I Have This
by Mallory
Even Brooke Davis has something that she is truly good at. Even Brooke has something that completely belongs to her; and when she fails or when things go wrong, she consoles herself –
I have this.
*
She remembers wearing that blue uniform like a badge of honor when she was seven, when she was young and flat-chested and had a thin, high voice – "Gimme an R! Gimme and A! What's that spell? RAVENS!" She remembers that along with the ice cream man, the best thing about summer was always cheerleading camp with the girls in green and red uniforms -- girls just as serious as she was. She remembers writing her own cheers, designing moves, grinning at Peyton as she flung her arms up. She remembers bouncing up and down and building pyramids, and being named cheerleading captain of the high school squad when she was only fourteen.
Peyton was never as serious about it as Brooke was. She remembers that when Peyton quits for good. Peyton never cared about cheerleading that way that Brooke did.
Then again, cheerleading isn't the only thing that Peyton is good at. Peyton has her art and its good and its funny and Brooke doesn't see what the big deal is. But she gets that Peyton can look at her art and say, "I have THIS."
Everyone has something.
Lucas has his books and the writing which he rarely shows anyone. Nathan has basketball and Jake has his music and even Tutor Girl can teach.
And Brooke has something, too. Brooke has cheerleading. Brooke's cheerleading is the one thing, the only thing she has.
*
She examines her nails, and, satisfied, caps the bottle of dusky rose lacquer and drops it back into her bag of nail polish.
Brooke has perfect nails, and a perfect smile. She is immaculate.
When she walks down the hall, the boys whistle. She knows how to swing her hips and tilt her head and look you right into the eye and lick her lips, like its you and only you that she wants. She has a new red halter top that's too sexy for school, but she wears it anyway, and watches the boys fall all over her.
*
She is thirteen and thinks that she is old enough.
She tells herself – it's not a big deal, it really isn't – and pushes a hand through her hair, a gesture that is so characteristic of this time in her life. She is young and frightened and makes nervous gestures – she pushes her hand through her hair; she taps her feet against the floor; she sighs.
He's sixteen years old and his name is Kyle. He doesn't notice that she's scared and wishing that he'll stop it – he's a sixteen year old boy whose brain is consumed with thoughts of sex. Whose eyes only see her well-developed breasts, and cherry mouth, and not her fear.
And she closes her eyes, and tells herself – it's ok – and doesn't cry.
*
And Brooke tells herself, "I have this."
