11:00 AM
"So, who are you going with this year?"
"I don't know if I'm going."
"Why not? Isn't this the highlight of your school year?"
Shrugging, I shift in my seat and pretend to pick at a piece of lint on my shirt.
"What about that boy, your secret admirer? What's his name—Brad?"
"Who?"
"The one who gave you the flowers."
A word teeters on the end of my tongue, but I catch it before it does any real damage. "He's okay, I guess. Not really my type."
Exhaling slowly, Dad braces his elbows against his knees, leaning forward in an attempt to catch my eye. "You've been cooped up for a couple of days already. Is everything all right?"
"Yep," I lie, flashing a smile for his benefit.
"You sure?" He looks at me dubiously. I hate it when he does that thing with his eyes, like he's searching for an honest answer by piercing right through me with them.
"Yeah, I'm just a little stressed out."
"Well I think you should go tonight. Have some fun. Maybe you can get to know Brad … but, you know, don't let him get to know you too—"
"God, Dad! Can we please not have this conversation?"
He presses his lips together, looking sheepish. "Okay. I just think you should go."
"I'll think about it."
It's all I've been thinking about.
1:30 PM
I'm waxed, exfoliated and polished down to my tippy-toes. In another lifetime, Peyton and I would be going through this whole thing together. We'd be in my room, tossing shoes and earrings around. But today, it's just me and my endless closet with no Peyton in sight. It's 1:30. I've had one message from Haley, two from my parents and countless others. I can't remember what a single one of them says. There's only one person I'm waiting for, and it doesn't look like she's about to burn bridges or cross oceans to get to me. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little worried about showing up with only my shadow tonight.
3:00 PM
It's too late to go. My hair's not done and I haven't even removed the chipped polish on my toenails.
Sitting down on my bed, I can see the dress I picked out with Brooke months ago hanging in my closet. It would be so easy to just put it on and go. It would be so hard.
Does Brooke even have a backup plan?
I feel a pang as I picture her walking up the steps to those huge double doors alone. For the first time, Brooke Davis would be showing up dateless. I can barely begin to wonder how mortified she will be.
4:25 PM
"Sorry we couldn't make it back earlier, honey," my mom coos, kissing me on both cheeks.
"It's okay," I say. Who cares if they're here, anyway? I don't know why they suddenly decided that they needed to see me off tonight.
"Did your date reserve a limo?" my dad asks, fiddling with his cufflinks and raising his eyebrows as if the limo is the most vital part of tonight.
"Um, it's a—a different plan tonight," I stutter. "No limo."
He scoffs, shaking his head. "Is this boy even aware of whom he's dating?"
"Dad—"
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll just call Peter and he'll have a limo ready for you two."
"Really, Dad, it's not necessary."
"Then how are you going to get there? A cab?" he remarks snidely, shooting me an incredulous look before picking up the phone. Well, turns out the hauteur is genetic after all.
"He's really low-key," I lie.
"That doesn't mean you have to slum it, sweetie," my mom pipes up. "Is this boy impoverished or something?"
"No, he's not," I retort sharply. And it's not a boy, I think to myself.
"Well, that's settled. Peter will bring the limo over and you can tell your date to come straight here," my dad announces, hanging up the phone.
This is turning into one insane game of lying. "He's not coming over. We agreed to meet at school."
My dad's jaw hits the floor. "He's not coming over?"
"That's not very … gentlemanly of him," my mom adds, frowning.
An exasperated sigh cuts through the air. "It's the 21st century, Mom. We're going to meet there and that's it. I'll take the limo if you want me to, but I'm not asking him to come over here so you two can grill him about his household income and his spending habits." The words tumble out of my mouth in a rush of annoyance. I'm great at lying, but if I keep this up, my head is going to explode and Mom'll have a hell of a time steam-cleaning the boiling blood out of the sofas.
5:10 PM
That dress is taunting me.
6:00 PM
Shoes: check. Earrings: check. Necklace: check. Makeup: check. Hair: check. Keys: check. Fake ID: check. Mints: check. Date: pending.
7:35 PM
Thank you, whoever invented tinted windows. I can hear the distant roar of laughter and the thumping music. It seems like a million miles away. Who would've thought it: me huddled up alone in a limo on prom night—completely sober, by the way. Too sober.
"Got anything good in here, Pete?" I ask, even though I've already scoured the entire backseat in search of anything with the tiniest drop of alcohol.
"'Fraid not, Miss."
Sighing, I lean back against the luxurious seat, squinting against the darkened glass and wondering if Peyton is on her way here. Jitters shoot up and down my body, sending my foot into a rhythmic tapping. Come on, Goldilocks. You're way past fashionably late.
7:37 PM
A knock sounds on the far window. My heart stops and I barely dare to hope.
Please don't let this be my mind playing tricks on me. Please let it be Peyton. Please let it be real. Slowly, I swivel around in my seat, every muscle in my body straining in an effort to move as carefully as possible, so I don't destroy this already tenuous fragment of reality.
Two hands are pressed up against the glass and a pair of searching eyes is glancing back and forth. Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer.
I open the door on my side with shaky hands, stepping out into the cool night air. Everything feels like it's moving in slo-mo as we finally walk up to each other.
I can't tell if I'm smiling or gaping, but all I know is I can't resist the urge to touch her. "Come here."
7:38 PM
An overwhelming flood of emotions surges against my chest as I fall into Brooke's arms. She wraps her arms around my body, gripping me so tightly, as if too close is not close enough. I rest my cheek against her shoulder, breathing her in. I move my mouth to the base of her throat and her heart beats a heavy cadence against my lips. Everything that I've silenced for the past few weeks bubbles to the surface, burning my eyes and pressing me closer to Brooke. To her soft, warm skin; the smooth expanse of her bare back; the graceful, delicately carved lineaments of her entire body.
My breath hitches as I fight to stave off the tears. It's always been Brooke. Through Nathan, through Lucas, through Jake, it's always been her. It's always been her hands that hold my voice steady; her words that keep me from falling apart. It's still her.
"I've missed you so much."
She pulls back, just enough to look at me. "I've missed you too, P. Sawyer."
Her deep brown eyes seem to ignite from within, incandescent with every indescribable need and want coursing through my own veins. She lifts a hand to my cheek, brushing away a lone tear I didn't realise had spilled over.
"What took you so long?" she asks softly.
I shake my head, but Brooke lets the question go unanswered. Her dimples make an appearance as she glances down at my feet.
"You wore them."
"Yeah, but how did you—"
"Don't worry. Daddy bought them for me, but they were a bit too big." Her eyes crinkle at the corners as her smile grows even wider. "They look gorgeous on you."
"Thank you," I say, clutching her hand in mine, hoping to convey what words cannot.
A tilt of the chin and a flutter of the eyelashes, and Brooke is leaning forward, drowning all my fears as she presses her lips to mine. It's slow and reassuring, telling me that everything is forgiven. The cool tips of her fingers trail up to my neck, sending a wave of goosebumps over my skin. I pull her closer, every part of my body moving naturally to accommodate hers, to fit every piece together seamlessly, to make up for all this lost time. My fingers tug at her dress. It's too much distance between us. Brooke feels it too, and she claims my lips with a hungry desperation that fuels my own desire.
Too short of a time passes before we finally succumb to our need for air.
"I've taught you well," she quips, her breathing ragged.
8:00 PM
I have no idea how long we've been standing out here in the parking lot, but I feel like I'm home at last. Peyton's thumb is drawing circles on the back of my hand, and I'm almost surprised at how little time it took for us to miss each other this way. My lips are throbbing madly and my hands are still tingling with the urge to touch her, but for the moment, I content myself with basking in the quiet elation between us. Who knew that it didn't have to take sex to feel that blissful afterglow?
A change in the music from inside the building reminds me what we came here for. I hold out my hand.
"Ready to go inside?"
The happy little smile on Peyton's face falters. "I'm not … I'm not ready."
"But it's prom night. It's customary to dance and do typical prom things."
"I'm sorry."
Seems like she's saying sorry a lot these days.
But before I can say anything, she cuts in. "I know I've been the worst person lately, but I'm not ready to face all those people."
"Peyton—"
"But I also don't want this night to be for nothing."
She opens the door of the limo and leans in, slipping back out several moments later. This time, she offers her hand.
The sonorous pull of violins flows out of the limo, reaching into the darkness around us.
"Dance with me?"
I place my hand in hers and our bodies are drawn together again. As we take our first few steps together, I feel weightless, as if the ordeals that we had to go through have finally been taken off my shoulders and now we can just float to wherever we want to go. Maybe Peyton's not ready to face the crowd yet, but she's trying, and this is a move in the right direction. If not tonight, or tomorrow, then maybe next year. Or the year after next. Someday, Peyton and I will dance for the world, and it will watch and beam, because even if we stumble and fall along the way, we will overcome it all with each other.
As the music swirls around us, carried by the breeze, I lift my head and plant a kiss on her cheek. She gazes down at me, those breath-taking eyes of hers finally, completely opening up to me. Everything in her, everything about her, fills my senses to dizzying heights. Her pain and her happiness are indistinguishable from my own. She smiles.
My beautiful, messed-up Peyton, she smiles.
A/N: So ends my little trial run of writing Brooke and Peyton. I know it's kinda abrupt, but this was really just a test run. The first few chapters were a little difficult, but I think I got into the groove of things towards the end. I'm actually reluctant to let it go, but if real life doesn't act like a total bitch, I might plan a sequel or something else. Thank you for the reviews!
