The stereo turns on and the light blinds my eyes, but I know that Peyton doesn't really care. She turns down the Warped Tour 2004 mix that's blasting just because I felt like blowing out my eardrums. I groan and roll over, pulling the pillow over my head, trying to block it all out.
"Let's go." Peyton tries to coax me out of bed, but I just throw what I think is a dirty sock, at her head. "Ewww, Brooke. That's gross." She grabs my protective pillow and rips back my shades. I flinch and look at the clock: 7:30 am. It's like she reads my mind. "Yeah, I know, but you promised we'd go to the mall today," I look at her. When the hell did I say that? "And you've been such loser lately. You need shop-therapy." I'm not sure what shop-therapy is, but it doesn't sound good – at all.
Still, an hour later, I'm sitting in the passenger seat of Peyton's car, staring at the other cars, wondering what the other drivers are thinking. I finger my sketchbook in my lap. I got it back – and the rest of my stuff – 2 days ago, after class ended. I made sure that Peyton stayed with me, so I wouldn't have to hang around too long. Besides, Peyton was my voice in situations like these. Because it seemed like I got myself in situations like this often. Once, after a breakup, I wanted my sweatshirt that I had left after the breakup argument. Peyton marched in and almost knocked some teeth out, but when she got back in the car, she had my sweatshirt in her hands. She's a sister like that. And when I hung back after class on Friday, she hung back too, and waited while Ms. James handed me my bag, my sketches, my books and a folded up piece of paper that I still haven't looked at yet. I know it wasn't in bag on Thursday, so James must have written it.
That particular piece of paper was still in my pocket. I just threw on a pair of pants this morning, and they happened to be the same one I was wearing when I shoved the folded note out of Peyton's sight. I love my sister to death, but she would have been asking questions I couldn't answer. Stop thinking about her I yell at myself. If you think about her, you're just going to do something stupid. You're already an idiot, you idiot. So just…stop.
"Goddamnit!" Peyton yells at some early-bird shopper who just stole her parking spot. I can't help it when a smile stretches across from face, and she glares at me for a second, before she finally smiles too. "It's nice to see you doing that. Smiling you know. You don't do that so much anymore." My smile is gone instantly, but I can't really explain why. It seems like I stop because people notice I started in the first place. If you never stop, then people will never notice. If only my inner conscience could work my facial muscles, I'd have a pretty good thing going.
"That wasn't an invitation to stop." She's scanning the lot for another place to park, and I point one out to her a row over. "You're a good thing to have around sometimes." She shuts off the engine and gets out. When I don't follow suit, she leans back into the car and gives me a "come-on-already" look.
"Brooke." I don't move.
"Brooke." My dad always told me that I was stubborn. I guess he was right.
"Brooke Penelope Davis. Get your skinny ass out of this car. Now." Last time I was ordered in/out of a car, I found out that Ms. James was engaged. Then I smile when I realize that Peyton skipped over the "first and middle name" tactic and went right for the full name. That's Peyton for you. So I get out of the car and give her a "are-you-happy-look" look.
"Very happy, thanks for asking." She keeps talking, but I'm not paying attention anymore. My brain is churning away, I can feel it moving, thinking things I shouldn't be thinking. Which basically means that I'm thinking about Ms. James.
You've known her for what, 2 days? No, okay, you've known her for 4 weeks. What's the difference, huh? The difference is that in 2 days, all you knew about her was that her name Haley. And in four weeks, you know that she likes vanilla ice cream, Reese's Peanut Butter cups, goldfish and AC/DC. She played the guitar in college, and likes Charade, because she likes Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant together. She hates the movie Breakfast Club, because she's jealous of Molly Ringwald's talent, but thinks that Anthony Michael Hall is one of the funniest actors of all time. And I know she's engaged.
He could be some big shot, or maybe he's a loser. What the hell am I saying? Why do I care? I've known her for 4 weeks. 4 weeks! This is ridiculous. I shake my head at myself and realize that I'm in the mall now, in some store where they play ridiculously loud, god-awful rock music that you can't even hear yourself think over. I can't find Peyton, so I decide to take a seat on the edge of a display table. I pull out my notepad and doodle on the first clean page. But she's just…ugh. I know this love at first sight thing is stupid. Its fairy tale crap. It's all fake, all just a joke. And I shouldn't be wasting my time. But it's the little things, like the way she squints when she thinks she's frowning, and the way she'll say something so stupid, but then smile and laugh so loud you can't do anything but laugh with her. And I know she feels it too. But she's spoken for…
"Hey there little sister." I jump when Peyton leans her head on my shoulder from behind me. I didn't even hear her footsteps. Usually, I'm more on top of these things. "Wow. You really are out of it, huh?" There's a pause as she pretends like I'm answering.
"So what's your deal there Silent Bob?" She grabs my hand and drags me out of the store. Oh wow. I can hear my own thoughts. It's like someone just turned on a switch in my head. BAM.
"Are you even listening to me?" I nod, then shrug. Peyton gives me a look that says "well-then-stop-being-an-idiot-and-let's-do-something-fun." I love when Peyton speaks with her facial expressions. It's like watching an extremely entertaining movie. Something super funny.
"Alright. We can go I guess. I can't find anything I want. See anything?" I shake my head, but start to head over to the music store. They had a used copy of a Third Eye Blind CD that I wanted. I check to make sure she's following me. She is.
"Right behind you O Silent One." I glare. She laughs. I'm not paying attention to where I'm going, and trying to walk at the same time. Peyton is still laughing, and I make a grab for her, snagging her by the belt loops and glide backward, into the store entrance. Then I hit something that seems to be the equivalent of a Mack truck.
"Hey. Watch it." I hear Peyton say. I'm still facing backwards, but I see her facial expressions change from "what-the-hell-buddy" to "oh-crap." I hate the "oh-crap" look. It never equals good things. I whip around, and I'm pretty sure my face just took on the "oh-crap" look too. Standing in front of me is the biggest human being I have ever seen before in my life. Easily 6'9, this guy must be at least 210. And on his arm is…
"Hey Brooke." Shit. Ms. James smiles nervously, almost so nervously that her bodyguard almost turns to give her a strange look. I think Peyton has it covered though. This is all your fault Ms. Alexandra. All. Your. Fault. I'm sending Peyton messages telekinetically, but she doesn't seem to be getting them. Damn her.
I nod though. No sense in being rude. Not even when they person you could possibly be in love with is standing in front of you with her fiancée. No way. Ms. James stumbles over her thoughts a little, I can see it in her eyes. She's not quite sure what to do. So while there is a silent moment, I really look at her. And she's…different.
The engagement ring is around her left finger, and instead of high tops, she's wearing high heels. It must be laundry day, because she clearly doesn't wear this dress often. I can almost see the hanger marks on it. And her makeup looks a little too perfect. I can see her looking me over and I realize two things: one, with dirty jeans and a three-quarter sleeve baseball shirt on, I look ridiculous. And secondly, I'm still holding her note in my hand. Her eyes widen a little as she sees it, and I remember I still haven't read it.
"So, this is the girl you brought home from school the other day?" Ms. James smiles nervously, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Peyton's facial expression go from "oh-crap" to "I'm-extremely-confused." I nod too, just to be on the safe side. Then the giant sticks out his hand. "I'm Nathan, by the way." More like Brick, I think, as I slowly shake his outstretched ligament.
"Haley tells me you don't talk. That's fascinating." Then, as an afterthought, "I'm a psychologist." Holy fucking hell. Shoot me now. "When did you stop talking?"
"Hi, I'm her sister. Peyton." My knight in shining hand-me-downs, Peyton steps in and then I'm looking at Ms. James. Haley. Haley James. And she's mouthing something to me, but I've never been a good lip reader. So I shake my head, and she stops. A moment later, Peyton has managed to pull Nathan away and it's just Ms. James and me. Haley. Haley James.
"Did you read it yet?" She's talking about the note of course, but I ignore her, and tighten my fist just a little. "Please. Read it." And before I know it, her hand has somehow reached down and grabbed mine. I think I just died. She can feel it too.
"Read it." She says to me as her and Nathan walk away five minutes later. I ignore Peyton's questioning eyes and grab my CD. This better be worth it.