A/N: It's been a couple days, but hopefully it's worth it, because I wrote a pretty longish chapter for you all. So I'm going to change the story from Peyton & Brooke to Peyton & Lucas either now or soon, because well you all know why. Well the story's starting to get deeper in now, so expect drama, love, friendship, heartbreak, excitement, terrorizing moments etc. Whatever you can imagine, I can too. Just remember that. ;)

--

There was a pause. "Lindsay," Lucas said. "Hmm, how do I answer that? It's kind of complicated."

"Complicated?" Peyton asked as she picked up her drink so he couldn't see the expression covering her face.

"Yeah, well . . . we've been hanging out for while. It's an on-again, off-again thing."

On-again, off-again? Really? Peyton wondered if that's how Lindsay saw things. Either way, he and Lindsay definitely appeared on-again the other day.

"Oh well, Brooke thought she was your girlfriend," Peyton blurted out. Way to be juvenile, Peyton.

"Why would Brooke think that?"

Because you and Lindsay were practically making out. She wanted to point out. "She's not wrong," Peyton said instead.

"But she's also not right," Lucas laughed, a little uncomfortably, Peyton thought.

They only talked for a little longer, before they finished their meals and headed on their separate ways. She had that interview in the morning–the one for that reality TV show. She wasn't going to do it, she didn't want to do it, but Brooke talked her into it. What was the chance they'd be chosen anyway? Right?

When Peyton slipped into bed that night she had a hard time falling asleep. Her mind churned with thoughts of how her interview would go tomorrow. If they asked this would she answer with this or this? And soon her thoughts drifted back to Lucas–she was glad that asking about Lindsay hadn't soured the conversation, but had to admit she was disappointed by his answer.

It was around 2 a.m., when she finally felt her eyelids growing heavy, that she realized she really wanted to do well at the interview tomorrow. She actually wanted to be on Julian Baker's new show. What better way to push the boundaries of her small, safe, perfectly pleasant life than to put it on TV, for thousands–or millions?–of people to see?

--

Peyton glanced around the waiting room and wondered how much longer it would be. It was so quiet, she could hear the ticking of the clock on the otherwise bare, white wall as it hit 6:45 a.m. She wondered what kinds of things they would ask her. Again. And how long would this interview take? She didn't have anywhere to be, but she was kind of tired from her lack of sleep last night. Also, if they were trying to make a savvy show about L.A., why would they be interested in someone like her? She knew nothing about L.A.

She was a little troubled by the fact that the waiting room was so–ordinary. Shouldn't a TV producers, waiting room be chic? With lots of glass chrome and expensive art? Like John Knight's office at Sire Records. His was covered with albums that he's produced. So shouldn't Julian's place be covered with like movies he's directed, or produced. She leaned over to Brooke, who was sitting next to her on the one of the uncomfortable beige chairs. "His assistant said six thirty, right?" she whispered.

"Relax. When did you start caring about punctuality? You're like half an hour late for everything." Brooke reminded her.

"I am not! I'm just really nervous. I'm a little scared to go in there," Peyton admitted. "It kind of reminds me of when Ellie wanted to interview me to get to know me. It's a bittersweet moment."

"Sweetie it'll be okay. Don't think about that. Besides she can be so proud of us when we're on this show. Be excited about this!"

"Hey. You're the one who talked me into coming here. You were the one who was all excited about meeting with that guy. Me not so much." Peyton said.

That guy. Brooke reached into her pocket and pulled out the business card he had given them at TRIC, and fingered it with her hands. "Julian Baker, producer," it read. She and Peyton has Googled his name right when they got home that night. He hadn't been lying. He was the Julian Baker, movie producer; tons of his movies went to Sundance. He was kind of a big deal, but he's never done television shows. Peyton read about some of Julian's latest movies had flopped. Was this show going to be the same? Or would it be his comeback?

Peyton had insisted that Brooke did a Google Image search to make sure the person they'd met wasn't just pretending to be Julian Baker using fake business cards from Staples. He wasn't. Julian Baker–the Julian Baker–had really truly come up to them and asked them to be in his new show. It was so surreal, things like that didn't just happen. To anyone! Peyton had never really loved, being the center of attention, it was more Brooke's thing. And with Brooke as her best friend, she never had that problem.

A door opened, and a girl dressed in jeans and a blue v-neck. "Peyton?""

Peyton glanced up at her.

"They'll see you first."

She rose to her feet and gave Brooke a quick, nervous squeeze on the arm. "Wish me luck."

"You'll be fine Peyt, just don't be a bitch," Brooke reassured her. Kind of.

Peyton turned to the girl, "Who's 'they'? I thought we were just going to talk to Julian."

"Sorry, they don't really tell me anything," the girl apologized.

Peyton waved to Brooke, then followed the girl down a hallway. " Have you been working here long?" she asked, trying to distract herself from her own thoughts with polite conversation.

"Like three weeks," the girl said.

"So is this, like, the main office?"

"No, this is one of the production spaces they rent." The girl stopped in front of another door and indicated for Peyton to go in. "Right in here."

"Thanks!"

Peyton entered, barely noticing the door close behind her, and found herself in an almost clausterphobically small room. It has the same dingy white walls and faded blue carpet as the waiting room. The only furniture was a single gray folding chair lined up neatly against one of the walls.

About five feet in front of the chair was a large camera on a tripod and a tall, industrial–looking light. Peyton frowned at the equipment. What was it doing here? She was not good with cameras. Not since she got attacked by her high school stalker. How did Brooke talk her into this? Peyton did not see this going well. At all. She turned to ask the girl, but she was already gone.

The door opened again, and a heavyset guy bustled in carrying a small black pack of some sort. The pack had an On/Off switch and a green light on top and a long black wire that ended at a tiny round ball extended from the bottom of it.

"Okay if I put this on you?" the guy asked Peyton.

"What is it?"

The guy looked amused. "Microphone."

"Oh . . . I guess so. Sure."

"Great. Have a seat."

Peyton sat down in the folding chair, which felt cold and hard against her bare legs. Brooke made Peyton wear shorts today.

The guy handed her the wire and a piece of tape. "Run this wire down your shirt for me, okay?" he instructed. "And tape the mike to yourself, like right about here." He pointed to his chest, just above where her two bra cups would meet.

"Uh . . . okay."

The tiny round mike felt weird against her chest. When she did podcast she just talked into a microphone. She didn't have it attached to her in any weird way, in a weird place.

Was it going to pick up the sound of her heart beating a million miles a minute? She was feeling nervous already. The camera and impossibly the small space where she couldn't escape from, wasn't helping. Relax, she told herself.

The guy put on a headset and picked up a pack of equipment. He asked her to count to ten and began twisting knobs and flipping switches. Then the door opened again, and two men and a woman entered. One of the guys didn't even look at her as he went to the camera and started pressing various buttons. The other two smiled pleasantly at Peyton and took their positions on either side of the camera guy. They were both carrying notebooks and pens.

"Hi, Peyton," the woman said. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties. He thin brown hair hung just below her shoulders. She was wearing a blue striped button–down shirt over faded jeans and wore a silver bow headband in her hair. "I'm Dana, I'm one of the producers of the pilot. And this is Mitchell. He'll be helping out with casting."

Mitchell had short, messy brunette hair, and wide brown eyes, and was probably closer to Peyton's age than Dana's. He wore a navy T-shirt and cords. He didn't look like a Mitch.

Peyton raised one hand and smiled awkwardly. "Hey. It's nice to meet you."

"Were just going to ask you a few questions, if that's okay with you." Dana went on. The camera guy flicked a switch, and Peyton squinted and flinched as a bright white glare flooded the room. "Is that light bothering your eyes?"

"No, it's fine," Peyton said quickly, afraid to complain about anything or ask any question. The light felt hot against her skin.

"Great," Dana said. "So. You just moved to L.A. a couple weeks ago right? Do you work or go to school here?"

"I have an internship with John Knight at Sire Records. Peyton replied. "He'd the labels producer." Oh God, why was she still talking? Of course these people knew who he was!

"Looooooove his stuff," Mitch said, nodding.

"Have you made any new friends in L.A.?" Dana asked next.

Lucas immediately came to mind. That was about it. "I've met a couple of people," Peyton hedged. "And my roommate, Brooke, is my best friend from when we were like seven. I'm excited to meet more people," Peyton admitted. "Everyone here seems so interesting."

Dana and Mitchell scribbled in their notebooks. Peyton shifted in her chair, trying to find a comfortable position. He foot began to twitch. Wow . . . Sounding a little desperate, Peyton? It's not like you actually want this. And "Interesting"? You couldn't have come up with something more interesting than 'interesting'? Way to show off that extensive vocabulary.

The camera light was intense and bright, and it made it difficult to see Dana's and Mitch's faces. Peyton struggled to read their faces. She wished she knew what they were writing–and thinking. She reached up and twisted one of her curls, as Dana and Mitch continued to fire more questions at her: Where did she grow up? What was her family like? Where did she go to high school? Did she plan on going to college? What were her career goals? Did she have a boyfriend?

Peyton answered all the questions the best she could. (Tree Hill. What I have left of my family is amazing. Tree Hill High. I want to work for a couple years, get some real-life experience, then possibly go to college. Nope, no boyfriend). The questions went on and on like that. Peyton felt as though they were trying to get her life story–the SparkNotes version, anyway–and she couldn't imagine why. However her life had been pretty eventful if that's how you'd like to categorize it. And in one way that's why she moved to L.A. to get away from it all. People Always Leave. But this time it's me. That was all of Peyton's thoughts when she got on that plane to L.A.

At one point there was a brief pause as Dana and Mitch wrote in their notebooks. (What were they writing?) The light was hot, and Peyton could feel herself starting to sweat.

"Have you been going out in L.A. since you moved here?" Dana asked her.

"A few times. I'm still trying to figure out fun places to go. Apparently, you guys have commitment issues with your clubs here," Peyton said.

The both laughed at her joke. It sounded polite.

"You've noticed, huh?" Dana piped in.

"Drink of choice?" Mitch asked cutely, as if he were quizzing her for Cosmopolitan.

"For when you're legal, of course," Dana added, giving Mitchell a cryptic look.

"Of course," Peyton replied. Considering she'd met Julian at a bar, she figured Dana's remark was a joke or something she had to say. "I'm partial to vodka . . . anything."

"My kind of girl." Mitch winked at her.

Peyton smiled. She liked him. He was a little chattier than Dana. She felt more comfortable talking to him. Like she was having a conversation, rather than being interviewed. " So have you met any hot guys since you've been here?" Mitch leaned in towards her a little.

"Not really . . . I met one guy, but I think he has a girlfriend. Maybe." Ugh, saying that out loud made Peyton realize how lame it was to be hanging all over someone who had a girl. "I broke up with my boyfriend not too long ago and I haven't really been dating."

"Awww, I'm sorry." Mitch made a cute little pout, then perked up. "But, you know, nothing cures heartbreak like a new cute boy," he said in an almost sing songy voice.

"Yeah . . . that or the vodka anything." Peyton shrugged.

They laughed again–and this time it didn't feel just polite.

"Okay, so we're going to read off a list of words," Dana said, all business again. "You say the first thing that comes to your mind. It's just for fun so don't think about it. Say whatever pops into your head."

"Okay." Peyton straightened up a little.

"One-night stands," Dana said, staring.

"Umm . . . trashy," Peyton replied, scrunching her nose a little.

"Shoes."

"Converse."

Mitch nodded in agreement.

"Los Angeles."

"Chances."

"Friendship."

"Long-lasting."

"Love."

"Hard."

Dana finished writing something in her notebook, then looked up at Peyton. "And lastly . . . why did you move to L.A.? Besides hoping to get that internship?"

Peyton thought for a moment. "For change. A new start, and to get away from everything bad that happened back where I lived."

Dana and Mitch looked at each other, and Dana nodded.

"Okay, then, we're all done," Dana said. "We'll be in touch, okay?"

"It's over?" Peyton said, surprised.

"It's over," Mitch told her. "You're free to go. You did great!"

"I did?" Peyton felt like she'd only just gotten into the swing of things. Could she really have been great?

She got up, said her thank-yous and good-byes (she went to shake Mitch's hand, because it seemed like the right thing to do, and instead shared an awkward half-handshake, half-hug with him; Dana was fine with a brief but firm handshake), and headed back in the direction of the waiting room. In the hallway, she passed Brooke and the girl who called her in orginially. How'd it go? Brooke mouthed to her. I don't know, Peyton mouthed back. She wished she had time to give Brooke a quick lowdown before she walked into her interview. Although, knowing Brooke she would do just fine. Peyton had never met anyone who didn't love Brooke and her personality.

--

Peyton and Brooke got the phone call on a Saturday, while Brooke was trying on clothes, and Peyton was there to tell Brooke if it looked good. Or bad.

Anyway they had been talking about Lucas, and Brooke hadn't been telling Peyton what she wanted to hear; with the whole Lindsay, girlfriend thing.

"I like the shirt from what you first tried on, and the jeans from the outfit you're wearing now." Peyton said. "Maybe you could mix them together for a perfect outfit." She suggested.

"How about no!" Brooke responded. She was amused at the way Peyton would keep changing the subject, and how this was the most she ever examined her clothing ever!

"I asked Lucas to meet us for drinks tonight." Peyton blurted out. She looked as if she were about to say something else, but Brooke interrupted.

"Seriously? Peyton we'll be at a place full of guys. Why would you invite one? And one with a girlfriend for that matter?

Brooke could tell when Peyton was in denial about a guy, which happened more often than not. In high school before Nathan, Peyton fell in love for more than a few boys with "complications." Aka boys with ex-girlfriends who refused to stay ex-girlfriends. It was a kind of recurring thing for Peyton. Although who was Brooke to talk, since she wasn't exactly an expert on relationships?

"He said he couldn't anyway. He was busy all weekend with something he can't get out of," Peyton said adding a small pout.

"Yeah . . . a relationship," Brooke reminded her,

"I told you. She's not really his girlfriend. They have this on-again, off-again thing. It's complicated.

"How complicated could it be? She's into him. He's into exploring his options."

"Maybe." Peyton had shrugged and wandered back out into the store.

Poor Peyton, Brooke thought. She needs another boy to distract her from this one–fast.

Brooke walked after Peyton into the main store "Look sweetie, I just don't want you to get hurt. You know I'm just looking out for you right?"

"I know, I know, and it means a lot to me. Really."

Brooke was going to say something else when she heard a muffled sound of a cell phone. She knew it wasn't hers, because well she left hers in the car.

"Peyton? I think that's yours," Brooke noted.

"Huh? Oh!" Peyton fished through her purse looking for it, spilling a couple of items on the floor in the process: a balled-up receipt, a couple business cards, a tampon. "Crap!"

She bent down to retrieve them as she found her cell and shoved it against her ear. "Hello?" she said sounding a little flustered.

Nearby, a little boy who was in the same shop with his mother watched with interest as the tampon rolled down the aisle of clothing Peyton was in and toward him. "Oh, jeez," Brooke thought. She walked towards him and snatched up the tampon before he did, "Stick to Legos, kiddo," she told him. The boy laughed and ran off.

"Yes, this is she," Brooke heard Peyton say to the person on the other end.

Stuffing the tampon into her back pocket, Brooke glances around the room at other clothes that caught her eye.

"Oh, hey! Julian! How are you?"

Brooke's head snapped up.

Peyton grinned at Brooke and pointed to the phone. It's him! She mouthed.

Peyton was a little surprised. It had been two weeks since they had gone in for their interviews. After so many days, of not hearing from anyone she figured Julian had cast some other girls. Which had been a disappointment, since Peyton had actually gotten into the idea of being on TV.

For Brooke the interview had been a blast. She had liked watching the shocked expressions on Dana's and Mitch's faces as she described her philosophy about one-night stands and so forth.

And Peyton confessed to Brooke finally, that she, too, wanted to be on the show. When it looked like they weren't going to be getting a callback, Brooke had mourned the lost opportunity, with a new conquest.

"Yeah, she's with me right now," Peyton was saying. "Oh, she left her phone in the car." She gestured furiously for Brooke to come stand next to her, then pulled the phone away from her ear, and put it on speaker mode so they could both listen. Brooke leaned her head against Peyton's.

Julian continued, "So I'm sorry it's taken two weeks for me to get back to you guys, but I've been putting together a crew. It's been hell. Anyway, I watched both of your interviews and they looked great. Meet me for lunch and let's talk about the show.

What?????

Brooke grabbed Peyton's hand and squeezed, hard. Brooke clearly couldn't hold in her excitement.

"What the hell does that mean? Are we in? Peyton whispered.

"I don't know, but I think so," Brooke mouthed back, her eyes wide.

"Peyton? You still there?" Julian said after a moment.

"Yeah!"

"How about the Ivy, tomorrow at one. My assistant will make a reservation."

"Sure," Peyton said.

"Great! See you tomorrow."

"Kay. Bye."

Peyton snapped her phone shut and stared at Brooke. "What just happened?" She asked, sounding puzzled. "Does that mean he wants to put us on the show?"

"Why would he meet us if her didn't? Brooke pointed out. Although as Brooke said it Peyton doubted herself because, really? He'd chosen them? Out of how many other girls? It just seemed so . . . unbelievable. But also, exciting.

"Oh my god," Brooke whispered. Then screamed. People in the shop turned and stared. "Are we gonna be on TV?" Peyton stared at Brooke.

Brooke stared right back. "Shit. I think so!"

The Brooke told Peyton to buy whatever clothing she wanted. "We're living on the edge not," Brooke joked.

"Yep. Watch out world. Here we come!"

All the tension of the Lucas conversation slipped away, as they traded quips about their impending TV stardom.