Authors note- You guys really need to read these because I keep getting people telling me they're confused. I'm sorry, I try to distinguish the flashbacks and what not but my markings never show up. I'll try bolding them next time.
Lucas did not rape her. Brookes friends started a rumor about that so people wouldn't think she was friends/liked him. So everyone thinks he raped her, he and Brooke know the truth. The next chapters will be confusing. The next one is a flashback and then the one after that picks up back in this chapter. I'll mention that in those chapters though. I think there's 2 or 3 chapters left.
Today, we're playing badminton. Two to a net, fifty-second sets, then a rotation. Everybody pick a partner, get a racket, blah blah blah. I hate badminton. I hate picking partners. I'm BevinBrookeHaleyPeyton, except that in gym, BevinPeytonHaley is gone and I'm left with just Brooke. The other kids? They leave the Four alone. I'm generally the odd man out.
Except for the fact that there's an even number of people in this class. So when someone steps up behind me, grabs my elbow and pulls me off towards the pile of bent, multi-colored badminton rackets heaped in the middle of the gym, we can say that it's sufficiently shocking. Especially when the kid turns out to have big hands, Blondish hair, and brown sneakers that I don't like as much as the red and blue ones.
Lucas doesn't let go of my arm, not even when the population of the gym turns collectively and stares at him, me, us. His lips are set in a thin line, eyes focused straight ahead, and he even manages to bend and get the rackets without letting me go, pushing one into my hand wordlessly and steering me to the sidelines.
I say, "What the Hell are you doing? Do you have any fucking idea how bad things just got for you, Scott? Christ." He looks at me and laughs, dropping my arm and letting it fall to my side, seeming positive that I'm not going to walk away when released.
He says, "Brooke, you're really pretty, but you're really stupid. Because things for me cannot get any worse. I've got nothing to lose."
And I swallow, hard, tightening my grip on the racket, willing myself not to rub the place where his fingers had bruised my skin, not quite hidden by the sleeves of my shirt. He can't do anything, not now, the ties have already been severed. We're divided, but the four is still strong, and there is no way that he can mess that up for me, now.
Four is indivisible.
Lucas moves me so that I'm about a foot away from the wall, and I clear try to keep some distance between us, because that look in his eyes is less than comforting. I clear my throat, shifting the neon yellow racket until it's wedged under my arm, and look up at him, trying to stay cool. "There's always something left to lose, Lucas."
He raises an eyebrow, grinning. "Is there? Let's do a checklist, Brookie, dear. I've been beaten to a bloody pulp by your vast hordes of admiring cronies. See my face? Yeah, I saw you admiring it earlier. This bruise here – "He points to the one under his left eyes, tracing the outline with his fingertip. "That came from some guy who thought it was just 'fucking sick' that I'd try to hurt some little girl with no way of defending herself. Then there was the time I got kicked in the chest until I cracked three ribs. That was in the parking lot, there was a whole platoon of them that day. You ever think of starting an army, Brooke? You'd be a new militant force, that's for sure, because every mindless sheep on the planet would flock to your side."
I cough, turning my head to the side, and play with the gold bracelets on my right wrist. If I don't look at him, he won't do anything. That has to be it. "You want me to apologize? I'm not going to. I didn't do anything wrong. If you're so damn adamant about clearing your name, why don't you just tell everyone – "
"That I didn't do it? And, yeah, who's going to believe that one? Nathan? Mouth? It took me almost a month to convince Skills that I didn't do it. That's how much power you have. You and your little clique. There's nothing I can do, Brooke, to prove that it's not true. I mean, you could do alot of things, but I know you won't. So, really, what's left for me?"
"Lucas, it's not my fault."
"I don't care whose fault it is, Brooke. What did you say? It's not even about you? Well, if it's not about you, then obviously, it must be about me. And, really, there's one thing I can do, if you think about it."
" . . . what would that be?"
"Well." He steps closer; grabbing me by the wrists, and holding me steady when I sway on my feet. "I can always make the rumors true. Close your eyes."