A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed! You're pushing me to continue writing this. However, saying nothing but "ewww, gross" is not particularly helpful. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, but if you simply don't like the material because it involves two girls being more than friends, then don't read it.
"If x is 25 and y is 18 …"
If x is 25 and y is 18 and pigs can fly and grass is purple, well, it changes nothing. My dad's still acting weird, Lucas is probably still shooting daggers at the back of my head and I'd still take a lobotomy over math any day.
"Ms. Sawyer?"
"Huh?"
"What's the answer?"
What's the answer to what? I glance up at the board and down at my sketch of a pair of hands. No dice.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't figure it out."
"Have you gotten your eyes checked recently, Ms. Sawyer?"
"Uh, no …"
"Well I suggest you do that because I just wrote the answer on the board."
The class snickers, predictably enough, but I really couldn't care less. Math will be over in five minutes and Brooke and I have plans to be avoid everyone by ensconcing ourselves in some comfy armchairs and loading up on caffeine.
The bell rings and everyone flees the classroom. Mr. Langley shoots me one final look of disapproval as he slithers out of class. I ease myself out of my seat and work out the kinks in my neck. The sounds of chairs scraping against the floor and papers rustling dies down within a minute. Suddenly, the door swings open.
"Hey, girlfriend," Brooke says, somehow managing to inject a lethal amount of come-hither sauciness into those three harmless syllables.
Stifled laughter works its way up my throat as Brooke begins sauntering towards me, hips swaying and lips promising all kinds of presents. Oh, this is going to be good.
"Something tells me you've been masterminding this all throughout Spanish," I remark.
"All day, actually. I got busted because of you. You and your gorgeous eyes …" She places her hands on my hips. "And your lips …" She leaves a trail of teasing kisses all the way up my neck. I duck my head to try and still her movement, but she evades me, those full lips so achingly close to mine. She pulls me toward the front of the room, claiming every inch of oversensitized skin on my throat, but never allowing me to touch her lips. Then she breaks off and hoists herself onto the teacher's table.
At the sight of what must be my lust-filled gaze, she laughs and hooks a finger through a belt loop on my jeans, pulling me closer. She gives another tug, pressing my knees against the table and clapping her tanned legs around the back of mine.
"I wish you weren't wearing these," she purrs, rubbing her bare legs against the rough fabric of my jeans.
She slides her hands up my arms, never taking her eyes off my face. "And this …" Her fingers slip under the front of my jacket and she pulls it back slowly, leaning in to nibble on my bottom lip.
"I've never done this before, Brooke," I protest weakly.
Shaking her head, Brooke traces her finger across my jawline, mock disappointment playing in her eyes. "Oh, Peyton, I have so much to teach you."
My jacket falls to the floor with a bang.
I jerk up. Lucas is standing in the doorway.
--
This is not happening. Lucas did not just walk in on us.
And Peyton does not look like her world just came crashing down around her.
--
So this is what an eternity feels like. An eternity of not breathing, not moving, not knowing what to do next.
Lucas's eyes bore into mine, demanding answers I can't give.
I feel nauseated and disjointed, like all my body parts aren't where they're supposed to be. My heart is somewhere in my gut and my tongue is in my throat. And my brain … it's anywhere but here.
Brooke drops to the floor. The sound of her heels hitting the linoleum sends a tremor up my spine. I blink.
Lucas swallows, his pained gaze darting back and forth between me and Brooke. Then he slams the door shut and disappears.
--
"Peyton," I venture softly.
I grasp her hand, intertwining our fingers. I give a gentle squeeze but her hand just hangs limply in mine.
"It's okay …"
She pivots sharply, retracting her hand. "It's not okay."
Her lips are drawn into a thin line, her eyes dark with frustration. My heart sinks at the sight of her looking so lost. I reach out to give her a reassuring touch, but she flinches.
"I can't do this, Brooke. Not now."
"What do you mean?"
"This. Us. I just can't deal right now," she mumbles, averting her eyes.
Panic worms its way into voice and my throat tightens up. "We'll deal with it, okay? We'll fix this," I blurt out, my voice coming out high-pitched with desperation. I make another feeble attempt to hold on to her, but she writhes and backpedals.
"I'm sorry," she says, her own voice cracking.
And then she runs out, like she hasn't just destroyed my world.
--
"Luke!"
My legs are burning, but I'm pumping them as hard as I can. I have to reach him before he leaves.
I don't know what is that's slowing him down, but it's working. I catch up to him in the middle of the parking lot. Gasping for air, I struggle to yell out his name again. I can barely hear myself, but he does, and he whips around. My feet hit the ground one last time.
"Luke, I … Can we talk, please?"
"There's nothing to talk about, Peyton," he says flatly. "It's not like you were cheating on me."
For a moment, I'm fumbling for words. He's right. We're not even together, so why do I feel like I have to apologise?
"No, no," I say, more to myself than to him. "But what you saw … It just happened. It doesn't mean anything." Why am I saying this? It did mean something. Everything with Brooke has meant something, something more than I can describe.
"It's none of my business," he says stiffly.
I stare up at him helplessly. I don't know why I'm doing this. God, am I embarrassed?
"You don't owe me anything," Lucas says, still in that same, dead tone.
"I just feel like I should apologise," I say quietly.
Lucas sighs, running a hand over his face. "Do you want to talk?" he asks reluctantly.
Fighting the urge to cringe, I look up into his eyes. "Yeah."
"We can go grab some coffee."
Coffee. With Lucas. With Brooke. With no one. My mouth fills with bitterness.
--
"What do you want?"
"What do you mean, what do I want?"
"It's as simple as that. What do you want? Do you want Brooke?"
I cringe inwardly at the bluntness of his question.
Across the table, Lucas stares at me. I can tell he's trying to appear apathetic, but I can detect the dull glow of something else behind his stony gaze.
"Do you?" he repeats.
Closing my eyes and wrapping my hands around the steaming mug of coffee, I feel adrift all over again. Floating on my back in the middle of the Atlantic. No way to tell where land is.
Unless I let Brooke into the picture.
Letting Brooke in would mean giving myself direction. Neither one of us can tell where we'll end up, but I know this much is true—that Brooke gives me purpose. All I need to do is look at her and I'll know where to go. All I need to do is hold her hand and she'll take us somewhere. She'll never let go of me, even if it means fighting against the current until we're both beaten and bruised. It may not seem like it sometimes, but Brooke has always been the stronger one.
I open my eyes slowly. "I think I do."
A sad smile breaks across Lucas's face. "Then tell her that."
"It's not so easy."
"It's not. But what's worse—fighting through this alone or fighting through it with Brooke?"
Tears sting my eyes, but I manage to keep them from falling. I always knew Luke was a great guy, but I didn't think even he could be this selfless.
I meet his eyes, holding his gaze. He gives me a friendly smile and I echo it. Maybe things between us will be all right now. We can be friends.
"Thank you," I whisper.
