Pathetically Poetic
Chapter Three: Only the Names Change
The ruby gloss slid across her pouting lips, the vibrant color a sharp contrast to the paleness of her skin. Frowning at her reflection, she reached over and grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser, blotting carefully. Manipulating her face carefully, those lips twisted into a perky smile. She blew out an irritated breath before tossing the napkin, off-white with fresh red stains, into the trash bin. Walking past, it caught her eye for a second, before she continued walking. It looked like blood.
The hallway was noisy, as always. That was the great thing about school. Everyone was always talking, regardless of the rules. It was easy to fade into the background. Except, of course, if you were Brooke Davis. Then everyone looked at you, waiting with baited breath for your next move, so the rumor mills could keep turning. Unfortunately for her, that's exactly who she happened to be. Ignoring the stares of the resident freaks and geeks, she shot a playful smile at the captain of the football team and kept walking. Her heels were four inches high, but she didn't waver at all. Years of experience had taught her how to move, how to speak, how to be. Even now, her autopilot was as strong as the real thing, and so she captivated the student body the same as always, for no other reason than she was Brooke Davis, and that was what she did.
She slumped into her history class ten minutes late, if only because she could. Somehow, the loud blaring of the bell couldn't cut through the silence in her mind. It was eerie, almost, walking the halls with no one else around. Brooke had never really been alone before this year.
She paused outside the door for a brief moment, waiting to collect herself before she slouched in before the whole class's scrutiny. She smoothed her hair, smacked her lips together, straightened her top, and mentally ran through a list of things to do. As she walked into class, she would have to greet people. Send the teacher a cheeky smile and wink, Nathan warranted a full grin, maybe a half-smile in Tutor Girl's direction. Everyone else could see the patented Brooke Davis smirk. No, never mind. It didn't really matter anyway. Nobody looked carefully enough to distinguish as it was.
The eyes of everyone in the room were on her as she entered, and she sent them all the grin she'd spent her free period practicing. Most of them twittered, and turned away. There were two free seats in the entire classroom. Opposite sides of the room, equally unappealing, and two pairs of blue eyes stared questioningly at her. She opted for the closer one. The other set of eyes, once harboring a flicker of hope, was quickly extinguished. She rolled her own green eyes (did he really think she'd come to him?) then regretted it, just in case the rumors were true and she'd end up with crow's feet. She plopped down besides the Ravens mega-star, knowing that however well Lucas had been doing, Nathan would always retain that title.
"Hi," he whispered roughly, but she didn't turn towards him. In days past, particularly in the Golden Age of Nathan and Peyton, they'd been really close. Or at least, they'd partied together, hung out on weekends, sat together at lunch, chatted in the halls. That's as close as friends really came for her.
"Are you okay?" he persisted. Her eyes filled, involuntarily, at the question. Somehow, each and every person to ask her that managed to say the words with utmost concern. Even coming from insensitive super-jock Nathan Scott, the words managed to make it seem like the person uttering them gave a damn about what happened to her. Taking a deep breath, hoping it would conquer the massive lump forming in her throat, she turned towards him. Her eyes were no longer tearing. Far more like ice.
"Peachy. Now maybe we should stop talking, you can pay attention to class, and then you can stop your charity work with Tutor Girl so she'll help you stay on the team. I know how tedious it can be to pretend to like people," she answered with a smile that was anything but warm. "Tedious means hard, by the way."
She cringed slightly, regretting the words as soon as they slipped past her lips. She watched him carefully, observing the way his jaw clenched and unclenched. It was hard to miss the way his face had fallen, as shock took over. It was a very short list, if you wanted the names of people who stood up to him. She waited for him to yell, or throw something, because that was what Nathan did. The infamous Scott temper reared its ugly head at every opportunity with him. With a frown, she realized that she'd written him off the same way people did to her. Opening her mouth, this time to apologize, she was greeted with him holding up a large hand to stop her. He shifted his chair slightly, angling away from her. It was subtle, but she caught it, and was surprised when it stung. It appeared that he took her "advice" and was now raptly listening to the lecture.
Can't say he didn't try.
Brooke's not sure why it is, but she's still having some trouble adjusting to maneuvering the hallowed halls of Tree Hill High without her curly blonde sidekick. It was usually regular to see them joined at the hip, or the elbow, or the shoulder. Where Brooke was, Peyton was not far behind. She realizes this was her great mistake though, turning her back. It's a prime target for stabbing. She doesn't miss her, not even a little, so don't make that mistake.
Today, Bevin chatters away mindlessly, and Theresa hangs on her every word as if they're the meaning of life. At one point, she would've stifled her laughter, only losing it when she would look to her right and catch the miffed look on Peyton's face. This day is different, as the ones before it have been, and the ones after it will be. Another cheerleader, just as blonde as her former sidekick but at least eighteen times less interesting, is on her left, and she's not laughing. And so Brooke listens, letting the words bounce around in her head, mulling them over. It was all the same gossip, nothing new. All the same events, same parties, same places, same scandals. Only the names changed.
Brooke's never had an especially keen interest in gossip. As far as she was concerned, the people she didn't know could stay out of her business, and she would stay out of theirs. That was impossible, of course, given that she was the Brooke Davis, but it was a nice thought. One day, she'd move somewhere that people respected each other and their privacy. She did hear that some deserted islands were for sale.
Her eyes have glazed over, and she's mildly surprised that no one can tell she's no longer paying attention. Then again, they never were the brightest crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a glint of bright yellow, bouncing slightly as a slender figure makes its way down the hall. Brooke let out a fake laugh, much louder than her usual ones. The blonde turns, her eyes sad, before quickly moving on her way. And the rest of the cheerleaders laugh along, for no other reason than she did it first.
Down the hall, she can see Tutor Girl retrieving books from her locker, him leaning against it casually. His eyes are on her, as they usually are, and today she catches his gaze. Quirking a dark eyebrow in his direction, it's the most acknowledgement she's given him in days, and it would take a fool to miss the way his whole face lit up. Brooke Davis was no one's fool until he came along.
Wrenching her eyes from his, she examines the girl most fondly refer to as Hales. She may not know her personally, but she knows her as well as she knows anyone else in the school. The tutor used to wear sports bras and cotton tees and colorful plastic clips with pigtails, her hair stick straight. Today, her jeans are cut low, as is her shirt. Her hair hangs in loose waves around her shoulders, and it's easy to see that her makeup usage has increased significantly. Instead of laughing at her, the way she would usually do, the new appearance strikes a nerve with Brooke. She wants to pull her aside and tell her that no boy is worth changing for, not even a little bit. Instead, Haley catches her eye, and gives her a sympathetic look. Brooke can literally feel herself steel then, never one to accept pity, and flings herself back into the conversation with her "friends".
Now they're gossiping about poor Bettina Sanchez. She was totally in love with her boyfriend, and thought he felt the same way. That is, until she caught him with her best friend. She slips away from the conversation yet again. She already knows this story, and only the names have changed.
