"You know Nate likes you right?" Boomer asked curiously as we walked toward our usual spot in the Park. A couple people stopped to give us questioning glances, but he ignored them, I on the other hand couldn't. Recently, I had been noticing the looks a lot of people gave me. Normally, I could tune it out. Boomer made me notice them now. Boomer angled his face toward me, a small impish grin on his face.

"What?" I asked distantly, as I tried to hide my face from the questioning gazes.

"Nate likes you, and I think that Mike kid on the Basketball team does too." Boomer explained with a shrug. "They are always looking at you at school, you know. I've heard them talk about you. Makes me kind of jealous." I scoffed; I was never going to understand Boomer.

"And why would that make you jealous?" I asked as I shouldered my messenger bag and sifted through it for my sketchbook. "I think you're bluffing anyway."

"No, really. They are always talking about how they wished they had the guts to ask you out. Nate especially." Boomer stated defensively. "You don't realize how popular you are amongst the male population do you? They all notice you."

"Are we on this topic again? No one notices me Boomer. You've only been here, what, two months, and you already think you know how High School works?" I spat bitterly. I yanked at my sketchbook and cradled it to my chest.

"Well for someone who thinks she knows how High School works, she obviously has no idea how the food chain works. Like—I don't know the fact that you and your sisters are at the top of it," Boomer replied as he took a seat on the bench. The same bench we had been coming to for the last month and a half. "Or the fact that when guys come up to talk to you, being the naïve little bubble—yes pun intended—that you are, can't even pick up the fact that they are flirting with you." I blushed, hard, at his comment. What is he talking about?

"I—I have no idea what you're talking about," I muttered as I crumpled beside him in complete embarrassment. "Nate is just a friend, we work together—he'd never—would he?" I continued mostly to myself. "But I'm not extremely—or anything like that..." Boomer rolled his eyes and combed his fingers through his hair.

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind and therefore—"

"Winged cupid is painted blind—I know A Midsummer Night's Dream but that has nothing to do with me." I reply bitterly. "Why are you so dead set on pointing out that I'm supposedly popular?"

"Because you might actually believe me when I say that you have a lot to offer. You have so many guys tailing you; it's almost kind of pathetic. Though, I'd probably choose Nate. He seems—nice enough." He replied shortly as he pulled my sketchbook out of my hands. I glared at him halfheartedly.

"What does 'nice enough' mean exactly?" I asked coolly. Boomer shrugged and traced one of my figures with his finger.

"Exactly what I say, he's nice, too nice, but nice, and I guess he's alright looking, in that pretty boy kind of way—you should draw more of what you know." He pointed to the young woman I had sketched out for one of my free sketches and grimaced. "Your drawings are amazing, but they lack a sort of character to them. Try drawing people you know."

"Is that a hint?" I asked with a laugh. Boomer waggled his eyebrows at me, an easy crooked smile taking his face.

"Well, I know I'm drop dead gorgeous, and I am so inspiring, but that actually wasn't what I was getting at." He replied dramatically as he struck a ridiculous pose. I couldn't help but smile, no matter how hard I bit it back. He was a joke, and yet he didn't care. Boomer definitely got my self esteem, which I hardly find fair. "You don't mind spending time with me do you?"

"Well I don't mind...completely."

"Your sisters?"

"Yeah, I just don't want them to find out. They already think I'm a screw up, if they found out I was 'fraternizing with the enemy' they would never understand." I set my sketchbook at my side and sighed. "Why won't they listen to me."

"Maybe if you tried to talk to them. Be forward, don't give them the chance to find out. Just tell them," Boomer offered with a small smile. "That might work out better than just hiding your life from you sisters."

"Do your brothers know?"

"Hell no," Boomer almost laughed. "But that's more because they wouldn't give two shits about where I go and who I'm with." There's a difference between our families Brooke. He gave me a dreamy smile. "I feel like your family actually cares about you."

"You're ridiculous-"

"And that's why I feel like you should come clean to your sisters. It's fair." I scowled, since when did Boomer know what was fair and what wasn't. "I know you probably don't agree with me. I don't blame you. But I know deep down you're kind and sweet and-"

"Everything nice?" I asked, a little amused. Boomer smiled too. We held each others gaze for a moment before he turned his gaze to the sky.

"Yeah everything nice."

Later that night I sat in my shared bedroom with Bridget and Blaire. I had Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew out and settled in my lap. It had been awhile since I read it; I had forgotten how good it was. "Brooke, are you sure you're not overworking yourself at the diner?" Bridget asked abruptly as she glanced up from her laptop. I met her gaze, a little confused. "You have been taking every after school shift for the last month. I just wanted to make sure you weren't wearing yourself out."

Recognition lit up my face. I had forgotten that I was 'working' all the times I had been sneaking out with Boomer. Or at least, that's what I had been telling the girls I was doing. "Oh no, I like working. It's good pay anyway." I lied with a small hesitant smile. My gaze shifted to my silvery comforter, it suddenly was becoming a lot more interesting as Bridget's eyes became more severe.

"Alright." She said slowly as she flicked her attention back to the laptop. "I just don't want you stressing yourself out. You need some energy for finals coming up." I groaned softly. I had completely forgotten about those. My cell phone buzzed softly in my back pocket and I froze. No one ever texted me really. They knew I'd very rarely respond unless I wasn't with my sisters. I pulled out the phone and flipped it open. My heart stopped mid beat.

Sent from 645-7432 at 10:23 PM

Hey, I got this number from that Robin girl in our Art Class. This is Brooke, right? It's Boomer.

What the hell was he thinking? He can't text me. What if my sisters read the text over my shoulder? "Geeze blondie, you look like someone just kicked a puppy." Blaire noted as she caught her soccer ball swiftly midair. I swallowed air and forced a smile on my face.

"Oh it's nothing just remembered I had some homework I needed to finish before tomorrow," I started shakily. "It's nothing major, a friend just reminded me that's all." Another lie. What was wrong with me?

"It's probably in Algebra. You never pay attention; always too busy fraternizing with the enemy!" Blaire exclaimed as she shot me an accusing glare. Her green eyes flickered dangerously and I winced. "Are you really dumb enough to fall for the act?" I tried to look innocent, normally I was good at that, but now I could feel the guilt playing plainly on my face.

It was true. I sometimes forgot and found myself asking Boomer questions about the homework. Or I was asking him about the new Shakespeare play he was reading, King Lyre. He was always friendly and replied. We just got lost in conversation.

"Oh come off it Blaire. Brooke has always been friendly with others. It's in her nature. Besides, she normally just asks harmless questions." Bridget cut in, her gaze shifting back to the pair of us. "It's not like she's actually hanging out with him and spending free time with him. She knows better." She added after a second. I winced, my eyes quickly returning to the book in my lap. It was meant to be a joke, I tried to remind myself of this, Bridget didn't know.

I snuck a glance over at my red haired sister. Her gaze didn't falter and it didn't stop watching me. They watched me intensely with some sort of...disappointment was it? It didn't surprise me. I shouldn't be trying to convince myself that she doesn't know. She knows. How? I haven't the slightest, but she does. But Bridget knows better than to call me out on it in front of Blaire. After another moment, Bridget lowered her gaze back to the laptop. The window to confess had just closed. And I knew it.