AN: Sorry for the delay. School started back up and has been keeping me busier than I would have liked. Thanks for continuing to read this fic. :)
"Haley," Brooke turned to face her best friend, "Can I ask you something?"
Haley poked her head over the magazine, "Yeah?"
Brooke ran her fingers through her hair, sighing, "Do you think that I don't live?"
"Live? The mere fact that you are breathing, yeah, I think you are alive."
Brooke shook her head, "No, I mean, do you think that I am living up my teenage years and having fun?"
Haley sighed. She hopped of the bed and sat down on the floor beside her friend. "What's this all about?"
"Nothing." Brooke stood up, leaning against the door, "Lucas told me that I wasn't living."
Haley scoffed, "He's got nerve. Why do you care?"
"I really don't know. Maybe, he is right?" Brooke said folding her arms.
Haley giggled, "You're kidding me, right?"
She sighed, "I wish. The more I think about it, the more I agree with him."
"Just because we don't go to Peyton Sawyer's parties, doesn't mean that we aren't having fun? You don't need drugs, or alcohol, to have a great time. Besides, Harvard isn't going to accept druggies!" Haley reminded as she laid down, pulling the covers over her.
Brooke nodded, "You know what, you are right! Thanks, Hales!"
Haley laughed, "That's why I'm the smartest girl in our grade!"
"Yeah, by like less than half a point!" Brooke shot back playfully.
She took her normal seat, the front table. She eyed the items on the desk. Lab experiment using chemicals? The goggles fit snug against her face, cutting into her cheeks. She sighed as she took them off to adjust.
"Can I sit here?"
Brooke looked up and groaned, "No, you can't, actually!"
Lucas smiled, "Well, it's the only seat left and everyone needs a partner. So, yes, I am sitting here."
Brooke exhaled sharply, scooting her notebook closer to her, "Fine, just don't talk to me."
"Fine by me," he said.
She watched in amusement as he propped his notebook open, sliding his phone behind it. He began to text in class. He's definitely going to get busted for that.
"Can you stop that? It's really distracting me from listening to the instructions," she asked. She kept her eyes peeled to their teacher. "Mixing chemicals is dangerous and I want to make sure I know what I am doing before I blow the school up!"
"Sure," he said coolly. He slid the phone back into his pants pocket. "There. No more distractions."
She smiled at him, "Thanks."
He nodded. He pulled a green spiral notebook out of his backpack. Lucas opened it, grabbing a pen. He began to write. Brooke tried to make out what he was writing.
"What are you writing?" she whispered.
He shut the book, irritated, "For someone who doesn't want me to talk to them, you are talking to me an awful lot!"
Brooke scoffed, "Fine, we will just sit here and enjoy the silence!"
"Well, actually, the teacher is talking. So, it's not a hundred percent silent," he sassed.
She wanted to scream or physically hurt him. He was under her skin and she couldn't figure out why. He always has to get the last word.
"If you are going to defend yourself, don't say ugh!" he mocked. He chuckled.
She glared at him, "You are a horrible person who is going no where in life! No one likes a sell out or a druggie, or alcoholic! So, when I'm on the top and you're on the bottom, remember the fact that you once made fun of my work ethics!"
He began to laugh, "Finally, you got some balls, Brooke."
She rolled her eyes, "I still hate you!"
He flinched, pretending to be hurt, "Ouch! Hate is such a strong word!"
"Then, I strongly dislike you. Satisfied?" she asked bitterly.
"Yes, thank you!"
She walked into the cafeteria and groaned as the line seemed to stretch to Cuba. Brooke, with a sigh, entered the line.
"Is Brooke Davis actually getting cafeteria food?" Lucas asked as he stepped behind her.
She turned on a heel, "Excuse me?"
"No, caviar? I mean, I thought mommy and daddy had money," he hissed.
"What is your problem!" she snapped. Raising a brow, she looked at him, "Just because my parents are financially wealthy, does not mean that I have to be a brat; wearing designer clothes, nice car, and gourmet lunch food!"
"You think with all that money, you'd be drop-dead-gorgeous!" he said quickly as his eyes examined her.
Brooke turned away, heated, "So, you are calling me ugly!"
He shook his head, "Not exactly. But, honey, you're not hot and probably never will be."
Brooke grabbed a tray of pizza and handed the lunch lady a five, "Whatever."
Brooke stormed off to her table. He wanted hot, fine. I'll show him how hot I really am! I'll make him regret even talking to me like trash. Be prepared for the new and improved, Brooklyn Penelope Davis.