Well, hello everyone. Remember me? I know it's been awhile since I updated, but I recently found myself caught in a moment of rare free time. I took advantage of that, and wrote this chapter for you all. I actually enjoy this chapter more than any other I have written. Please don't be offended by one of the conversations Mike and Nathan have in this chapter. I am not a homophobe! This issue was used for the characters to play off of one another. So, please don't be offended. As for chapter 10, Brooke's mother insults Mexicans. I am not racist! This dialogue was used to show how heartless Brooke's mother really is. So, please don't be offended. While there are no Brathan scenes, you must, and I repeat MUST, read this. It is a requirement if you are a Brathan fan. You are in for a bombshell. Or whatever you wanna call it. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it. I will update as soon as I can. And please, read and review as always. It motivates me to get these chapters out there faster. Catch you later.
Chapter 11
His voice echoed throughout the walls of their Los Angeles apartment. Nathan squirmed and pulled his pillow over his head in annoyance. The pressure of the pillow barely blocked the noise of his roommate's loathsome voice. "Shut up Mike. I'm trying to sleep," he yelled grumpily as he flipped onto his flat stomach in frustration. Despite his protests, Mike's obnoxious voice bellowed from the shower stall as he sang from the top of his lungs.
"Cause you make me feel. You make me feel. You make me feel like a natural woman!" Mike sang as he massaged a generous amount of soap onto his awaiting skin. In exhaustion, Nathan dozed off with Mike's crooning providing background music. Moments later, Nathan awoke with a startle to discover a black, naked man staring down at him. He became alert and yelped in fright at the sight before him. There stood Mike in all his full glory. He stood in front of Nathan with his hands placed on his hips in an authoritative manner, and Nathan's eyes quickly averted from below Mike's pelvic bone and rested on the towel that was strategically rolled around Mike's bulbous head.
"What are you doing?" Nathan asked in wonder.
"What it look like I'm doin'? I just did me a little freshin' up."
Nathan furrowed his brow and attempted to keep his eyesight on Mike's upper region.
"Dude, you're naked," Nathan pointed out the obvious. "And what's with the towel around your head? Are you auditioning to become a woman? You're bald, Mike!" Mike raised his arm to his wrapped head self-consciously.
"Yeah, I know 'dat. I just did a little moisturizin'. The towel keeps 'da moisture in. I take it off in ten minutes, and my head is softa' than a baby's butt cheek," Mike grinned after he explained his daily beauty regimen. Nathan pretended to understand Mike's bizarre behavior by nodding.
"And you're naked because…"
"Cause I am 'da man," Mike retorted. Nathan chuckled as he sat up in bed.
"And you wonder why people question your sexuality," he shook his head with pity.
Mike gasped in horror at Nathan's jibe, and he folded his arms across his chest defensively.
"Hey, if I was gay, you'd know it. You don't see me walkin' around with a big stick up my ass, actin' all macho, do you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means 'dat studies show 'dat most faggots are generally those 'dat fall beneath 'da category of 'da machismo factor."
"Machismo what?" Nathan asked dumbfounded. Mike sighed as if Nathan's naiveté was an insult.
"Machismo factor; why if I didn't know betta' myself, I would say 'dat you fell under 'dat category," Mike smiled in satisfaction.
Nathan's eyes widened as he appeared taken aback by Mike's remark. "Are you saying that I'm gay?" Mike shrugged his shoulders.
"Dog, you are 'da classic example of a macho man."
"That doesn't mean I'm gay. And trust me, I am the…" he paused to search for the appropriate word to describe himself and continued, "ungayest guy you will ever meet," he assured Mike in an uncertain tone.
"First off, don't insult Webster's dictionary by giving me 'dat ungayest crap. And second of all, just because I embrace my feminine side, doesn't mean 'dat I am gay. You see where I'm going here, Tree Hill?"
"I guess," Nathan remarked.
"Good," he smiled in contentment.
"But could you just do me one little favor?"
"What's up dog?"
Nathan shielded his eyes and pointed to Mike's southern district. "Could you please put some sort of material over that thing? Before I go blind?"
Mike rolled his eyes and glanced down. He heaved an irritable sigh and reached up to his head to retrieve the rolled towel. After he tactically tied the towel around his tummy, he cleared his throat to capture Nathan's attention.
"Is 'dat better?"
"I don't know. I'm still too scared to look down," Nathan laughed.
"You should be. Little Mike Jr. don't like people who stare for too long," Mike warned. Nathan chortled and his roommate slapped him on the knee in a friendly manner. "So, how about 'goin down to 'da arcade this fine Sunday morn' with yo' heterosexual roommate?"
"I can't."
"C'mon dog; it's a great place to pick up chicks."
"I said I can't," Nathan repeated as towel-clad Mike sat down on his bed.
"Why, you got a hot date or somethin'?" Nathan nearly bounced as Mike's sudden weight pressed against the bed springs.
"I wouldn't say that," he replied as he thought of her. "Although I do wish it was a date," Nathan silently thought to himself. Mike's brain spun into realization as he read Nathan's hopeful expression.
"Hey, you goin' out with fine ass again!"
"For the last time, her name is Brooke. We're just friends. And "no" we're not going out. We have never been out," Nathan removed himself from his bed and opened his drawer in an attempt to locate his socks. When he finally found his favorite pair of socks, he plopped back onto the bed.
"Well, you have been hangin' out with 'dis chick quite a bit. Startin' to make a brotha' feel hopeful. I mean if you can get with something like 'dat, there is hope for mankind." Nathan listened as he adorned his feet with socks. "So, where you guys goin?" Mike raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know. She's dragging me to this movie matinee thing that's showing The Princess Bride all day." Nathan shrugged.
"Ahh, your standard chick flick," Mike commented. Nathan nodded his head reluctantly.
"Yeah, she insisted that we go and see it after I made the mistake of telling her that I've never seen it."
"You know why chicks take you to 'dem sort of movies, do you?" Mike asked Nathan, who was in the middle of tying his shoes.
"Yeah, because they like all that love-dovey crap," Nathan replied, stating the obvious. Mike nodded.
"True dat, true dat. But you are overlookin' one very important factor. A girl will only take you to dat' movie if she wants you to kiss her."
Nathan lost track of thought as he heard the word kiss escape Mike's mouth. Suddenly, he couldn't remember the basic process of the bunny-hole method to tie his shoelaces, and a lump entered his throat. With only one shoe tied, Nathan quickly looked up at Mike.
"What?"
"It's true," Mike assured him. Nathan's breaths arrived in inadequate supplies as he struggled to ask the appropriate question. His question nearly came out in a faint whisper, and Mike looked at him curiously.
"How do I know if she wants me to kiss her?"
"That's easy. First, you gotta determine if it's a date or not."
Nathan nodded nervously. He had never been nervous about a potential date, but the idea of Brooke on his arm seemed frightening and exhilarating at the same time.
"How do I do that?" Nathan managed to ask. Mike patted his shoulder.
"Easy, boy. Don't get yo' knickers in a twist. Just sit back and let the Mike show you the ropes." Mike flexed his fingers. "A'ight, check it out. When you two go up to the ticket stand and she allows you to pay for 'da movie, then you know it's a date. But here's 'da clincher. Now listen to me carefully, a'ight? You know she wants you to kiss her when she wants to share your popcorn with 'tchu. Think about it. When you both reach into the popcorn cup at 'da same time, yo' hands will touch. And then she'll bat her pretty eyes at ya and smile her dazzlin' smile, and you lean for 'da kill. And 'dat's how ya do it, my friend."
Nathan stared at Mike with his jaw open in bewilderment. "Where did you learn all of that?" Mike smiled at the subject of himself. After all, it was his most favorite subject.
"Granddaddy pimpin' school, baby." Nathan frowned.
"You know, that's a lot of stuff to remember. Maybe I should write a list."
"Da key thing is to relax, baby. Go wit' 'da flow."
Nathan nodded. "The flow; I can do that."
Mike grinned. "Dat's right. You aint got nothin' to worry about. My granddaddy taught my daddy, and my daddy taught me the pimpin' ways. My family comes from a whole generation of pimps, and you are lookin' at the master of all pimps." Nathan laughed.
"Let's just hope you're right," Nathan added.
The place was in shambles. Every shade of color imaginable lay strewn across the floor in the shape of jackets, skirts, tank tops, and pants. The chaos ensued after she discovered the absence of one measly item: her Badgley Mishka see-through top. She was in a desperate search as she ransacked her drawers and closet, but came up short. Brooke sighed to herself and made a last ditch effort to locate her top, but failed once again. Well, if all else failed, there was always her mother, who frequently borrowed her daughter's clothes without permission. Brooke struggled to push aside the mountain of clothes in the middle of her room and was able to reach the doorway with success.
"Mom, do you know where my Badgley Mishka top is?" Brooke clamored down the hallway and nearly tripped at the sight of a strange but familiar man lounging in her father's chair with a newspaper in his hands.
"Daddy!" Brooke's face lit up like Disneyland fireworks as she recognized her father. The man in the recliner instantly folded the newspaper at the sound of his daughter's jolly voice. He smiled widely, revealing an even row of teeth. Brooke grinned from ear to ear as she took in her father's handsome face. Brown eyes sat above his rounded nose and broad mouth on a perfectly symmetrical face. His smile divulged laughing wrinkles surrounding his kind eyes. But what had always amazed Brooke was the manner in which he smiled. In fact, it was difficult to distinguish her father's expressions, for he smiled so very little. Frank Davis was an enigma in himself. He reminded her of the painting Mona Lisa, with so much ambiguity surrounding the subject's smile. Her father stood abruptly and discarded the periodical to his chair. And before he could even reply, Brooke engulfed her father in a warm hug. He grinned in delight at Brooke's eager reception. As they parted, it was his turn to scrutinize her appearance, and he smiled gleefully. Her dark hair was swept back into a sleek braid, displaying the prominent features of her face. White slacks clung to her legs, while a white tank top exposed her small collar bone. She was as beautiful as the day she was born.
"You know, I'm gone for a couple of days, and you manage to look even more beautiful then when I last saw you," he placed his hands on his hips. "Now how is that?" Brooke blushed modestly at her father's compliment.
"I don't know," she shrugged. "It must run in the family," she added, intending the comment to be an accolade to her father. Her father shook his head.
"Fortunately, you get it from you're mother." Frank sat back down and looked up at Brooke. He cleared his throat awkwardly as if he were conjuring up some sort of dialogue. "So, what's your plan today, princess?" Brooke folded her arms across her chest. To go to the movies with Nathan. Now it was her turn to clear her throat.
"Umm, actually, I'm going to hang out with one of my girlfriends," she lied.
Frank nodded. "Oh yeah, have I met her?" he asked as he picked up the newspaper and unfolded it. Brooke's eyes widened in panic; it's not like he even really knew any of her friends. If truth be told, in the entire 16 years the Davis family had lived in the small town of Tree Hill, her father had only ever met Peyton. And that was her mistake. It was one of the few times Brooke had actually invited her best friend over to her house. It was another family dinner, and Brooke had made a blunder by inviting Peyton over to meet the folks. She nearly felt as if she were bringing a date. She remembered the night in all its torturous entirety. And she had been foolish enough to believe her parents would be on their best behavior! But lo and behold, her parents pulled a fast one on her, and it resulted in her parents arguing over an unpaid credit card bill. Thanks to them, Peyton got an eyewitness account of her mother throwing silverware at her father from across the dining room table. Brooke could never remember feeling more embarrassed in her entire life. From that day on, Brooke promised herself that she would never ever invite her friends over to her house when her parents were home. It was one of her personal commandments. "Okay, back to reality," Brooke thought to herself.
"Not that I know of," she replied innocently as she looked down at her father, who was scanning the baseball stats on the sports page.
"Well then, we must be sure to invite her over to dinner one of these nights, hmm?" Brooke sneered at the thought of another festive Davis dinner. "What's her name?" her father interrupted her thoughts.
"Nath..., oh um, Natalie," Brooke quickly corrected herself. Brooke rolled her eyes. "Nice one, Brooke." After reading his daily statistics, Frank placed the paper in his lap and looked up at Brooke and smiled his Mona Lisa smile.
"Well, you and Natalie have a great time," he stuck his fingers in the air to air quote, "hanging out, or whatever you kids do these days."
Brooke smiled. Gosh, her father was such a dork when he downgraded himself to a teenager. Actually, he was just a dork in general.
"We will," Brooke called over her shoulder as she ascended the stairs to her room. "Bye daddy!"
"Bye princess," he called from behind her. She sighed as she closed her bedroom door behind her in relief. As much as she adored her father, she despised it when he called her that atrocious name. Brooke looked hopelessly at the piles of clothes that were now her living space. "If I were a Badgley Mishka top, where would I be?" she asked herself. "Aha! The bathroom!" To her excitement, Brooke's conjecture proved to right, as she had located her top hanging from the inside doorknob of the bathroom door. She cursed herself for being so forgetful at times. The night before, she could distinctly recall placing the top on the doorknob to deliberately wear the next day. So much for her memorization skills.
After putting on her top, Brooke smeared her pout in apple-flavored lip gloss and analyzed the reflection looking back at her in the mirror. She nodded in satisfaction. "Hopefully, Nathan will like it," she thought mindlessly to herself. Suddenly, she frowned in confusion at her unruly thoughts of him. "Wait a minute; why would I care about what Nathan thinks of me?" she asked herself. But wasn't she like that with everyone? Of course, she cared what everyone thought of her. She had always been like that. It was her greatest strength as well as her greatest weakness. It didn't just pertain to Nathan. "Or does it?" she asked herself again. She rolled her eyes and convinced herself that her self-consciousness had nothing to do with Nathan, but managed to convince herself only halfheartedly. What was this sort of affect that Nathan had over her? It was like there was this gravitational pull in his direction, and no matter how she struggled to steer clear of his path, Nathan always seemed to drag her there. Before she could even begin to contemplate her feelings toward Nathan, her cell phone rang, and she reluctantly exited Nathanland. Now, if she could only locate her phone beneath the heaps of clothes strewn about. She paused as she listened for the familiar Nokia tone, and the sound became steadily closer as she approached yesterday's pair of jeans, which sat upon a random pile. She dug through her back pocket and retrieved her cell. With no time to view caller ID, she swiftly answered the call and waited with anticipation to discover the person on the other end.
"Hello?" she spoke in a meek tone.
"Howdy, from North Carolina!" Brooke grinned as she immediately recognized her friend's voice.
"Howdy?" she asked, obviously not impressed with Peyton's greeting.
"Hey it was either that or "mabuhay," her friend replied.
"What?"
"It means hello in Filipino," Peyton stated matter-of-factly.
"Hello, do I look like I'm from Filipino?"
"Brooke, Filipinos live in the Philippines," Peyton corrected her friend. Brooke rolled her eyes impatiently.
"Whatever, I didn't know that there'd be a geography quiz every time you called. You know how I like to shut down my brain cells on the weekend," she whined into the phone.
"I thought that you do that everyday," Peyton added sarcastically. Brooke pretend-gasped.
"P. Sawyer!"
Peyton laughed. "Just kidding. I solemnly swear," she held up her hand as if she were under oath, "there will no more lessons coming from this end." Brooke nodded in approval.
"Good. So, what's up blondie?" Brooke found a comfortable spot on a pile of clothes and sat down.
"Eh, you know, the usual for Tree Hill. Actually, I just called to see how you were doing." Brooke beamed at the prospect of talking about herself.
"Actually, I'm glad you called. There was something I wanted to tell you."
"I'm listening," Peyton replied.
"Okay, Doctor Crane, here goes…." Brooke quipped. Peyton giggled at Brooke's wise crack.
"A great barb a la Frasier," Peyton replied in her best French accent. Brooke stifled over in laughter. Just one joke sent this duo into hysterics as Brooke wiped her eyes from tears of laughter. After Peyton's giggles subsided, Brooke spoke.
"You totally have to stop making jokes. I'm wearing white," Brooke pointed out. Peyton nodded.
"Oh, I see," she realized. "You know, you and white just don't complement one another," Peyton finished, referring to Brooke's clumsiness. Brooke raised an eyebrow.
"Tell me about it. I go out wearing white and end up coming back wearing whatever condiment was on the menu that night." Peyton laughed again.
"So, you were saying?" Peyton asked.
"Right," Brooke reminded herself. "If I tell you this, you have to promise not to tell anyone else," she warned.
"Hey, I can keep a secret."
"Since when?" Brooke exclaimed and snapped her finger. "Oh, do you remember that time you told Sally Hatfield that I had an extra toe?"
"Brooke, that was like in third grade," she paused in though and continued, "and besides, you told Donald Duckworth that I never washed my hair. You knew you had that coming," Peyton smirked.
"Yeah, well you stole my Malibu Barbie Doll! And that's why I told Donald Duckworth you never washed your hair," she explained. Peyton laughed.
"Oh my God! I can't believe you're still upset about that. Brooke, that was like eight years ago, and I did give it back eventually."
"Yeah, after you shaved her head," she added, with a hint of mockery in her voice. "She was a limited edition." Peyton attempted not to laugh as she feigned compassion.
"Okay, I'm sorry about shaving your Malibu Barbie Doll's hair," she apologized. Brooke's laughs were uncontainable after Peyton's pathetic apology, and soon both friends were snickering.
"I can't believe we just wasted time talking about some stupid Barbie Doll!" Brooke responded. Peyton smiled, and she cleared her throat subtlety.
"So what's this juicy secret you got that you aren't telling me, hmm," Peyton urged.
"Well, you know how Nathan went to that basketball camp in California?" Peyton nodded. Brooke's voice grew softer as she spoke. Her feathery voice whispered into the phone. "Let's just say, I might have bumped into, well more like tripped over him in LA." Brooke recalled the day she tripped over the basketball at the park and nearly fell into Nathan's arms.
"No way!" Peyton exclaimed, evidently astonished that two people could bump into one another in such a large city.
"Yes way, and we have been hanging out ever since," Brooke excitedly replied back.
"You and Nathan?" Peyton inquired in bemusement. The only time she could recall Brooke and Nathan exchanging words was when she herself was dating Nathan. But those words weren't exactly cordial. As a matter of fact, they were insults.
"I know what you're thinking," Brooke declared, as if she were reading Peyton's thoughts. "We never used to talk, but it's different now. We can actually carry on a conversation without wanting to tear each others' throats out."
"Brooke, that's awesome," she paused in wonder, "but why are you being so secretive about it?" Brooke stuttered as she attempted to answer Peyton's legitimate question. Why was she being so mysterious about her keeping company with Nathan. Perhaps, in the back of her mind she knew the reason for her silence, but she was not ready to admit that fact to herself or to her best friend.
"Well I…"
"Unless you…" Peyton gasped. "Oh my God, you like Nathan!" At the exact moment those words escaped Peyton's mouth, Brooke's world changed. She knew it, and her best friend knew it. A lump formed in Brooke's throat at Peyton's stunning realization. The line remained silent until Peyton broke the stillness. "Brooke, you still there?" she asked as concern filled her voice. Brooke's eyes filled with tears.
"Yeah," she replied quietly.
"Is it true?" Peyton asked. Brooke sat and pondered her friend's question. Was it true? Was it possible? Did she actually like Nathan Scott as more than a friend? A moment passed, and Peyton finally heard Brooke's cracked voice over the phone.
"Yeah, I think I do," she realized. Her voice was full of consciousness as she spoke those words. Peyton raised her eyebrows in shock.
"Wow, that's a first," she added in her deadpan voice.
"Peyton, what am I supposed to do? I'm supposed to go out with him tonight." Her mind panicked at the thought of Nathan seeing her like this. Would he be one of those intuitive guys who could see she had feelings for him by just reading the expression on her face, or would he be one of those dim guys who couldn't read a girl's emotion if it walked up and hit him right in the face. Brooke sighed and prayed for the latter. "Maybe I should just cancel."
"Whoa Brooke, relax; one step at a time," Peyton calmed Brooke's unstable breathing with her soothing reassurances. "The Brooke I know wouldn't just cancel on a friend."
"You're right."
"I know I am. Brooke, you need time to sort out you're feelings. And you're not going to sort out your feelings by avoiding him. There's no pressure. It's not like he's expecting anything. All you have to do is be yourself. And the night will be over before you can say choo kiko wapi?" Brooke sniffled and attempted to rub her eye without smudging her mascara.
"What's that mean?" Brooke asked curiously.
"It means "where are the toilets?" in Swahili," Peyton answered. Brooke giggled.
"P. Sawyer, I don't know what I would do without you." Peyton smiled gratefully.
"Right back at you, bud." Brooke looked over at the raindrop clock and noted the time.
"Anyways, I should get going. I'm supposed to go pick up Nathan to go see a movie." When she received no answer from Peyton, Brooke repeated her statement. "Peyton?" she asked.
"You want to hold him. You want to hug him," Peyton asserted in her sing-song voice. Did her ears deceive her, or was Peyton teasing her. Brooke rolled her eyes as she listened to Peyton's incessant singing.
"Shut up!" she retorted.
Peyton disregarded Brooke's need for silence and continued mocking her in her best singing voice. "You want to hug him. You want to love him." When Brooke decided Peyton wasn't giving in, she herself gave in.
"I'm hanging up now, Peyton!" Brooke warned.
"You want to hug him. You want to squeeze him. You want to kiss…" Peyton's song was immediately disbarred as Brooke finally hung up. She raised her eyebrows and rubbed her temples. That would be the last time she would tell Peyton anything of such importance.
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Coming Soon: Brooke and Nathan's "date"
