Next thing she knew she was on the back of Bradley's bike, holding on tightly looking out at the world from behind the tinted lens of the helmet. She felt the rush of adrenaline from the motor and closed her eyes as it made her heart beat fast. She smiled at the feeling but kept her grip tight around his waist, she knew her mother didn't approve of this but for some reason this made her smile.
All of the words Bradley had told her ran through her head and it came back to her in bits and pieces, she now knew about ballet, horses, art, cars, boys, music and money in that one ride. She couldn't remember her first kiss or her best friend from grade two but she could say she could dance and enjoyed the feeling of a good workout. She couldn't tell you her last trip to the dentist but she could tell you about the way she knew how to wrap a boy around her finger.
Some memories weren't all that good, like her favorite Grandpas funeral she had run from when she was thirteen. Or even when her dog had died when she was eleven, and the feeling of Pointe shoes on blistered toes. She remembered the day she had fallen off her horse and gotten a concision and had to go out with a black eye on a date. She knew her favorite pop was Dr. Pepper and cookie dough ice cream was the shit.
She smiled when she thought of the mansion behind her, especially the noise her mother had made when she found how her daughter was going home.
"There is no way Bradley that you are putting my baby on that machine, I need to get caught up with her after being apart for so long. I need to make sure she remembers everything before she comes back here. We only have four days before she wants to come back." She had exclaimed when Bradley told her they were returning on is motorcycle.
The Paige's lived in Boston, which was ironic since the city was only a twenty minute drive from the mansion. They lived on the south eastern side, in a wealthy neighborhood called Beacon Hill, Brooke watched as they drove down authentic cobblestone streets, the sidewalks were bricks and it was all so beautiful and historic. They pulled up in front of a brick house, it was humongous. The gold plated numbers told her it was 85 on Mount Vernon Street; it had so many windows, meaning it had lots of rooms. It seemed as though you had stepped back in time and fallen here in Boston. Each window had black shutters and the house sat on a large yard with a tree towering in the middle.