more eloquent way to express how you feel about me?"He looked at her. "What if I say no?""Don't say it, and we won't find out." "How much time do I have for this assignment, teacher?" "As much time as you need," Kat said. She bit her lower lip. "You don't have to, it's just... I just...""Can I have some paper?" Patrick said. Kat jumped off the railing, to procure paper and pen."All right, now leave me alone and let me write," Patrick said. Kat hovered around the porch while he wrote. He shielded the paper from her eyes with his hands. She paced the porch, the yard, the house. "All right, I'm done," he called out. She was closer than he'd realized."And I can read it?" she said quietly. He jumped. "Was that an option? No, then.""Give it to me," she said, taking it out of his hands. Ten Things I Hate About You by Patrick Verona
You're making me write this thing.
You're flat.
They make padded bras, you know. Of course, that wouldn't fix the root problem. Your father is a doctor. He has to have enough money; you could afford the operation. You couldn't pull off too much more, but maybe a C-cup would fit your frame.
I hate that you're a bitch.
You're so violent. (I might actually like that far more than is healthy for me.)
I hate the way you dress.
Black lingerie-- despite what the rest were claiming-- means nothing. You have dark skirts. It was required. Lacy lingerie means something. You don't own that. Or the afore-mentioned padded bras.
I hate the music you listen to.
I hate your favorite bands. I got them for the prom, but it doesn't mean I like that kind of thing. And now you'll be playing the same kind of music.
I hate that you hate cigarettes.
I quit smoking for you. It worked and you'll stand near me now, but I still miss it. I still have a pack or two, you know.
I hate that you slept with Joey.
I wouldn't have known about it if you hadn't told me, but it doesn't make it any better. He went for your little sister. He was willing to pay me to take you off his hands. What does that say about him? (He's a deflowerer of freshman and sophomore girls. How much longer will he be able to do that without getting arrested? I think it won't be very long; what are the statutory rape laws?)
I hate what your father and sister put you-- and me, and most of this school-- through.
She's too young to date, and not all that pretty. You're much better-looking, but your wit is caustic and your eyes flash poisonous fire, so everyone looks to her instead. And you played along with it, because their expectations gave you something to negatively compare yourself to.
I hate that I got paid to ask you out, and then I spent most of the money on you anyway.
I got you that guitar. And the band. And everything-- the rose and my tux and all of it. If I piss you off with this, then how am I going to get you that tambourine? Joey's not going to be giving me any more money for dating you.
You're going to Sarah Lawrence.
I'm never going to see you again, am I? You're going to leave, and start another antagonistic relationship once you get there with some bookstore employee.
Kat read it twice. She looked at Patrick, and looked back at the paper. "What the hell is this?" she said finally. "I wrote you a poem like you wrote me. Well, it's more a list than a poem...""I...you didn't..." She swallowed. "What do you think?" he said, suddenly seeming to be nervous. It was a trick, an act.She looked up at him. "You're really worried about me leaving."He laughed, scoffing at the very idea. "I think you need to read the other nine points. The first two were particularly important.""You're not that shallow. You're not that guy. Don't even pretend to be that guy," she said. He rubbed her shoulders, feeling the straps of her tank top. "Are you even wearing a bra?""Yes, a black one. What the hell is this about black lingerie?" "Just something Cameron told me.""Cameron being Bianca's little boyfriend. She probably told him that, and what type of underwear I own. That little sneak. If it isn't pink or white or floral, it won't do anything for her." Patrick smiled. Kat was distracted. He was so proud of himself, he didn't see her lunging towards him for a hug. "You're going to miss me!" she said. She kissed his cheeks and forehead."You'll miss me more," he said. "Write me another one," she said, pushing the paper back at him. "Ten things you love about me." "No more writing, no more lists, no more hate."Kat's eyes welled up with tears. "I love you."He brushed her tears away. "And I love...cigarettes."She punched his shoulder. "You absolute jerk!" She found his pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket, and removed them for him. "You can have these all you want when I leave, you know."He nodded, and threw the pack out onto the lawn."Don't litter on my lawn," she said.He kissed her instead of answering.