Winds of Change
Six
"For God's sake Haley, what's with all the tension here?"
"Seriously Haley Bop! You're probably the only one here that actually did get laid last night. What's with all the frustration on your end?"
"I'm sorry, did Brooke Davis just tell us that she spent the night alone?"
"Huh. That's what I got out of it. Which is interesting, because I could've sworn she spent the night on the arm of THHS's new man candy? Any comments from the camp?"
"Okay, you know who's really not funny? YOU TWO. Are you implying that I'm easy, bestest friends?"
"Um, yes," they replied in unison, barely missing a beat, then erupting into giggles.
"You know, this is why I like it when Haley randomly changes hair colors. You blondes gang up on me!" Brooke pouted, a significant whine in her voice. "Speaking of Haley and skankiness, why the hell do you get a say in this?"
One of the most interesting parts of Brooke Davis was her voice. It was naturally husky, a fact which had escaped none of the boys in school or any parts of their anatomy. Furthermore, it was finely nuanced. She could sound angry, but there would always be hints of other emotions in there. Years of experience had taught Haley and Peyton to read these tiny messages as if they were a language all their own. So while anyone else would be defensive and almost frightened, Haley let out a laugh.
"Hey, hey, hey. Why am I being picked on?"
"Because you totally hopped into bed last night with a boy you swore you wouldn't!"
"Okay, one- no, I didn't. Two, when the hell did I swear that?"
"When I was drugged up and Nathan had to carry me into your room! I totally enjoyed that, by the way. Very good choice, girls," Brooke's laughter radiated through the airwaves. The blondes weren't sure that they were happy at how easily she seemed to be able to discuss the incident. More than that, though, Haley was just glad to have her friend back. It had taken a few days, but she finally seemed more like the Brooke she'd always known. She'd smirk for no reason, laugh out of nowhere, discuss the most serious subjects with the lightest of hearts. That was Brooke Davis, and it was good to have her back.
"So are we going to do five minutes on this Nathan Scott chap or what?" Peyton asked, and there was silence on the line for a good 15 seconds. Haley had pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it incredulously, and she was almost sure Brooke had done the same. Chap?
"British pool boy?" she asked finally, and Peyton laughed guiltily.
"He must be doing something right. Stepmommy Dearest hasn't gotten rid of him yet."
"Oh, gag. Mama Sawyer's fishing from that side of the pond now?" Brooke asked flippantly, in the way only she could. Peyton's grumbling spoke for all.
"And what about Papa Peyton? Still hasn't caught on yet?" Haley asked, guilt lacing her voice. It was well known among the West End that Lawrence Sawyer was deeply in love with Elizabeth, and had been since high school. She hadn't looked his way until he was eighteen years old and come in contact with the Sawyer family fortune and realized that there could be a cushy house on the other side of town in the deal for her. Unfortunately for Ellie Harp, he had moved onto his Anna, and they gave birth to the beautiful Peyton. A car accident had torn the family apart years ago, leaving Ellie with her golden opportunity. Blinded as Larry was, he accepted her with open arms. The hits just kept on coming for Ellie though, because regardless of the wealth, luxury and respect the marriage had provided her, it dropped her with an obstacle just as formidable—Peyton.
"Of course not, the moronic asshole," Peyton spat, and neither girl bothered to remind her that she really didn't think of her father that way. While some people needed consolation, all Peyton ever really needed was someone to just listen. Anna had done that for her, but Anna was gone now, and she barely even recognized her father anymore. The Elite was her family now. "But I really don't want to talk about him, as he's nowhere near attractive enough to be the topic of this conversation."
"Really? He's always been on my D.I.L.F. list," Brooke said, bemused, and Peyton feigned gagging noises from the other end of the phone. Haley laughed uproariously.
"What about Dan Scott? I hear our new B.M.O.C. got more than basketball skills from daddy. Have we seen him yet?"
"I have! Definitely a D.I.L.F. But he's kinda creepy too. I put him on Haley's list," Brooke said, and Haley stared at her phone yet again.
"What the hell?" she sputtered.
"Oh, come on, Hales. You're clearly a masochist," Brooke said, in the same That's so obvious! tone she would use to explain to Bevin that there was no thirteen o'clock. Peyton voiced her agreement.
"You have got to be shitting me."
"You know, I never really understood that expression," Peyton mused, and briefly Haley wondered if she'd slipped into Ellie's infamous pot stash.
"But assuming that shitting is code for kidding, no, we are not shitting you. I mean, Hales, you're dating Chris Keller, asshole extraordinaire."
"So? Sucky taste in guys does not mean I also have a taste for whips and chains!" Haley protested.
"I was actually referring to the emotional masochism of it all," Peyton chimed in, and there was no response from Brooke's end. Slowly, she could hear it growing louder and louder, and finally the snort gave her away. The phone dropped onto her carpeting as she rolled around beside it, laughing so hard tears poured from her eyes. Finally, a choking sound was heard, and it was clear that the brunette was with them once again.
"Sorry Hales," she gasped out. "But that was a hell of a visual."
Even she had to chuckle at that one.
"So tell us, H. James! What happened with you and Poser Boy last night?" Brooke ploughed on.
"We talked…" she began hesitantly.
"Does this get sexual?" Peyton inquired, dropping the timber in her voice and causing Brooke to giggle.
"Is that the voice that landed Jagelski the other night, P. Sawyer? Because I swear, that even turned me on a little!" Brooke laughed.
"No, my story does not get sexual. There is some making out, and some promising to call him later so we can work these things out. I suppose I can call him while you two succumb to your lesbian tendencies," Haley grumbled irritably, shielding her eyes from the sun as she made her way across her massive backyard, cordless phone rooted firmly to her ear.
"Hum… did you sense the hostility there, P. Sawyer?"
"I most certainly did. I'm thinking our little Haley Bop isn't looking forward to this call too much."
"I don't know why I'm ever on the phone with you two when I could just hang up. I guess you're right. I am a masochist."
"Hah! Told ya!" Peyton cheered triumphantly.
"No, I told her!" Brooke protested childishly.
"Let's just say that we both told her. I mean, we've discussed it enough to know that we both agree," Peyton pacified.
"What do you mean 'We've discussed it enough'? We've spoken about it for like ten minutes," Haley said, irritated by the flippancy of her friends as she dipped her foot into the pool.
"No, we've spoken about it for like ten minutes. Fauxdilocks and I have spoken about it quite a bit," Brooke elaborated, and Haley shrugged.
"Whatever, I'm done talking about me."
"You are?" Brooke gasped, and Haley couldn't actually read if she was teasing.
"Well, that's a first," Peyton sounded amused, and Haley determined it was teasing. It was always more obvious with Peyton.
"Hardy har har," Haley sneered. Slowly, a noise penetrated her ears, shattering the silence she had found by the sanctuary of her pool. It seemed that Brooke's ears were just as keen as hers, which made sense historically, because she let out a squeal.
"Is that a basketball?" her tone was excited, genuine Brooke Penelope Davis excitement. She could fake it with the best of them, but her anticipation was clear through the phone lines now.
"I believe it is," Haley answered sardonically, observing Nathan Scott sink a shot flawlessly, twenty feet from his basket.
"Is that basketball attached to someone who radiates arrogance but has the body to back it up, unlike somebody's long term boyfriend?" Brooke inquired, unable to resist slipping a dig in there.
"Do you know a single other person on Haley's block who could shoot a basketball without having a seizure?" Peyton asked doubtfully. It was true. Haley's neighborhood was a strictly Old Money block. Unfortunately for her, this meant it was occupied by the old geezers the money was attached to. The James Manor was an inherited property, passed down from generation to generation. Haley would actually be kind of thrilled when the time came for it to be solely hers. She never felt boxed in by its sweeping elegance. She adored everything, from the tall pillars to the marble floors to the exquisite murals lining the entrance rooms. She loved the thought that her great-grandmother had lived her once, and her mother before her. A history buff, as Brooke and Peyton teased, like her was in heaven surrounded by so much of it. Sometimes she wondered how she could love a place so much for the way it remained perfect and unchanging, and hate it for the same exact reason.
"Haley? Are you going to answer us, or are you staring at him in that heroine of a Harlequin romance novel way?" Peyton teased, and Haley gasped.
"By the way, don't deny you read those. I totally found your stash," Brooke said, and Haley could see her pointing her finger at her in her mind's eye.
"You guys are not invited over anymore. I'm serious; I don't even know why I hang out with you guys. I really don't need friends, you're both annoying as hell," Haley railed, kicking aimlessly at the water. Sitting down gently, her slightly muscled calves were completely submerged in the sparkling blue water.
"You should go talk to him, Haley," Peyton advised sagely, and Brooke voiced her agreement.
"He's as cool as he is hot!" she cheered enthusiastically.
"Why the hell are you suddenly his greatest champion, Brooke?" Haley turned the tables, her toe flicking the water angrily.
"It is a little weird, Brookie. Normally you have at least ten flaws for every person," said Peyton hesitantly.
"Especially guys," Haley noted.
"God, how many did you pick out for Lucas Roe?" Peyton groaned, and Haley winced at the memory. That had been a long day for them all; made even longer by Brooke's insistence of rattling off every bad thing she could think of blonde basketball star. Most of them had been completely trivial, including his shirts are frequently wrinkled, they do still make combs, you know, and his fingernails had dirt under them one day. Because they really cared.
"So, what's the deal Brooke? Is he really just that much of a god in bed?" Peyton teased, waiting for the recommendation she was sure would come.
"Probably, but I have no first hand experience," she insisted, and Haley felt an unfamiliar wave of relief wash over here. "Now I really wish you'd just let it go. What, am I not allowed to have friends?"
"Of course not! You have us!"
"I just don't understand why he's the only person who won't speak a word against," Haley said, flipping her long blonde locks over her shoulder.
"Well, maybe I've decided to stop looking for cracks in the porcelain," muttered Brooke. It was funny to think about, the brash and sexy Brooke Davis having an old-fashioned family. While she merely rolled her bright green eyes at her mother, who shared the same ones, Grandmother Davis was someone she deeply respected. Haley knew it had been that woman, a lady in every sense of the words, who had first used that expression describing her beloved granddaughter. As much as she would like to break the descending silence, interrupted only by the steady bouncing of a ball from many feet over, she couldn't find words.
Haley James hates to be unsure. She's thin and beautiful, "hot" by anyone's standards, has more money than she could ever spend, and is smart as a whip. It's not a familiar feeling, but it creeps up, expectedly at times. She loathes the insecurities that prick at her hidden heart every once in a while. She hates the way it makes her feel. And right now, she hates herself for being on her back, beneath the writhing form of Chris Keller.
She's astounded, and more than a little bit confused, at how they got like this. Well, of course she knows how. He smiles that smile, gets that glint in his eyes, and uses that voice, and suddenly her shirt is halfway across the room. It's the same voice that's had girls all over the country swooning during his tour, and the effect is the same on Haley, no matter how large the ice within her has grown.
And does she ever hate that.
Because the last time she checked, she was scheduled to have lunch with Peyton today. She was supposed to go shopping for lingerie she'd never wear with Brooke, then for new records with her curly blonde best friend, and then they would all get together and fight over what to do later that night. Chris was supposed to come over to talk, but they just don't seem to do that anymore. They haven't in a long time.
It's the middle of the afternoon. She's starving, and she really wishes she hadn't broken those lunch plans. Briefly, she wonders if Brooke will stop in the Food Court with her to grab a bite to eat. There's a new indie movie out on DVD that she loved when she saw the first time. Haley really wants to stop and get that too. And it's at this point when she realizes that something has most definitely changed. The magic of "Haley and Chris" was that whenever Haley was with Chris, he was all she could think about. Now, her mind isn't even in the neighborhood of Chris, and on the one occasion when Chris is in the neighborhood. She doesn't want this, not now. She doesn't want bruises on her wrists or on her heart, and she knows that by the time he leaves again, she'll have them both. She may already have them, come to think of it, as she shifts uncomfortably under his weight. He isn't particularly heavy, never has been. It's almost like when Brooke or Peyton tackle her, pinning her to the mattress, couch, floor, wall… whatever's closest when their weird moods strike. Only that doesn't accompany molestation (unless they're really wasted, but that's another story).
Then there it is, like a beckon of hope, rising through her window. The phoenix song is what she compares it to in her mind, but she feels empty now. Completely and entirely numb, and not in the way she likes it. She feels nothing, she knows nothing, she wants nothing except for this to stop. She couldn't express her thoughts because she can't get inside her own head, and there's nothing she longs for more. And before she even thinks of it, she hears the irritatingly familiar sound, but this time, she feels like it's saved her.
Bounce. Bounce. Shuffle. Bounce.
It's the familiar sounds of a basketball, of top-of-the-line sneakers being slowly worn away by blacktop. It's simple enough, heard on every playground, every day. But on Haley's block, there is no playing—not of the fun variety, anyway. There are plenty of games, but the score is imaginably high, and it pains her to know that this is the life she is meant for. The bouncing represents something simpler, something easier, even though she's secretly tried and knows it's one skill she'll never manage. This time, though, it's accompanied by laughter. It's a laugh she knows all too well, and could identify a mile away. It's the genuine laughter of Brooke Davis.
And she kind of hates that too.
It's the perfect opportunity though, and before she even realizes what she's doing, her perfectly manicured fingers are pushing against the scrawny chest of Chris Keller, and she can finally breathe again. Quickly, Haley made her way to the window, taking in the scene. Brooke Davis, head cheerleader and best friend, was perched on her garden wall, clearly engrossed in a conversation, but her bright green eyes immediately found Haley's light brown ones, and an easy smile swept over her features. Haley smiled back instinctively. Regardless of whatever she felt inside, Brooke could always coax a smile.
"Haley?" Chris called from the bed, irritation evident as well as confusion.
"Oh, yeah, hey Chris," she hedged, a faint blush spreading. How much of an idiot was she being? Very much, she answered herself. Shit, she was still topless! Had Brooke noticed from below? She chanced a glance back out her window. Brooke's Cheshire grin was in full view, letting her know that she was very much exposed. Shit!
Whirling indignantly, she was cut short when something caught her eye. She knew that she had noticed him before, because she always did. Nathan Scott had proved to be a looming presence in her life since he moved in next door, a blip on her radar that refused to pass. But now as he stood at least two stories below her, his eyes glimmered, still the most enchanting color she'd ever come across. The look in his eyes was unfamiliar, because he was always so controlled, but she recognized it immediately.
Lust.
And for some reason, this turned her on more than anything Chris had done all day.
Humm.. this was a fairly quick update, by my standards lately lol. Thanks for all the reviews, you guys are amazing. And Ange, thank you for subjecting yourself to a story I know you wouldn't read otherwise. Quick update is my showing myappreciate lol. And thankies, as always, to Maggie, for listening to my random ramblings, and even for some of the thoughts in this chappie lol.
So.. why don't you guys all review and see how fast you can crank a new chapter out of me? That'd be fun..
x Sam