Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Sets of Three, They Say...
Meg wrote.
Patrick,
I'm pretty sure that I won't get to talk to you much this evening, considering you're one of the four men of the hour, but I wanted you to know that these past couple of days have been incredibly interesting...the positive kind of interesting, of course. Thank you for buying those books (Pete text me about it.) and thank you for spilling my pumpkin latte on me, and letting me spill your hot chocolate on you. I could never talk to you after this and I'll still always remember the end of my favorite argyle sweater, and the friend that I made because of it, even if I only had that friend for a day. You're a good guy. Have fun. Play well.
Meggyn Elizabeth Bradbury.
She folded the letter and stuck inside the sea-foam green envelope she found in the 3rd drawer of her desk. Not too wordy, not too personal. Not too short. Not too impersonal. It was almost impossible to write, considering how platonic she wanted it to sound, but come on. She was female. He was male. She was attracted. You have to know he felt the same way. Even after a couple of days the human mind is able to gather the feelings they have about an individual and whether they want to know them more or not. It's very simple. It comes with having any level of humanity at all. Duh.
Meg didn't bother changing before the concert. Whether she stuck out like a sore thumb or not, it didn't matter. She wasn't going for them. She was going for her friends. They had watched her play piano, and she was going to watch them....do 5 different things. Perfectly fair trade.
Food.
Let me tell you a little something about Meg. She could eat more than most boys you've ever met in your life. A whole pizza. A couple of Big Macs. No big deal. It could be gone in about 20 minutes, depending on whether she was hungry enough or not. She was a size 8. happy. Healthy. No arguments. She wasn't fat. She was thin. Normal. Beautiful, and even more beautiful because her skin was hers, and no one else's. She loved that. Meg had a hard time understanding why anyone wouldn't.
So, anyway, food.
Meg went into the kitchen. She'd just bought a bunch of granola shit because Mal was driving her up the wall about her becoming hypoglycemic or something. She reached for the Kashi, then pulled back, reached further over to the left for the king size snickers that she thought looked significantly better. 5:00. She needed to leave soon, or she'd never get inside. She chewed her delicious and calorie-infested snickers while simultaneously texting Mal.
MSG: Let's get the fuck over there. Do you want to be able to listen to the music from inside?
Mal looked over at her phone, and read. She sighed and replied.
MSG: I'm on my way down. Chill.
"What if they don't come?" Pete looked at his friend, as he laced his belt through the loops in his jeans.
"Chill, dude. They're coming. And you're hanging out with Meg after it's over." Patrick stopped.
"I am? Thank you for checking with me." Patrick tried to act irritated.
"Oh yeah. I'm sure you're so inconvenienced." Patrick tried to defend himself.
"I could have had a date." Pete put his hand on his friends shoulder.
"You do have a date...thing. With Meg." He walked over to the food. "Aren't there usually grapes? Pete wants grapes." Joe walked by.
"Stop being such a fucking diva." Pete laughed. Andy entered.
"Ten minutes, bitches." Patrick had placed himself on a couch, and was looking through one of the manuals he'd spent so much fucking money on.
Actually, that was how he had spent a good portion of his day, and for someone who doesn't retain what they read so well, Patrick was surprised at what he knew already. Most of the 'motherfucking alphabet' (Sorry. That's just what it's going to be from here on out.), basic stuff, enough to carry on half way intelligent conversation with the girl he was having so much trouble talking to.
This was all too weird for him. Usually, if a girl didn't talk to Patrick, he didn't try and make her. Now, not to sound conceited to any degree, but Patrick really didn't find himself running into that problem as much now that he was, well, quasi-famous. The point is, if a girl didn't talk to him, he didn't push it. But now, here was a girl who couldn't talk to him, and all he wanted to do was communicate with her. He wanted to be on the same level as her, make her feel comfortable.
As a completely un-biased third party, I'm going to have to agree with Meg. He's totally gray.
A/N: is everyone still interested...i mean...is it still going okay?? just, uh, let me know...
nervously clicks 'submit changes'
Patrick,
I'm pretty sure that I won't get to talk to you much this evening, considering you're one of the four men of the hour, but I wanted you to know that these past couple of days have been incredibly interesting...the positive kind of interesting, of course. Thank you for buying those books (Pete text me about it.) and thank you for spilling my pumpkin latte on me, and letting me spill your hot chocolate on you. I could never talk to you after this and I'll still always remember the end of my favorite argyle sweater, and the friend that I made because of it, even if I only had that friend for a day. You're a good guy. Have fun. Play well.
Meggyn Elizabeth Bradbury.
She folded the letter and stuck inside the sea-foam green envelope she found in the 3rd drawer of her desk. Not too wordy, not too personal. Not too short. Not too impersonal. It was almost impossible to write, considering how platonic she wanted it to sound, but come on. She was female. He was male. She was attracted. You have to know he felt the same way. Even after a couple of days the human mind is able to gather the feelings they have about an individual and whether they want to know them more or not. It's very simple. It comes with having any level of humanity at all. Duh.
Meg didn't bother changing before the concert. Whether she stuck out like a sore thumb or not, it didn't matter. She wasn't going for them. She was going for her friends. They had watched her play piano, and she was going to watch them....do 5 different things. Perfectly fair trade.
Food.
Let me tell you a little something about Meg. She could eat more than most boys you've ever met in your life. A whole pizza. A couple of Big Macs. No big deal. It could be gone in about 20 minutes, depending on whether she was hungry enough or not. She was a size 8. happy. Healthy. No arguments. She wasn't fat. She was thin. Normal. Beautiful, and even more beautiful because her skin was hers, and no one else's. She loved that. Meg had a hard time understanding why anyone wouldn't.
So, anyway, food.
Meg went into the kitchen. She'd just bought a bunch of granola shit because Mal was driving her up the wall about her becoming hypoglycemic or something. She reached for the Kashi, then pulled back, reached further over to the left for the king size snickers that she thought looked significantly better. 5:00. She needed to leave soon, or she'd never get inside. She chewed her delicious and calorie-infested snickers while simultaneously texting Mal.
MSG: Let's get the fuck over there. Do you want to be able to listen to the music from inside?
Mal looked over at her phone, and read. She sighed and replied.
MSG: I'm on my way down. Chill.
"What if they don't come?" Pete looked at his friend, as he laced his belt through the loops in his jeans.
"Chill, dude. They're coming. And you're hanging out with Meg after it's over." Patrick stopped.
"I am? Thank you for checking with me." Patrick tried to act irritated.
"Oh yeah. I'm sure you're so inconvenienced." Patrick tried to defend himself.
"I could have had a date." Pete put his hand on his friends shoulder.
"You do have a date...thing. With Meg." He walked over to the food. "Aren't there usually grapes? Pete wants grapes." Joe walked by.
"Stop being such a fucking diva." Pete laughed. Andy entered.
"Ten minutes, bitches." Patrick had placed himself on a couch, and was looking through one of the manuals he'd spent so much fucking money on.
Actually, that was how he had spent a good portion of his day, and for someone who doesn't retain what they read so well, Patrick was surprised at what he knew already. Most of the 'motherfucking alphabet' (Sorry. That's just what it's going to be from here on out.), basic stuff, enough to carry on half way intelligent conversation with the girl he was having so much trouble talking to.
This was all too weird for him. Usually, if a girl didn't talk to Patrick, he didn't try and make her. Now, not to sound conceited to any degree, but Patrick really didn't find himself running into that problem as much now that he was, well, quasi-famous. The point is, if a girl didn't talk to him, he didn't push it. But now, here was a girl who couldn't talk to him, and all he wanted to do was communicate with her. He wanted to be on the same level as her, make her feel comfortable.
As a completely un-biased third party, I'm going to have to agree with Meg. He's totally gray.
A/N: is everyone still interested...i mean...is it still going okay?? just, uh, let me know...
nervously clicks 'submit changes'
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