A/N: I realise I've gotten some details messed up, like the fact that Mr. Sawyer is Peyton's adoptive father. Oops. I guess I never really followed the show. I was just watching it for Breyton. :P So, sorry about those little screw-ups.
"Secret admirer?" I ask tentatively, stepping into the living-room. There's a huge bouquet of lilies and an expensive-looking box on the coffee table.
Dad recoils, looking embarrassed. That's weird.
"Uh, actually, they're yours," he says gruffly. "They smell like perfume … What kind of boy …"
I decide to ignore his rambling and take the gifts from him and return to my room, locking the door just in case. The flowers are stunning. My stomach feels a little queasy. I have a very good guess as to who bought these; they're the equivalent of a designer dress, and there's only one person I know who has such expensive taste. The bow comes undone easily and I pull the lid off. Inside is a smaller box—a shoebox, and on top of that, an envelope. Lifting the shoebox and the envelope, I notice two rectangles of paper at the bottom on the larger box.
An unexpected smile sneaks up on me. Our plane tickets to California. Scrawled on one of them in handwriting as familiar as my own is a single word: Remember?
--
I think the whole school knows. I bet they're all pointing and snickering behind my back, wondering why Peyton and I aren't hanging out with each other anymore. Oh, I bet they all think we're having another Lucas drama. Nope, residents of Tree Hill High, we're just coming to terms with the tiny, tiny issue of us possibly being more than friends. The snuggly, kissy kind of more-than-friends.
In the past three days, Peyton hasn't so much as smiled at me. I've caught a nervous glance or two, but that's about it. Cheerleading practices have been a lesson in awkward touching and even more awkward silences. I know she's read the letter; I can see it in the confusion and indecision clouding her eyes. But I've said my piece, and if Peyton wants to stop lying to herself some time this century, she'll come around. Otherwise I'm going down in history this Friday, and it's not the kind of history I'd want to remember.
"Brooke?" Haley taps my shoulder. She smiles at me, looking almost sympathetic, then asks me if I'm okay.
I look down at the uneaten food on my lunch tray and the hulking presence of no one sitting opposite me. Talk about pathetic.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Really? You look a little … down."
"I've got some stuff on my mind."
"You want to talk about it? Nathan's got some test to make up for, so I'm all yours."
Haley slides into the seat opposite mine, still wearing that same, amiable smile. Maybe I should get a little advice from her. After all, I don't know anyone else as levelheaded as she is.
"Okay, I've got some issues with a friend," I begin, racking my brain for a way to broach the subject without spilling all the beans.
"Peyton?"
"No!" I exclaim, a little too loudly.
"Oookay. Who?"
"Someone. The name's not important."
Haley laughs. "You're being totally weird about this. What's up?"
"The thing is … I mean, how … What if this person is your friend and suddenly everything changes, and—"
"Whoa, Brooke, slow down."
"How did you and Lucas stay friends without ever getting involved?" I blurt out.
She makes a face, looking at me like I've just sprouted two heads. "We never thought about it. We're just friends. A guy and a girl can just be friends, you know." She giggles. "Okay, not that you would really know. Is this what you're so upset about?"
I shift my gaze down to my tray, fiddling with my fork. If you only knew, Haley. "Sort of."
"I never thought you'd be so torn up about being friends with a guy. Are you sure you're the same Brooke? The one I remember would've been ecstatic about taking things to the next level."
"Well, not this time," I say tersely.
At my change in demeanour, Haley instinctively reverts to empathy. "This is such a cliché, but you just have to be honest. It's not fair to you—or him—if you just keep this all bottled up."
"That's the thing. I've been honest. I've said everything I could possibly say."
"And he's not responding?"
"Not exactly, but to be fair, it's kind of confusing. Like, calculus, science and why Britney married Kevin confusing."
"Maybe he needs a little time. You just have to be patient."
Across the cafeteria, Peyton settles down at a table with Lucas. I look away. "I really hope you're right."
--
"So how's things going?" Lucas asks.
I shrug, noting that he still looks less than enthusiastic. I guess I can't blame him. I wouldn't be doing cartwheels and backflips if I were in his shoes.
"You figure things out yet?"
"I'm getting there."
He just forces a smile and picks up a french fry.
Brooke's at the other end of the room. I didn't have to see her to know she's there. I can feel the heat from her questioning eyes trained on my back.
"She basically gave me an ultimatum. She said I have to decide by this Friday."
"Friday?" Lucas's eyebrows pop up. "But that's—"
"Yeah."
"Brooke's never been good at being patient," he offers.
"Makes you wonder how anyone can deal with her, huh?"
"I guess when you really like someone, you overlook their flaws."
"We're really good at that."
"The best."
I think of Brooke's quirks and her unbelievable self-assuredness and her impossible demands and I think, how could anyone not love her? She's Brooke. She drives you crazy with want and just when you're about to break, she dangles the carrot a little farther, that teasing gleam in her eyes giving you barely enough breath to try one last time. Maybe she's just not used to being on the receiving end of these things. I've been so wrapped up in how I feel about her and my own selfish dilemma that I haven't even thought about how I affect her. How my inability to take her hand and face the world has been tearing down her confidence. I can't believe I've been so self-absorbed that I've forgotten how much not knowing, not having an answer, hurts. It's my turn to make a move.
"Need a drink?" Lucas's voice brings me out of my reverie.
I turn my head, glimpsing Brooke at her table with Haley. "A shot of courage would be nice."
