"What for?" he drawls, sprawled out on the couch. I still can't get over how much he's erased his accent. He doesn't sound English now unless he really wants to.
"I need to see the play. Taming of the Shrew. I promised."
He sits up straight and puts the deck of cards he's been shuffling down. "Get your mum to take you."
"I can't. She's at a concert. I don't know where my da is."
"Davy, please! I'm begging. I need to see this play."
"Sorry, but I can't take you."
"Can't or won't?" I demand.
"..." I grab his hand. It's so warm. "Your fingers are like ice, Sam."
"C'mon, Davy. You'll have fun - Shakespeare's English! I mean, how British can you get?"
"Just 'cuz you and your Asians latch onto everything vaguely related to your culture doesn't mean I do the same."
"Why are you so mean to me?"
"Why are you so mean to me?" he imitates, twirling a finger around an imaginary lock of hair.
"I never do that!" I'm indigant. I'm not a cheerleader, after all. Just a undepressed Death Angel. "What's the real reason why you won't take me?"
"I just won't because I'm a horrible Englishman with bad teeth! Besides, I don't want to flaunt my datelessness."
"It's Saturday night, kiddo. Davy doesn't like staying home on Saturdays."
"You are such a...a..." I can't think of a good word. "Idiot! The whole point of going to the play is so that you aren't home alone!"
"No, and that's my final answer, Regis." He escorts me to the door and kicks me out.
"What was that all about?" I yell. He doesn't answer, but I can hear his guitar. He's tuning it. "JERK!"
"SHREW!" A faint voice shouts from the interior of the house. I kick the door and go home.
Now, what WAS that all about?