I broke this chapter up. Everything after the line is a flashback. Trying to make it easier to understand. Actually, I'm not sure if the line's going to show up so if it doesn't the flashback starts when Peyton says "Brooke." (right after the line I'm four)
Lucas's not in the cafeteria today, which is weird, because he's always there. The only time ever missed lunch was that time after it all fell apart; when I gave Peyton back those minutes that she had the rights to. He skipped school for almost a week, then, and when he came back he had to leave because of all the staring. And the whispering. And the pointing. And the fact that only his small, misguided four would talk to him.
Because. In high school, the four runs everything. Remember? Right at the beginning, I explained that. And in the four, majority vote wins, so even if I had tried to stop it, I wouldn't have been able to. Three on one, that sounds like a fraction. And fraction, sounds like fracture, and fracture means that something cracked.
Four can't crack.
It's indivisible.
Today, Lucas is in gym. He stands at the end of the line, as far away from me as possible, in the school-issued blue shorts and grey t-shirt, white Nikes offset by greenish grass stains on the toes. It was intentional, I think, that all the other guys put themselves between us, creating distance. Here, people protect their betters. Here, they wouldn't let Lucas the Pervert get close to me.
I'm too frail for team sports.
Lucas's friends aren't in this class, so he's alone. I'm alone, too - Haley and Peyton have pre-cal, and Bevin is with her little progressive thinking group somewhere, learning about society and what's wrong with it and how we're going to be the generation that changes it all. I'm alone, but the rest of the class is with me, my side. Twenty-nine on one, that probably isn't fair.
Like fair ever applies to me. I am above fair. I am fair.
I'm four.
"Brooke." And that was when I knew that something was off, and something wasn't right. First names, proper names, given names, are almost never used. In an emergency, maybe, but not in pleasant conversation on a Saturday afternoon. We were in Haley's bedroom, on our backs across the double-bed with the red duvet and black flannel sheets. Our bodies were packed together, heads against the wall, and if I turned to the side I'd be looking into Bevin's inner ear on one side, and Peyton's mouth on the other. Peyton was talking, her hands crossed over her chest, rising and falling as she breathed in and out. They were both looking at me, and I could feel it; Haley, on the other side of Bevin, griping the foot of the bed her hand to keep herself upright, was the only one who didn't seem to see a point in scrutinizing me.
There was white-hot burning in my heart, shooting pains running down my arm, and I wondered if a kid my age could suffer a stroke. The fire in my chest contrasted with the ice in my stomach, slamming into each other halfway to create a massive front of violent, agonizing pain between my lungs. I'd never felt like that before, they'd never done this to me before, but I remembered doing it to Haley, over that boy. Haley, who was still studying the ceiling, with the stick-on stars and acid clouds.
I'd broken Codex with my four and now they knew.
"So, Brooke, Brooke, Brooke. What's up with you and the proto-loser? Is he teaching you how to speak Vulcan?" Peyton rolled over onto her side, propping herself up with a palm pressed into her chin, her elbow next to my ear. "Is he, Brooke? Or are you just experimenting with your awakening hormones?" My voice was stuck in my throat. My mouth was lined in cedar chips and wet wool. I stayed still, shutting my eyes, and ran my dry tongue over my lips.
"I don't know who you're talking about, Peyton. I don't know what you mean."
On my other side, Bevin turned, throwing her arm across my chest and knocking what air I have left out of my mouth in one gasping cough. Her lips are almost in my hair, I could feel her breath on my face. "That kid, you know? He's always got his hands on you somewhere, I think it's really cool how you can get felt up and not drop your cigarette."
"I'm not . . . I'm not getting felt up. That guy? He's just some kid . . . helps me with my lighter issues. You know, Peyton? How I can't get the thingie to work right? Yeah, you remember . . . he helped me, once, so I figured . . ."
"We don't do that shit, Brooke." That was Haley. She didn't even move, just talked like it was meant for the stars above the bed. "And we don't let people do that shit to us. Where the Hell were you when we were making the rules? You were there, that's where you were, you were right where you are now and you agreed to all of them." Haley was still upset about that boy. She didn't even like the boy, not at all, but she wanted to. She wanted to like him and he blamed us for her not being able to. Honestly . . .
"I'm not doing, and I'm not getting done. Fuck. What's up with you guys?" Peyton sat up, then, and Bevin tightened her grip on me, fit herself to match the curve of my side as the bed dipped and she almost got knocked over the side. Haley looked down at us, we three, and Peyton on my right was laughing.
"Jesus, Brooke, we aren't fucking deaf. We aren't fucking blind. People talk, you know, when you're giving pseudo blow jobs to some freak in a parking lot." I almost talked, I had my mouth open, but the bitch cut me off. "And don't even fucking deny it! Fuck . . . what are you trying to do? You want out? You want to spend the rest of your life in some fucking corner with Scott and his band of brothers? His little chess club, his greasy alt-rock kids with their unibrows and advanced acne? Is that what you want to do? Is Queen Brooke too good for her people now?"
Haley was the only one who got that agitated. Maybe it's because those were my words, coming out of her mouth, with different insults, nouns and verbs. Maybe that was what I'd said to her, maybe that was why she sounded so bitter. But I sat up, too, pressed my back against the wall and cracked my knuckles.
"Haley, chill out. God. I'm not too good for anyone, I love you guys, how can you even think that shit about me? Christ. Christ, it was one time, with one kid, and it's not like I've been spending the night with him or anything, not like I have orgies with his loser friends."
"Bullshit. One time? One? Brooke, stop fucking lying. Just, stop. You think you can lie to us? We know you better than you do."
Bevin was abandoned when I sat up, she had no one to cling to for body heat, so she slides off the bed and stands in front of me, resting her hands on my legs and leaning in. "Brooke, we love you. We're your friends. You know that. Right?" I nodded numbly, plotting my next line mentally, waiting for a chance to fix things, make it right. "So, we don't know why you feel like you can't tell us the truth. It kind of hurts me that you don't want us to know all your friends."
And then there was Peyton, kneeling next to me, pulling me away from the wall and wrapping her arms around my waist, putting us cheek to cheek. Her voice was calm; it was quiet, nonjudgmental and fake, because she squeezed tighter than usual. "Look. Everyone needs to relax. No one's letting Brooke talk. How's she supposed to explain, how are we supposed to understand if you keep jumping down her throat? Haley, apologize. You're hurting her feelings." Haley looked at me, and sighed. Crawled across the bed, putting her arm around my neck, and Bevin climbed up to sit on Peytons lap. Apology offered. I nodded, I didn't get up and scream at them for being such assholes, I didn't run out with threats of bodily harm floating after me if they so much as put a hand on me. "There. Good. Now we're cool. Besides, I'm pretty sure that this isn't Brooke's fault."
"Wait, what?"
She ignored me, kept right on going, dug her nails into my sides. "I think that the Scott kid's been like, harassing her. You know? Like, attempted rape, forced contact - I think Brooke is probably really traumatized by all of this. She's probably too scared to tell anyone about all that abuse? Becuase, people talk. And, wow, kids are so cruel. They'd twist it all out of proportion; make it look like Brooke actually wanted that guy all up on her. Brooke? That's the way it is, right?"
And there were several ways I could have gone. The truth, which was one. A more convincing lie, which was another. But, four makes the rules; can't they make the truth too? Maybe that's how it was; maybe I was misguided and stupid. Or maybe I was trying to justify it to myself, when I knew what we were going to do, how things were going to play out. I could have stopped it. I could have tried.
I didn't. It wasn't about me, not anymore.
"Yeah, Peyton. You're right. That's, that's what it was. You're right." I'd never been a good liar, and they probably saw through it. That's the thing, though. We mistake our own propaganda for truth. We believe our own excuses, regardless. And since we are four, that sentiment is quadrupled. Bevin smiled, with her perfect teeth and bleached enamel, and Haley sighed, relieved. Peyton grinned against my neck, loosening her grip on me into a light, informal hug. And I just sat there, in the middle. I always do. It's my place.
I don't want to lose my place.
Just to clear it up, he didn't actually rape her, rumors you know? Sorry it took me so long to update, every time I tried to log in here it would boot me off so I got mad and stopped trying. Hope you liked it.