The beach house was desolate. Channel surfing had become Brooke's last resort as she melted down the remote with her digits. Brooked sighed in utter annoyance. "You've got to be kidding. Three hundred channels and there is nothing on." Not even E! entertainment network could arouse Brooke's attention. Brooke smiled as she noticed the icon on the bottom of the television screen. "Ooh, the style network. Now that's more like it."

A special on the summer's latest trends piqued her interest. Those shoes are too die for, Brooke thought to herself. She stared at a pair of glossy alligator pumps that adorned the slender ankles of Jules Asner, the perky host of the featured fashion special; a little too perky for Brooke's taste. Brooke reached for the bowl of popcorn placed on the elegant antique table her mother bought in Mexico last year. She grabbed a handful and stuffed the cheese popcorn into her awaiting mouth.

"Bright bikinis are out this summer, girls," Miss Asner explained to the hardcore audience of fashionistas. "Instead, opt for floral bikinis, similar to this Calvin Klein stunner on our model, Rachel." Jules gestured to the bag of bones of a model posing for the cameras. Brooke shuddered as she watched the model. She looked emaciated as she observed the model's ribs were literally poking out of what little flesh the model had left. Brooke suddenly fought the urge to grab this girl a Snickers bar, more than a few, in fact. She thought that the camera was supposed to add ten pounds, not eliminate ten pounds. This girl was an exception. Speaking of skinny girls, Brooke dug her cell phone out her jean pocket and hit speed dial as she threw her Doc Martin clad feet up on the expensive coffee table. Three rings later a voice full of slumber reluctantly answered.

"Hello?"

"Well, hello there. Greetings from the land of California." Brooke squealed into the device.

"Brooke, is that you?"

"No, it's Ed McMahon. Congratulations, you just won 1,000,000 dollars. Do you prefer cash or check?" Brooke teased

"Huh?"

"Of course it's Brooke. Who else would it be?"

"No one. I just thought you were somebody else. Forget about it." Brooke heard a sigh of relief on the other end, even if she was in another state.

"Is there something going on that you're not telling me about?" she asked suspiciously.

"No, I just wasn't expecting to hear from you at…" she glanced at her teardrop-shaped alarm clock, "at 3:00 in the morning." Brooke noticed the emphasis on morning in her friend's statement and flinched.

"Oh, yeah, sorry about that. Not really good with the whole time differential aspect of traveling. What are you doing up anyways?" she asked innocently. Her friend sighed in agitation.

"Well, the sound of my phone ringing of the hook kinda woke me upfor starters."

"Right, sorry." Brooke winced at her friend's irritated reaction.

"It's cool. So, how is California?" she asked.

Brooke smiled in amusement. "Glad you asked. California is totally awesome. It's become my favorite subject to talk about since talking about, well, me," she chuckled. Disregarding the late hour, her friend smiled and rolled onto her back. "I mean the weather's great for tanning, cute boys, and best of all, Rodeo Drive, baby. Oh, and did I mention that there are really cute boys here?"

"Once or twice." Her friend let a smile slip. "Have you been catching up with your parents?" Ugghh, the parents, Brooke reminded herself. She always approached her parents with a sour note.

"Let's just say, the rent are on another business trip with no daughter in tow." Brooke made a pout face.

It's true. Once again Brooke' parents had abandoned their one and only for another business trip, and left the 17-year-old to her own devices. It angered Brookes as she had flown all the way to California cross country, mind you, to spend some much needed quality time with her folks. Instead, she remained all alone in her family's three million dollar house located on the rocky beaches just feet away from the icy water of the Pacific Ocean that pounded the Los Angeles shore. Brooke attempted every argument in the book to convince her parents to stay. Her parents argued they would return sooner rather than later and would treat Brooke to a Melrose Avenue shopping spree; their usual method of handling their daughter and quite the insult to her. So far, it had been one lonely summer for Brooke, and she was just barely approaching her second week in the so called golden state.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie. Can I do anything?" Brooke's ears perked.

"Yes, you can jump on a plane and get your ass out here to California," she hinted hopefully.

"Wish I could, but I've still got a cesspool of bands to sort through in order to play at TRIC next year. Any suggestions? Hey, I hear N'Sync is in town," she added sarcastically. Brooke pretend gasped.

"Are you serious? Wait a minute. That is so not funny, P. Sawyer," she paused, "besides, they broke up years ago. What about one of those minimalist, eccentric bands you likethat nobody listens to?" she smirked.

"Ha, ha." Brooke sensed an anguished undertone in Peyton's sardonic response.

"So, you gonna tell me what's going wrong with you, and don't lie to me missy, or I am going to be forced to use my magical powers to physically transport you here so I can kick your sulking ass."

"Brooke, I really don't want to talk about it right now." Peyton's voiced changed to a serious tone. "Can't we talk about it when I am more aware of my surroundings?" Brooke relented.

"Fine, but you're going to call me first thing tomorrow morning and spill all the details." Peyton nodded in reluctance.

"I promise, and by the way, it is already morning, remember?"

"Hello, jetlagged much." Brooke explained. "So, how is everyone?"

"Everyone is good as far as I know. I try not to socialize with everyone, you know me being such a people person and all."

"Oh, well that's good." Brooke replied sounding disappointed.
"And if you are talking about a certain blue-eyed, blonde-haired boyfriend of ours, which I know you are, he's doing fine as well," she smirked. It was as if Peyton had read her mind.

"What makes you think I'm talking about Lucas?" she paused, "Wait a gosh darn second, how did you know I was talking about him?"

"C'mon B, I know you better than you know your credit card number by heart. And Lucas sort of told me he went into Romeo mode before you left."

"Really, oh, what did he say?" Brooke inquired attempting to sound impartial.

"Nothing really…except that he totally regretted it."

"What? I can't believe that jerk…if I had a dime for every time that boy…"

"Relax," Peyton interrupted Brooke's conniption fit. "I was just kidding."

"P. Sawyer, I cannot believe you."

"Sorry, but you can be so easy at times," she giggled. "Look, kidding aside, all he mentioned was that he wished he told you his feelings sooner; Mr. Punctuality, right? He seemed more embarrassed than anything else."

"Yeah, we all know Lucas and his ever sense of perfect timing. I mean, what right does he have anyway? Here I am trying to move on with my life, and out of nowhere Lucas tells me he wants to be with me?"

"Well, we already know how he feels about you, so how do you feel about him?"

The line was quiet as Brooke pondered Peyton's question.

"I don't know, Peyton. I know that he's the only guy who has ever treated me like a real person and not some Saturday night sleaze. Whenever I'm around him, all I want to do is kiss him, but we all know where that leads…" Brooke raised her eyebrows.

"Mono?" Peyton joked as Brooke rolled her eyes. "But seriously Brooke, there you have your answer."

"My answer is mono?"

"No, dumbass, you just told me that you do have feelings for Lucas."

"No, I wasn't finished because somebody rudely interrupted me. Now, can I finish?" Peyton obliged

"Be my guest."

"The thing about Lucas is I do care about him. I will always care about him He was my first love. That kind of love just never goes away. I just don't know if I can ever be with Lucas like thatagain, you know."

"Why not?"

"Well, given that he was in love with my best friend when he was dating me doesn't exactly give him a free get out of jail card." Peyton sighed at Brooke's comment.

"Brooke, Lucas and I are just friends. I would never betray you like that again. I don't think even Lucas would do that to you again. He's a different person now."

"I know. It's just that I don't want to go there again. What if I did give him another chance and he hurts me again? I don't think I can stand being hurt like that again."

Peyton nodded her head in understanding. "Well, you never know until you try. I think I learned that lesson better than anyone else this year with Jake," her voice saddened as she continued, "but there were no regrets. I loved and I lost, but even if I did lose him, no regrets."

"It is better to have loved than to have not loved at all," Brooke inadvertently said aloud.

"Exactly," Peyton agreed.

"Regardless of how I feel now, I'm glad I am not there in Tree Hill. I don't think I could face Lucas." Brooke breathed a sigh of relief.

"It doesn't have to be decided tonight or tomorrow. That's why you have 3 months to sort out your feelings that you may or may not have for him. It's not like he's going anywhere anytime soon."

"You're right. When did you become some wise?"

"Being your best friend gives me a slight advantage. I don't know. I guess I'm just an old soul."

"Thanks, Peyton."

"That's what I'm here for," she paused, "but do me a favor. Next time you have a crisis, please contact me at a civilized hour."

"Sorry…"

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have some much needed sleep to catch up on. Good night, Brooke."

Brooke smiled. "Good night, grumpy." The line clicked, and all Brooke heard was the dial tone.

Sleep sounded good to Brooke as she clicked off the television set and left the greasy popcorn bowl on the table. The maid would take care of it; one of the advantages of hired help. Her parents lived in the life of luxury, and since she was visiting, she figured she would take advantage of that fact. Once she entered her bedroom, Brooke stripped off her top and bottoms and changed into her comfortable snowmen flannel pajamas. The fabric felt soft against her skin as she slipped under her queen sized comforter and inhaled her surroundings. Her bedroom smelled a mixture of lavender and of the sea as she let sleep overcome her; a sleep where she would dream of summer sales at Bloomingdales, parents who adored her, and a boyfriend who had never betrayed her.

"Yo, dog, over here."

"Nathan Scott, with a no look pass to Ernest Halloway, who goes up for the jam!"

Doyle and Josh, Los Angeles' own version of Tree Hill's Mouth and Junk, performed their spectator duties as they sat on the rusting bleachers and observed the pick up game at Leilly Park's basketball court; old school versus new school. Everyday after basketball camp concluded, Nathan along with an entourage of some of his young, High Flyer friends, played a loose game of basketball against some of the High Flyer veterans, and the vets always seemed to have the ability to kick their asses; talk about teaching them a lesson.

"Alright, let's take a 10 minute breather," Michael advised everyone between breaths.

Nathan smiled. "Yeah, everybody, Mike's a little tired right now. Quick, I think he needs a stretcher." Everybody laughed at Nathan's playful jest, including Mike. Michael a Los Angeles local and was a four year vet at High Flyers. This was supposed to be his final year of attendance. The instructors took an immediate liking to him, and he was often appointed any position he wanted during practice.

"You got that right man, but I could settle for some Gatorade," he replied. The group dispersed and everyone walked towards the bleachers. Nathan and Mike sat down on a near bench as Mike guzzled down the remains of his cherry-flavored Gatorade. Mike turned to Nathan.

"Admit it, Nate, you wanna be like Mike."

Nathan took a swig of water and looked up from his bottle. "Yeah, maybe like Mike, as in Michael Jordan, but never you."

"Oh, Tree Hill's got a sense of humor today, huh?" Mike chuckled as he shook his head at Nathan. Tree Hill had become Nathan's new nickname to his own dismay.

"Well, somebody has to keep up with you."

"Yeah, well somebody ought to. I had to take you under my wing sometime. I mean you're a great player and all, but somebody's got to teach the ropes."

"Is that right?"

"Sure. Take it from me, I'm the all-around first pick of the draft, and you follow behind in a distant second." He playfully punched Nathan's shoulder.

"You just keep on telling yourself that, Mike. Whatever makes you feel better."

"Alright, how about a game of blind to show you that I…" he pointed to himself, "am the man?" "Nathan looked him puzzled. "Don't tell me you aint heard of no blind, dog. Were you born last year?" Nathan still looked bewildered as Mike laughed. "Okay, remember when MJ was playing the Hawks and bet Mutumbo he could make a free throw with his eyes closed?"

"Yeah," Nathan nodded.

"Well, boy, that is what blind is. It's like horse with your eyes closed." Nathan rolled his eyes.

"There is no such thing as blind." Mike got up and dribbled the basketball.

"Of course there is. I made it up," he grinned. "Okay, Tree Hill, watch me make this three- pointer with my eyes closed and a smile on my face."

"Wait a second. How do I know your eyes will be closed?"

"You ask so many questions, G. This game is about trust. Now, watch and learn." Mike took his place on the court. Nathan grinned as Mike licked his finger and held it in the air. "A nice easterly breeze," Mike commented. With his eyes sealed shut, Mike thrust the ball into the air towards the basket, as the ball sailed over the hoop and bounced down the grassy knoll that the court stood on.

"Nice air ball," Nathan snickered.

"I was testing the wind."

"Yeah, right." Mike looked as if he was getting ready to retrieve the ball, but Nathan stopped him. "Don't worry about it. I'll go get it." Mike had no time to respond as Nathan was already trotting down the hill to fetch the basketball.

"Damn, that bastard is fast," Mike noted in amazement as he shook his head and walked over to the rest of the group.

What kind of a moron builds a basketball court on top of a hill, Nathan asked himself as he pursued the ball down hill, avoiding sharp rocks that jutted out of the stony formation. Obviously, it was someone who did not play basketball. As he reached what looked like a running trail that surrounded the grassy hills of Leilly Park, he discovered he could not find the basketball. He sighed as he wondered where the ball could've bounced. It couldn't have gone too far because the terrain surrounding the court was completely flat. If I were a ball, where would I be, he thought.

"Looking for this?" Nathan turned as the sound of a feathery voice alerted him. Standing not more than 20 feet away was a petite brunette holding the object he had so desperately sought. Nathan squinted as he struggled to see her, yet the sun offered no comfort from his lack of vision. He stepped forward to avoid the sun, and the female's features became more familiar and distinguished. She was decked out in a skintight, formfitting, black Adidas running suit. The suit complemented her small waist, toned shoulders, and tanned complexion. Her brunette locks were done up in a messy bun, and Nathan gasped at the familiar features of the woman standing before him and recognized whose features they belonged to.

"Brooke, is that you?"