Winds of Change

Four

"Popcorn?"

"Check."

Peyton Sawyer rattled off a list of "sleepover necessities" as Haley James cheerful checked them off.

"Gummi bears? Crunch bars?"

"Check… check"

"Fuck that," Brooke Davis broke in, her voice heavily lined with irritation. "We're going to a party."

"I know, shocked, right?" she continued off her friends' widened gazes. "Who knew we were still invited to parties, what with all the hermitting we've been doing?"

"We have not been hermitting. That's not even a real word," Haley protested, but the gleam in Peyton's hazel eyes let her know early on that it was a two-against-one battle she could very well be losing.

"Sure. We could use "pity party" instead."

"Wallowing in misery?" Brooke intoned helpfully.

"Hiding from reality?" Peyton ploughed on.

Haley's glare intensified as she looked between her two best friends. "Ooh ooh! E, all of the above!" she mock-cheered.

"Well, I think that right there eliminates the "hiding from reality" aspect," Peyton mused.

"Good job, Haley J," Brooke patted her on the back.

"I don't get why you don't want to go out anyway. I mean, it's not like you're going to run into him. That would require a non-nomadic boyfriend," Peyton said, but noticed Haley's wince. "Sorry. Too soon to joke?"

Her thin thumb and index finger resided an inch apart, Haley's way of saying 'Hell yes, too soon, dumb bitch' without actually speaking. Fortunately for her, she'd never really needed to speak where Brooke and Peyton were involved-and the blonde had never let the term "bitch" offend her.

"So shall B. Davis and I get our skinny asses out of here so you can get ready, or do you want us to come back with the beauty arsenal?" Peyton asked, her bright eyes dancing mischievously. She did have a point. It had been so long since The Elite made an appearance that it was kind of surprising that they still kept their title. Not too surprising, considering they were Haley James, Brooke Davis, and Peyton Sawyer, and if they were removed from the social scene, residents of Tree Hill would have to find new goddesses to fill the position the three had since middle school. But hey, it was always a possibility.

"Well, it's been way too long since I've gotten any, because not that I don't love you guys, but you don't carry much sex appeal with me, so if we could get to this party ASAP, that'd be great," Brooke continued, snapping Haley from her thoughts. The perky brunette was the only person Haley had ever known who pronounced "ASAP" like it was a word in itself, instead of "A.S.A.P.", like everyone else on the planet.

"Arsenal," the weary blonde sighed, feeling detached from her friends as they cheered excitedly and she sank back onto her futon. When Peyton was elated, golden flecks in the hazel of her eyes became more prominent, giving them a pretty glow and turning them almost amber. Brooke's adorable little hop-clap had her feet off the ground in a move that looked ridiculous on anyone other than the cheerleading captain. Seeing this, Haley James knew that she couldn't deny her friends their party. They had done so much for her lately, and fair was fair.

This, of course, didn't mean she wouldn't whine.

"I don't see why I have to go at all. Nothing looks good on me today," she sighed dramatically, dropping her fifteenth outfit choice onto her antique French fainting chair. Her parents had purchased it for her during what was known as Haley's "période dramatique" to her friends and loved ones. A bordering-on-unhealthy interest had suddenly sprung up within the petite blonde for old movies. This period had passed, more or less, but that didn't mean that a walk in closet or two of Haley's wasn't full of trench coats, head scarves or cigarette holders. The fainting chair had gotten a lot of use in those days.

"I wonder if neighbor boy over there will be there?" her alert green eyes scanned the property subconsciously. Peyton was by her side in half a second, but Haley was much slower on this night.

"Why would he be there?"

"Because Lucas Roe got the keys to Tric while his mom's out of town. So hello, major party right there. And he's friends with him, isn't he? Basketball bonding, and all."

"Wonderful," Haley blew out, but her friends didn't seem to hear her. If they did, they completely ignored her, and she was kind of glad. She was getting sick on them calling her on her bitchiness. They were completely right to do so, of course, but sometimes Haley would just like to be unjustifiably cranky, and they were preventing it.

"Haley, come on, he's hot. If you don't do him, I'm totally going to," Brooke declared, whirling around with her hands on her hips. The blonde was tempted to point out that as Brooke was standing before her in only polka-dot panties and a pink t-shirt, she was far from intimidating, but bit her tongue. If her friend wanted to wield imaginary power, far be it for her to stop her.

"Brooke, chances of you not fucking him, whether I do or not, are slim to none."

"Are you serious?" she gasped. "I would totally lay off if you laid claim! Have I ever gone after Chris?"

"Would you go after Chris anyway?" Peyton calling from the corner, retouching her glossy curls at Haley's vanity.

"So not the point!" Brooke waved her perfectly manicured hand at Peyton impatiently. "The point is that I'm a good friend, even though I happen to enjoy sex more than the average girl, and that I would back off if you wanted him."

"Of course you're a good friend, Tigger," Haley said soothingly, trying to hide her shock at Brooke's outburst. Somebody was most definitely menstrual.

"So do you?" her cheer was back, a complete one-eighty from the verge of tears she had previously been on.

"Do I what?"

"Do you want him?" she asked slowly, as if her best friend was new to English.

"Okay, I'm positive you guys know this by now, but here's a fresher course. There's a rising star in the musical world. His name is Chris Keller, and he happens to be my boyfriend. Boyfriends usually frown upon their girlfriends having sex with people they barely know."

"I think I heard a usually in there," Brooke smirked. "And you and Chris are so… unusual!"

"Besides, don't girlfriends usually answer their boyfriend's calls?" Peyton asked, hazel eyes meeting honey brown through the mirror's reflection. Haley's narrowed instantly, flashing messages that even a blind person could read: Shut the hell up. NOW.

"When did Haley not take Chris's call? How did I miss this?" Brooke asked, eager for the inside story. Hurt that she didn't already know would set in much later.

"Last night at 12:56, according to Mr. Cingular,' said Peyton, the gleam in her eyes challenging Haley to protest.

"I was asleep. I didn't know he called."

"Bullshit! We left your house fifteen minutes before that!"

Caught in her lie, Haley's pale pink mouth gaped, her frantic search for words coming to an end as Peyton continued.

"Face it, Hales. You're ready to get out of this joke of a relationship, and trust me, we're right behind you on that one. I don't know what's taking so long."

"Besides, isn't change what you want?" Brooke put in eagerly, and Haley froze mid-spin from where she had been heading towards her closet. "What better way to change than to leave behind the parts that weigh you down?"

"How did you know about that?" she asked slowly. Haley James was an interesting person. For someone who had lived her entire life under the glaring spotlight, she could be intensely, painfully private. The knowledge that Brooke somehow accessed this secret wish of hers bugged her. A lot.

"That's what you wrote on the One Word assignment," she shrugged her thin shoulders, as if this was common knowledge.

"And how did you know that?" she asked pointedly.

"The paper was in your binder."

"My GOD!" Haley exploded, throwing her tube of mascara to the ground. It cracked, oozing the thick make up through the jagged partition. Anyone else would be annoyed by this, but should this happen in any of the three girls' houses, there was a maid just waiting for messes like these, and at least ten back-up sets of the cosmetics. They were good for now. "You're going through my binder; Peyton's going through my phone! What does a girl have to do to get some privacy around here!"

"I think the better question is why do you need privacy?" Brooke asked slowly, and the look in her eyes was wounded. Peyton's head slowly swirled, turning to meet Haley's eyes directly for the first time that night.

"What don't you trust us with, Haley?"

And something that had been happening more and more frequently occurred yet again. The unconquerable Haley James had no response.

Part of her loved parties. Her entire being loved music, but part of it adored the way it made people lose control. As the beat pulsed on, people could just get stuck inside of it, and live there for as long as they like… or as long as the song will let them. It was this love of music that had initially drawn her into a friendship with Peyton Sawyer. She loved the dancing and the laughter, seeing your friends in an outside-of-school setting.

The other part of her hated parties. Brooke and Peyton were the only real friends she had, and she could see them any old time, and she didn't feel the need to have her clothes thoroughly saturated with other people's spilled alcohol to do so. The drunken laughter rang in her ears, a sign of the hangover to come, and if you drank to try and make it sound less obnoxious, your chances of waking up with a stranger just increased by at least 75. Right now, Haley was torn between love of the fun and hate of the fall out… and if that drunk guy tried to grab her ass one more time, she'd have to make good on her parents' investment in Tai kwon do instruction.

She wasn't even sure what the hell she was doing there anyway. After the soap opera moment that had taken place in her bedroom an hour or so previously, Brooke had dramatically stormed out. Peyton went more sluggishly, making sure her intent to leave was noted but giving Haley time to jump in and rectify the harm. She had nothing to say though, nothing to fix… whatever happened. And now she found herself in the middle of Tric, her silk top mercifully free of stains. Then again, the night was young, and she was Haley James. It wasn't a party until she was there. At least, she and her two best friends. She felt strangely naked without them on the sides of her, and stumbled slightly around the party, knowing that if it were any other night, she would sway and latch onto Peyton as they all laughed, or Brooke would have a firm clamp on her. Tonight, she was solo. And she wasn't incredibly happy about it.

"HALEY BOP!"

Grimacing at the nickname her parents had randomly bestowed upon her at childhood, Haley James turned slowly, partly to avoid breaking her neck by falling off her sky-high heels, partly out of wariness for whoever could be calling her. It was a one out of two shot, and neither was particularly appealing, as neither were speaking to her as of two hours ago.

"This is Haley, my best friend in the entire world. Isn't she pretty? She's kind of a bitch, though," a flurry of motion and suddenly, in a whirl of green satin and light denim, bare skin and the smell that was so distinctly her, Brooke Davis was beside her, wrapping her thin arms around Haley's neck. More accurately, launching herself at the petite girl, who stumbled under the weight.

"What the hell happened to you, Tig?" Haley muttered, concerned, brushing her friend's bangs back. She wasn't sure what had happened to Brooke, but all her irritation at her irrational behavior had melted away into concern.

"Haley, look! New friends!" she giggled, squeezing as she tugged the blonde towards a table. Color Haley shocked that it was a table full of boys in letterman jackets.

"Brooke, these are not new friends," she ground out, her teeth gritted as her mind continued the sentence which would be too cruel to say aloud. These are not new friends. You've probably slept with most of them.

Her eyes flitted quickly around the table at these 'new friends'. They were all the usual suspects. Mediocre athletes, just good enough to be worshipped as varsity jocks, but never good enough to be stars, and most definitely not good enough to hang with her crowd. Haley couldn't wait for the day when Brooke woke up and realized that. Most of them had the usual half-baked look about them, and she didn't doubt that they were. But if any of them had slipped Brooke the shit they usually take during parties, God help them…

And no one, not even the big bad jocks, wanted to face the wrath of Haley James.

"What the fuck is going on?" she demanded, her free hand itching to plant itself on her slim hips. It was otherwise occupied, making sure that the dazed and giddy Brooke didn't fall over. She was suddenly much happier she was at this party, and she remembered why she dragged herself to them each time. It wasn't love of the music or the laughter so much as love of her friends. If she wasn't there, God knows what would've happened to Brooke. Who knows what could've happened to her a million times before this either? Haley had always had a bit of a wild streak, but it was nothing compared to Brooke's. That was like comparing the tiny stream that ran down her property line that you couldn't fall into if you tried, to the Nile. Haley was the mother hen, shooing the boys with bad intentions away from her gorgeous (and wasted) friends. Right now, she was kicking herself for not having been there the whole time. God knows what Brooke had ingested. And where the hell was Peyton!

Blank stares greeted her, doing absolutely nothing to quell her anger. "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?" she screamed, the sound seeming to blare from every inch of her 5'2 frame. For someone who weighed 110 pounds while soaking wet, Haley James could be intimidating as hell, and they were all going to know the extent of that if they didn't stop talking.

By now, she had attracted the attention of all around. Being the center of attention had never bothered her, and she barely noticed their stares.

"Hales, what's up?" she felt a slight pinch at the loose skin of her elbow, and she could vaguely make out the smell of watermelon lotion and that kiwi-strawberry lip-gloss that Peyton couldn't get enough of lately. Haley's nerves were calmed slightly knowing that she was there, but judging by her relaxed demeanor, her curly blonde best friend had probably been upstairs working off that sexual tension and didn't have any more of a clue than she did.

"Ooh! This is Peyton, my other bestest friend in the entire world! She's so cute! Although she's a little dark and she desperately needs to get laid. Or needed, anyway…" Brooke slurred, giggling again. Her usually sharp green eyes were glazed, and it seemed like she was living in a world all her own as her head drooped slightly.

"Something's up with Brooke, Peyt…" there was a desperate, pleading tone in Haley's low voice. Immediately, Peyton's pale arm latched around Brooke's shoulders, releasing the chokehold Haley had forgotten she was in. Still, she didn't remove her arms from her friend's impossibly thin waist. If she fell down, that would just be another mortification stacked against her.

It was a familiar sensation, the burning on her back. Her head snapped around, meeting the eyes that had become so familiar. They were the ones that seemed to haunt her, the prettiest shade of blue she could ever imagine. They were curious now, his left eyebrow arched slightly as he nodded towards her. For once, she didn't feel like she was the victim in a predator/prey relationship, and signaled him to come forward. He was at her side in a second, Lucas Roe beside him. She was curious as to when they had become friends, but she figured that she could inquire about it later. Like, when her best friend wasn't drugged and hanging onto her for dear life.

"Thank God, guys! I don't know what's going on! I don't know what she took or who she took it with or-"

"Her shirt's ripped. Do you think someone may have gotten to her before you found her, Haley?" Lucas asked seriously. His mouth was set in a grim line, his face stony, but his eyes blazed with anger. She smiled despite herself at his devotion.

"No, the shirt was already like this," Haley and Peyton shared a half-laugh. Lucas paled slightly, and Nathan grinned, revealing perfectly even white teeth. She shook her head, repeating her new mantra: You have a boyfriend. His name is Chris. You're in love with him. Stop fantasizing about the boy next door. Don't pay so much attention to him. Even if he's absolutely gorgeous. And hot as hell. And he's looking right at you now…

Her honey eyes widened. That was most certainly not part of the usual mantra. She looked up to see him smirking at her, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Damn.

"She's definitely on something. But none of these asshats are saying anything, and I don't know what to do," tears rushed to the front of her eyes, and both boys looked much more concerned than they had been before. Lucas lived in Tree Hill, and he was popular. Those two things alone qualified him to be a witness to quite a few Haley James Melt Downs, which were quite infamous. And Nathan… well, he had most certainly been on the receiving end of one or two in the short time he'd been there. However, crying was something new. Lucas looked almost frightened by the moisture, but a look of maturity that she'd yet to encounter settled on Nathan's features.

"Do you have your car?" he asked, swooping the brunette up into his arms. His large hand rested at the crook of her knees and wrapped around her back, splayed across her flat stomach. Her head dropped lazily against his muscular chest, and Lucas looked warily at his friend.

"We're going to get her home. You shut this down and find out what she's on, alright Luke?"

Lucas nodded in understanding, and clapped Nathan on the back as he walked past, shouting something into the crowd, but it was indiscernible amongst the noise of the crowd. She most definitely didn't want to be helpless or drugged, but Haley couldn't felt but feel a tiny twinge of jealousy at Brooke's current position.

"Do you have your car, Haley?" he asked her again, and she shook her head in the negative. It was both a pro and con of being spoiled beyond her wildest dreams that she had a driver. Very convenient on parking, not so much on quick get aways.

"Not a problem. Come with me, I've got my car. Peyton, are you coming with us or helping out Luke?" he asked, and she marveled at his ability to quietly take charge in situations where she felt so panicked. Peyton jerked her head towards the crowd, not even registering shock that he knew her name, giving Haley a quick hug and nodded at Nathan before she disappeared into the crowd. Only the fly away curls were visible above the writhing bodies.

"Ready?"

"Definitely," she said impatiently, but a hint of gratitude was evident in her voice. He didn't call her on it this time, and she was even more grateful. She followed him out to the expensive car she had seen him in a few days earlier, and debated for a moment on where to sit. He gently laid her friend across the backseat, and she didn't move at all. For a moment, Haley thought she was unconscious, but then her legs twitched, pulling themselves into a more comfortable position. This is to say that her ass rose in the air as she rolled onto her stomach. Shaking his head in amusement, Nathan Scott climbed into the driver's seat and cast a look at Haley.

"You coming?"

Hell yes. That's my best friend, asshole! Why wouldn't I come? Don't smirk at me. Don't you dare give me that look. This is so unbelievably not funny.

She simply nodded instead, sliding into the passenger's seat.

"Where are we going?" he asked, once the car began to roll away from the club. They were already headed west, off instinct. That was where Tree Hill's high society resided, and one look at Brooke Davis told you that she was a west-ender.

"Back to my house, I think."

The rest of the ride was silent, but her peripheral vision told her that Nathan had been sneaking concerned glances towards the back seat.

"She'll be fine," she whispered soothingly, although she wasn't sure why she was trying to console him. Brooke was her best friend, and she was the one freaking out.

"I know," he said coolly, his eyes flickering to her for just a second.

"You sound sure."

"I am sure," he said, turning into their neighborhood, stopping for just a moment at the security. They lived in a gated community with maximum security, and yet none of the wealthy families residing within it ever felt the urge to lock their doors. Haley found that kind of ironic, but then she figured that anybody rich enough to get in certainly didn't need to steal from anybody else. The elderly lady at the booth looked at them with a gleam in her eye, and both knew instantly that the second he drove past, she would be on the phone with all her cronies to tell them that she saw Haley James, yes, that Haley James, coming home late at night with that new cutie, Nathan Scott.

Oh well. There were worse rumors.

"What, do you think this is the first drugged girl I've ever rescued?" he laughed humorlessly, and his eyes took on a dark depth.

"Apparently not," Haley shrugged. "Look… I, uh, I really appreciate what you did back there. You didn't have to help Brooke out like this. Or me, for that matter."

"It's not a big deal," he said, pulling into the driveway. He got out, briskly shutting the door, and Haley wondered about the many shifts in his demeanor. He never seemed like he was the same person each time she had spoken with him, and she was just as intrigued by this Nathan as she was by all the rest.

"It is to me," she said honestly, marveling at the tender care he took to make sure Brooke wasn't bruised as he lifted her out of the car. He half-smiled at her before starting towards her house.

"You've really done enough, Nathan. I can take her from her," she suggested, trying to be helpful. His mouth contorted in amusement.

"Haley, she's bigger than you are. Barely though. Do you guys eat at all? Never mind, I don't want to know. Just tell me where to put her."

Slightly stung, Haley couldn't figure out whether she was flattered that he thought they were that thin, or insulted because he thought anorexia was their secret. Whatever. She'd have plenty of opportunities to fight with him when he wasn't in a position to drop her best friend on her head.

Although she occasionally wondered if that had happened to Brooke a few times as a baby.

It was peculiar to have him in her bedroom. He looked oddly at home in there, like he belonged in there in some bizarre way. Shaking the thought from her head, she peered at her friend in concern.

"So… those other girls that you've ridden to the rescue for… what happened to them? Do you think that's what happened to Brooke?"

"She's probably on painkillers. Strong ones, and a few too many," he brushed the brunette's long bangs away from her forehead, similar to the way Haley had done it at the party.

"Where the hell would she get those?" Haley asked in outrage, then almost laughed at her own question. Where would Brooke Davis find prescription pain killers? How about every medicine cabinet of every mother on this side of town. Haley's own mother took almost the entire Merck catalog, and Brooke's mother was most certainly not different. Still, neither girl had ever dipped into the stashes beforehand, and suddenly guilt washed over her, draining the color from her face. Was this about their fight?

"Tim's brother's a dealer. He was there tonight," he shrugged slightly, ignoring the stupidity of her question. Still, his words made her feel just a little bit better. At least, the burden of guilt, so sudden in it's coming, lessened upon her shoulders.

"Hey Haley, can you watch her for a little while? I want to see what Luke and Peyton have got. I'll bring Peyton back here."

"Yeah, sure. We'll be fine. Thanks Nathan."

The moonlight illuminated his profile. Finely chiseled features stood out as if they had been carved by a sculptor trying to define perfect. They cast shadows, playing along the planes of his face, but he seemed strangely sad now, as if he had been here before, read the story and remembered the ending. She was intrigued, she would admit now. He shuffled slightly in her doorway, appearing as if there was something else he wanted to say. Instead, he vanished into the darkness that usually occupied the James Manor.

"Oh Tig… what did you get yourself into tonight?" she played with her sleeping friend's hair, sighing heavily. "I'm so sorry, Brookie. I'm sorry I freaked out on you before. I want you to know that I do trust you, I trust you so much. I love you, and I love Peyton, and I really want you to remember that. I know I've been a bitch lately, but things have just been so hard and… no, that's not an excuse either. I'm going to end it, Brooke. It's not fair for me to freak out on you guys all the time because of my sudden masochism. I love you sweetie, sleep tight."

She lay down beside her best friend, but this time there was a song in her heart. She sang aloud, unknowing and uncaring if there was anyone around to hear her, and hoping maybe this time it would mean more to her.

My soul, here, a million to one

Says I didn't even see it

Looking up, looking down on my soul

Looking everywhere but over where the help is come, coming from

Why, why do I seem broken, stumbling, every time I get here?