Peyton emerged from her bedroom and sighed at the pathetic and familiar scene displayed on her living room sofa. On the television was a classic, sappy movie, this time Gone With The Wind, usually it was Casablanca. No matter the flick, one thing remained the same. Brooke Davis, glamour puss, queen of the soap divas, one of Mr. Blackwell's ten best dressed celebrities for the year and one of the named 50 Most Beautiful from People magazine, was camped out on the couch. Her hair hadn't seen a comb or brush in days, no make up hid red and puffy eyes and Peyton had the distinct feeling the flannel pajamas Brooke had been in for weeks, now would have the uncanny ability to walk by themselves.
"Brooke, this…this is ridiculous", Peyton sighed, hands on hips.
"Hello, Friend", Brooke breathed dramatically.
She was surrounded by her usual…Tortilla cheeps with cheese dip, Sour Skittles and a tub of ice cream.
"Brooke! You…dude, you look like ass."
"Really? You should smell me", she said, not smiling.
"Brooke, be serious."
"I am so I suggest you not get too close, P. Sawyer."
Peyton just shook her head.
"Man, I don't believe you. This is pathetic. I have never seen you like this before. You can't just sit around here and eat until you gain ten pounds and wallow in your self pity forever. I mean, damn! You don't do this. You don't mope. You're Brooke Davis."
"No, I am an out of work, no boyfriend having, soon to be has been soap opera star with no life and no money and when you get tired of my smelly ass crowding up your living space, I'll be forced to return to the Hamptons at the mercy of my rich mommy and daddy."
"See?" Peyton grinned. "That's why you're a daytime star. That right there. That natural drama."
Brooke rolled her eyes.
"What do you expect me to do?"
"I expect you to be Brooke. Get up off your ass. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Do something about saving your career. Go shopping for a fabulous pair of shoes."
Brooke frowned.
"I don't know if I'm up to all that yet."
"Compromise? How about you hit the showers and wash your ass and your hair and uh…a change of clothes would be a pleasant surprise."
Brooke looked at her best friend who even though she was grinning, was deadly serious. Brooke sighed and conceded. She knew Peyton was right.
"Fine, fine. You win, Pey."
"Good. Look I have to run downtown for a bit but I expect a fresh, smiling you when I return. Need anything?"
"Besides a new man, a new job and a new life?" Brooke faked smiled.
"Brooke…"
"Just kidding. I'm fine. I don't need anything. I will see you when you get back."
Peyton nodded and a few minutes after she left, as promised, Brooke dragged herself to the bathroom. A hot shower and a change of clothes did feel good and she even felt good enough to clean up the pigsty that was building around her. But after all that, she was bored. Even TV couldn't hold her attention. Eyeing Peyton's computer, she trudged over to it and began to surf the Net. But even that was boring. Peyton had left her e-mail account open and Brooke nosily snooped through the messages. Peyton wouldn't mind. She might pretend to be mad and threaten to change all her passwords but truthfully, she and Brooke had had the same passwords for everything ever since they had known each other and the best friends had exclusive access to each other's accounts at any given time.
Brooke smiled. No e-mails from any hot guys to Peyton. Sounded like she wasn't the only one who needed to get a life, she smirked. Then she saw it. The messages sent to Lonely Boy. Biting her lip, Brooke composed a new e-mail to his address. He had no idea why she was writing him or even what she would say but her fingers began the typing before she could even get a hold of herself.
Hey, Lonely Boy (if that's your real name) lol! Just wanted to write and let you know your poem was pretty cool. I liked it a lot and I'm sorry for whatever reason, you decided that we should not go on our "date". But just the same, thanks for checking out my site and an even bigger thanks for posting. Also, if you have any other poems or short stories or cool stuff you've written, feel free to post again or send it to my direct e-mail. I like to read and your writing was really creative. For some reason, I just can't get it out of my mind. So if you get this, I'd like to see what else you can do. I'll be waiting. –Brooke Davis
She sent it before she could proofread or even realize what she was doing. Sighing, she stared at the screen for a bit before going over to Stella McCartney's website. Maybe Peyton was right. Maybe a little shopping would be exactly the thing she needed to get her back on track…
MEANWHILE…
Lucas sat propped up in bed playing a racing game Nathan had e-mailed him. There wasn't much else to do. He was bored, bored with being bored. When the prompter alerted him that he had new mail, he was hoping his brother was sending a link to another game as he had already beaten the race twice in the last hour. When he checked his messages, he could hardly believe his eyes! An e-mail, an actual real life personal e-mail sent from Brooke Davis to him. Lucas laughed in spite of himself. Maybe it was a fake, a prank. But no one knew that he was Lonely Boy or that he had even sent in the poem in the first place. No one knew he had even been on Brooke's site. And he had exchanged messages with her assistant, Peyton. The writer indeed had to be Brooke. After determining the message was in fact authentic, he silently debated whether or not to reply…
MEANWHILE…
Brooke had spent a record amount of money in under 15 minutes. Half the stuff, she didn't even want but bought it for the sake of buying it. Shopping could cure anything but after charging an obscene amount to her platinum Master Card, she still felt blue. Her heart skipped when she saw that she had new mail. Checking it immediately, she saw a confirmation of her latest shopping spree. But there was something else. Another message. Lonely Boy had replied.
Brooke- (if that's your real name) I was surprised and rather pleased that you like my writings enough to put on your site and personally contact me. Thanks for the feedback and no I don't have any other stories or poems to send you. I'm not much of writer, I'm a psychology major. Lol! Anyway, thanks again. –Lonely Boy
She thought carefully before typing her response:
Lonely Boy- Not much of a writer, huh? Could have fooled me. How about this? Up for a challenge? Let's see, I challenge you to send me another poem. Anything. Just make something up right now. I want to see what you're made of. – Brooke
Lucas was surprised that Brooke had responded so quickly. Didn't big stars have better things to do than exchange e-mails with fans? Then he realized that poor Savannah was still in her coma and the last few weeks, she hadn't been on the show at all. Maybe she did have some free time. Grinning slyly, he decided to indulge her. He didn't have a cool poem or short story. All he had were some cool compiled in a book from some of history's most famous and prominent people. Brooke Davis, or at least Savannah Spaulding didn't seem like the type to read Nathaniel Hawthorne's writings or President John F. Kennedy's speeches but he decided to give it a go anyway. After all, she had asked for it.
MEANWHILE…
Brooke waited patiently for a reply that soon came. Lonely Boy was a college student and a psychology major and obviously smart. She read his passages carefully, paying extra attention to quotes she had probably ignored in high school because they were too "lame" or "boring". Somehow the same words, presented in a different light by a different person were now…intriguing. She smiled and continued reading. She replied. Then he would. And so forth and so forth. And it went on that way for hours. She barely noticed when Peyton came home and Lucas never gave a second thought as the minutes ticked away on the clock and turned to hours. All they knew was that it was nice. Somehow, someway they had developed a real connection. And it felt good for two lonely souls.
