Title: Secret Evolution

Author: Harper

Rating: NC-17 for sex, language

Fandom: Popular

Pairing: Sam/Brooke – some mention of Sam/George, Sam/Other, Brooke/Other (kind of)

Archiving: This will be at www.realmoftheshadow.com/harper.htm with the rest of my drivel. Thanks to Kim for housing it.

Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’m not making any money. I mean no harm. Much love to Popular. Much sadness at its continued passing.

A/N: It’s The House of Yes meets Sister, My Sister meets Harper’s twisted imagination minus any disturbing deaths. Also, I’ve made up a number of characters. I needed more to work with than the few on the show. The way this thing is set up highlights important events in the evolution of an occurrence (hence the title). That said, it will not flow as a continuous piece. Sometimes, chunks of time will be missing.

As per my usual, this isn’t beta’d. I own all mistakes. If you’d like to tell me something, I’d be glad to hear it, no matter the flavor. I’ll be at Xfjnky2@yahoo.com. Thanks for reading.

Prologue

“Jesus Brooke… stare much?”

The acerbic words shook the blonde from the semi-coma she’d apparently been inhabiting, and she tore her eyes away from Sam. Well, at the very least, she slipped on her sunglasses and turned to the side, making sure the girl was still visible in her peripheral vision while avoiding the creepy stalker glare she’d been unwittingly perfecting. After all, it wasn’t every day she got to see Sam lounging beside the pool in a fairly skimpy chocolate brown bikini and she wasn’t one to waste opportunities.

“What?” she replied as innocently as possible, picking up the latest issue of Cosmo as if she hadn’t been practically salivating mere moments before. “I just didn’t know that human beings could be that pale and not be an albino.”

Schoolyard rumor was that when a boy liked a girl, he chased her around the playground, tugged on her ponytails, called her names. It was the way boys expressed emotion before they learned how to deal with it, Brooke supposed, though in her estimation, almost all of the boys she knew were still stuck in the hair-pulling stage.

Then again, so was she.

She’d started that rumor that Sam was a private dancer at one of the less savory establishments located just outside of city limits (ironic really, considered the Mary Cherry/Nicole fiasco that had nearly ruined their parents’ wedding). And it was kind of funny, the way Sam had kept getting dollar bills tucked into the waistband of her pants for a whole week until the rumor had died down and Kennedy’s attention had shifted elsewhere. Truth be told, Sam really should thank her for that one. She had to have made at least $30 off of it – tax free income was nothing to sneer at.

Then again, it might also be why she’d told the other girl that she dressed like a “goth whore on cheap crack” one day, mainly because she was in the midst of a hormone surge and Sam had been too close and her cleavage had been a bit more on display than usual and Brooke had been having far too much difficulty keeping her hands to herself. It had worked, too, and she’d felt bad when Sam had pouted and glared at her for nearly three days. But, she hadn’t attempted to ravish her step-sister in the kitchen which was, ultimately, infinitely better than any little fashion insult.

It was almost certainly why she’d let her posse of ‘friends’ torment Sam all of freshman year without saying a word.

All that torment, and all because the brunette made her drool when she’d wear unrelenting black, when she’d go off on some rant in class or give just as good as she got when Nicole would do her best to squash her under a stylish stiletto heel.

And then sophomore year had rolled around. Sam had jumped headfirst into journalism, hoping to jump headfirst into Mr. Grant, the Zapruder Reporter advisor while she was at it. The two of them had the stupid idea that she should work on some piece about popularity, and, Brooke thought with a sigh, just when she was readjusting herself to the new school year and to the sight of Sam glaring at her across the lunchroom table, the brunette had popped up out of nowhere wanting an interview.

She’d been at the mall, already upset about the way she knew the whole Carmen/cheerleading thing was going to go down and the way her relationship with Josh was going nowhere, when suddenly there was Sam. Her hair looked slightly ridiculous and the outfit was something Brooke would never be caught dead wearing, but she’d instantly felt her heart start to race and hoped that the shell-shocked look on her face came across more as confusion than as a sudden burst of unrequited lust.

Brooke had tried not to babble. In fact, she’d tried to come up with answers that would impress Sam, that would show the brunette a hint of her layers. Layers that she wouldn’t mind showing quite a bit more of, truth be told. And part of her thought that maybe she had stumped Sam. The other girl had seemed flustered. Antagonistic, yet flustered, and Brooke liked the combination a bit too much for comfort. So she muttered some excuse, fled the premises without a backward glance and cursed the part of her brain that had obviously malfunctioned some years earlier when it decided she had to have a crush on Sam McPherson. God, of all people. Not just a girl, but Sam. Talk about a relationship destined to end up even worse than any of Shakespeare’s doomed couples. Othello was a light-hearted comedy in comparison.

And then Sam had started to be nice to her, and it had almost been too much. Laughing at some stupid joke she’d made in biology, helping her pick up her books when Freddie Gong knocked them to the floor, and Brooke hadn’t known what to think or what to do, so she’d invited Sam to her party like an idiot. She wasn’t sure what the rationale behind that one had been, because even if Sam did show up, then what? Was she planning on sweeping her off her feet to the boom-boom bass of whatever music Nicole arranged? Offer her a beer and try to hold her hand and make an awkward pass at her while they waited in line for the bathroom?

Stupid. And to top it all off, her relationship with Golden Boy wasn’t doing so well either. Josh had decided to find himself or reinvent himself or something equally as disastrous. Not that she didn’t love him, because she did. She loved how normal and perfect he was, and how normal and perfect their relationship was. On the outside, that is, though on the inside it seemed to be folding like a house of cards. She needed that normality, craved it really. If she was going to be the Golden Girl, she had to have the perfect accessories. Josh fit the bill, but not if he started deciding to buck the system, to forget about being perfect and try to be happy. Happy most definitely did not fit in with perfect, and she couldn’t quite handle his journey into self-exploration. The way of the world was clear… Josh should be quarterback and Josh should be the most popular guy at school and he should be miserable and perfect with her, and that’s the way it was supposed to be.

The party actually had been strangely perfect, at least for a while. Everyone was having a good time (herself and Nicole not included), and Josh hadn’t shown up, which was also fine since each interaction they’d had since his musical revelation had seemed to drive them further apart instead of closer together. Sam hadn’t shown up either, and so she didn’t have to worry about making an ass out of herself trying to not woo the girl despite her rather weak resolve to avoid that mess entirely.

Then Sam did show up, and Brooke tried not to gape at how gorgeous she’d looked in that pink bustier thing she was wearing. Which was hard, even with Sam yelling at her, and she tried to yell back, tried to make Sam see that they weren’t so different from one another in the end. She tried to keep up her end of the socially contracted roles that they played, tried to ignore the heat being lasered her way from angry brown eyes. She had a sinking feeling she’d been failing, which is why she should have been glad that her Dad chose that time to bust her.

Only she couldn’t be glad that he’d walked in with Sam’s mom, rambling on about love and being engaged and generally giving her a panic attack in front of the entire school. How could he go off and fall in love in less than a week? What about her feelings? What about her mother?

And what the hell about Sam? If he was engaged to Sam’s mom, then they were soon going to be the most fucked up blended family in Southern California, which was saying quite a lot. She couldn’t have Sam around every day, couldn’t live in the same house with her. Her secret wouldn’t hold up under constant scrutiny, and then what was she supposed to do?

But, despite her protestations, the parents had gotten together and she tried to view their forced cohabitation as some sort of karmic retribution. The object of her most embarrassing desire was only a wall away. Sam moved all too quickly from fantasy to reality, and Brooke became devastatingly aware of just how the other girl looked when she rolled out of bed in the morning, when she lounged on the couch in a pair of short, faded boxers and a fitted tank-top, barely paying attention to the action on the television. She saw Sam everywhere, doing everything from brushing her teeth to doing homework to talking on the phone.

Pure torture, nothing less.

In the face of all that luscious Sam-ness, she found, oddly enough, that it was almost easier to hate Sam. It was as if the other girl flaunted her unavailability, like each cutting look was secretly, subtextually layered with a not so subtle fuck you. She felt herself falling apart, each passing day ripping cortex from brain stem until all she had left was the animalistic part beating a primitive rhythm. See Sam, hate Sam, love Sam, fuck Sam… the tribal drum beat of Neanderthal-ish sentiment seemed to reverberate throughout her entire body. She could literally feel it buzzing through her system whenever the other girl was near, its primal, savage call driving her to do things and say things she wouldn’t have ever imagined would originate with her.

And on top of that, trying to keep up appearances was hellish. She hadn’t been able to maintain the façade with Josh. He didn’t know what was off, just that something was. He’d stuck it out for longer than she could have hoped, but when the end came, part of her was relieved. She didn’t have to take the time to cater to him, didn’t have to feed the pool of speculation. Everyone wanted them to be the Golden Couple, and the pressure was too much. Especially when she had enough on her mind as it was, trying to keep herself from barging into Sam’s room and pinning her to the bed, letting out all of the frustration and emotion she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep inside.

Sometimes it was easy to keep up the one-sided game of spite. Devastating attraction notwithstanding, Sam could be an utter pain in the ass on occasion. The expose over the biology cheating debacle, the push to prove the depth of her relationship with Josh… Sam was the engineer behind most of her more traumatic teenage experiences. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure that she would have slept with Josh again, and subsequently broken up with him the following day, had she not made that stupid bet with Sam. Other times, though, it was excruciatingly hard, especially when Brooke wanted nothing more than to push the brunette back against the kitchen counter and kiss her until Sam couldn’t remember the words necessary for arguing.

She thought about all of the ridiculousness that had passed. The competition over Harrison, when all Brooke really wanted to do was make Sam go to the Prom with her. She could have even done the threesome thing. If Harrison was ancillary to that arrangement, so be it. Maybe once the hot teenage threesome sex had started, she could simply have shoved Harrison out of the way and gone about using her collected knowledge to make it a rather exclusive twosome. Because she’d been reading up, had perused the internet and checked out a few books at the local library, and Brooke knew that when the day came, she’d be ready. She had a complete store of fantasies floating about in her head, each mapped out in excruciating detail, and she was ready to put her theory into practice.

Not that she really would have gone to Prom with Sam, just that she wanted to think that she would. The truth was she’d never do anything like that, never be able to step out of the shining halo of her goldenness. And publicly trying to date her step-sister? Not going to happen. She could dream though, and plan, and construct elaborate sexual fantasies and wait for the nonexistent day to arrive when she’d work up the guts to tell Sam how she felt.

And then it had happened.

Evolution One

“You don’t take things without asking,” Brooke growled to herself, fists clenched as she took the time to work up a proper fit of rage. She needed the push, needed to be on the top of her game when she crossed into the other girl’s room. If she let herself slip, if she let one tiny crack form in the perfect shell she’d created, she’d be lost. Besides, she loved to watch Sam when they argued, loved the way the brunette’s eyes lit up and her voice lost the smooth, cultured edge she tried so hard to keep hold of.

Sam had borrowed one of her CDs, one that she decided, at that very second, that she needed desperately. So she stormed down the hall, flinging the other girl’s door open with just the right touch of drama, steeling herself against the upcoming tirade. But, there was no tirade. Instead, there was Sam, trying desperately to hide whatever it was that she’d been reading, and seeing her chance to further antagonize the girl, to push against the boundaries of their relationship just a little bit more, Brooke stepped inside the other girl’s room calmly. If Sam didn’t want her to see something, then she was damn well going to see it.

“Hiding something?” she asked, voice painfully nonchalant, even as she steadily made her way closer to Sam’s bed. Sam looked almost terrified, the fear in her eyes only strengthening Brooke’s desire to discover the mystery. Terror denoted something good, something she definitely needed to see and possibly exploit. Like another newspaper article, perhaps, only one that she could get the scoop on before it went public. One that she could try to circumvent or counterattack, and she tried not to think about how exciting the possibility of a huge fight with Sam seemed to be.

“Hello! Major invasion of privacy here,” Sam yelped, face burning bright red with embarrassment. She hadn’t been expecting company, and sure didn’t want it. Brooke hadn’t given her time to get the magazine she’d been looking at under her mattress and she’d had to settle for her pillow. The pillow that Brooke was eyeing with a bit too much interest for her taste, and she took a step forward, trying her best to look menacing. “I want you out.”

“I don’t think so,” Brooke nearly growled, tilting her head to the side, trying to calculate the most direct path to the pillow. She was on a mission, her determination to see what Sam had been hiding driven as much by some perverse need to invoke a physical confrontation as by her very real curiosity. The pillow was her objective, and she was a woman with a goal.

Easily divining Brooke’s intent, Sam tried to block her path. Stepping squarely in front of the blonde, scowl etched deeply on her face, she crossed her arms over her chest. “No closer,” she warned, seriously disturbed by the look of unnatural determination the blonde was sporting.

“Like I’m worried,” Brooke said flippantly, feinting to the left and then crossing quickly to the right in a move that would have landed her the starting point guard position on Kennedy High’s girls basketball team had she ever been scouted. Thrown off-balance, Sam tried to recover, tried to throw herself in the other girl’s path, but unfortunately, Brooke was stronger and quicker than she looked, and Sam soon found herself sprawled out on the floor with Brooke triumphantly digging under her pillow, pulling free a short stack of…

Magazines?

It took her a moment to grasp the import of her prize.

The Advocate. Out. On Our Backs.

The resulting smirk was positively evil.

Sam was back on her feet in an instant, her reaction an interesting mix between fear, panic, anger and confusion. Yanking the magazines out of Brooke’s hands and holding them to her chest as if to protect them from the blonde’s gaze, she tried desperately to formulate a plausible reason for their presence in her bedroom. But, by then it was too late. Brooke saw it – her perfect opening, yawning wide before her.

Crack.

“Gay much?” Brooke said gaily, the smirk growing.

Sam gulped, watching her life start to crumble in front of her eyes. The evidence was incriminating, no matter what her intent might have been. And honestly, she didn’t know what her intent had been. She’d borrowed the magazines from Lily, intending to just take a look, to explore a lifestyle that the larger part of her mind insisted could never be her lifestyle. Not that she hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wondered about herself and the conflicting thoughts that seemed to race through her mind at the most inopportune times. And now her confusion had been revealed. Her biggest secret in the hands of her biggest enemy… no good to be found there.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Sam hedged, the crack in her voice giving her away.

Brooke merely advanced on her, hand reaching out to knock the magazines to the ground. She watched Sam’s startled confusion for a moment, the heady power of the moment rushing through her. “It looks like what it is,” she replied reasonably, nearly licking her lips with glee.

Sam hedged further, searching fruitlessly for an escape and finding nothing short of a brick wall. This was not a label with which she wanted to be branded, particularly when she wasn’t even sure it applied. But if Brooke told, it might as well be true. She’d never be able to shirk the rumors, to disprove the essentially improvable. She’d rather have her sexuality crisis without public scrutiny and disapproval, and didn’t see a way of having that option that didn’t involve some small amount of begging. “Brooke, look… whatever it takes. I’ll do it.”

At that, Brooke stopped short. So, so tempting, a voice in her head sang. The thoughts running through her mind were a little horrifying taken out of context, but the only context Brooke had to work from was the one she’d been living with for years. Over two of those years had found her actually living with the object of her desire, and if there was such a thing as terminal sexual frustration, Brooke was a walking example. So, if Sam was willing to do whatever it took to keep her little secret, then Brooke was going to take it all.

One hand behind Sam’s neck held her in place as Brooke’s lips descended. Hard, crushing, possessive, dominating. All of those and more, and when she ascertained that Sam wasn’t going to scream or slap her or bite her, she gentled the kiss.

When they broke apart for air, her eyes devoured the sight of Sam’s kiss reddened lips, the slight sheen of the other girl’s eyes. “Brooke, what…” Sam tried to ask, the words croaking past a suddenly tight throat.

Brooke merely leaned back in, her lips inches away from Sam’s. “Whatever it takes,” she repeated fiercely, brow arched as if daring the brunette to contradict her, then closed the distance again. She was done with talking, and didn’t want to give her mind any time to second guess the course of action she’d chosen. She’d stumbled into the perfect vehicle. Blackmail gave her the power to have what she wanted without sacrificing anything in the process. She had the pleasure of Sam without the pain of possible rejection or social suicide, all wrapped up in a hidden stash of magazines and a borrowed CD.

Sam wondered if the numbness pervading her was shock. She wasn’t sure she understood what was happening, between Brooke’s lips on hers and the other girl’s hands touching her in places no other female besides her doctor had touched. Because it didn’t make sense, didn’t compute that Brooke would be doing those things at all, much less to her. Brooke didn’t go around kissing girls, and neither did she. Even if she had wanted to explore the possibility a little bit, this was a lot more than the tiny, safe exploration she’d only barely begun to think about. This was jumping feet first into the abyss, only the abyss was quickly morphing into a seductive vortex into which she wouldn’t mind disappearing. The kiss was more than nice, was making her feel things low in her belly that she’d only felt late at night when she’d touched herself with silent, expert hands. The part of her mind that urged her to throw caution to the wind wondered what it would feel like for someone else to touch her, for fingers other than her own to explore her body. With Brooke’s body pressed so tightly against hers, it was hard to think of anything else. Hands and lips and tongues, and she wondered where her sanity had vanished off to because suddenly she wanted to kiss Brooke back.

Sam’s shirt buttoned down the front, and Brooke managed to open it, to push it back over the other girl’s slim shoulders in a manner of seconds. Soft skin teased her fingertips even as the brunette’s tongue made a tentative foray, brushing against Brooke’s lower lip. The improbable hint that whatever it was that was happening to her was a mutual thing was all Brooke needed. She moaned and scraped her nails down Sam’s arms, lost.

She didn’t dare speak, didn’t do anything to break the haze of unreality surrounding the moment. Minutes melded together seamlessly, and some indeterminate amount of time later, Sam was on the bed, long dark hair fanned out on her pillow as her head thrashed back and forth. Brooke’s teeth were on a sensitive earlobe, on the powdery soft skin of a puckered nipple. And then her mouth was enveloped in a searing wetness that she couldn’t ever have contemplated, lips and tongue covered with a sweet saltiness that was oddly familiar yet exquisitely exotic.

Strong hands pulled at her hair, nails digging into her scalp painfully, but she didn’t notice any of it. Sam’s lithe body tensed and undulated as low keening cries painted the air with desperate desire. Cries that soon grew sharp, gathering momentum as they grew steadily to a peak, culminating in a near scream that echoed around the room.

Unable to resist, Brooke looked up, catching her first sight of that beautiful face tensed in something almost like pain.

As Sam’s chest heaved, she climbed upward, arms wrapping tightly around the other girl’s torso. She planted soft kisses on Sam’s neck, her chin, her lips, fingers smoothing through silky dark hair.

Soft kisses that soon turned heated.

Sam was devastatingly beautiful as she loomed over her, long hair spilling over her shoulders and dark eyes gone black. Brooke drank in the sight, having been previously unaware that the simple act of looking at someone else, of seeing unbridled passion and careless recklessness, could result in such arousal.

The feel of the other girl’s fingers on her flesh was teasing at first, hesitation and inexperience making the touches soft, jerky. But Sam was a quick learner, soon catching on to the little cues Brooke readily gave out and it wasn’t long before the blonde closed her eyes on the wave of pleasure rushing through her, her own heartbeat deafening against sensitive eardrums.

Sam collapsed on top of her, their skin melding together, dark brown eyes looking at her with heartrending confusion. “Brooke, what…” The words were hoarse, the first to be spoken coherently in close to an hour, and Brooke pressed her finger against Sam’s lips, stopping the question before it could take flight.

“Shh, Sam,” she whispered, following her words with a soft kiss. And Sam only looked more confused, a hint of anger thrown in to draw a frown over her features.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I want you to kiss me, Lily.”

Sam was having serious fallout from what had happened in her room the afternoon before. She couldn’t move past it. Her body still burned from the contact, the searing impression of Brooke’s hands on her leaving behind some kind of tangible psychic reminder. It seemed almost like a blur, like it hadn’t happened at all. She’d been so wrapped up in the immediacy of the moment that everything that had happened now seemed hazy, like a dream. Like she couldn’t believe it then and still couldn’t believe it, and everything was disjointed and vaguely unreal. She’d wanted to protest as the blonde had rolled out of her bed, as she slowly pulled back on wrinkled clothes. She hadn’t said anything though, just watched Brooke, wondering at the calm poise the other girl seemed to possess in spades. And then Brooke was bending over her, was placing a searing kiss on her lips and Sam had wanted to cry.

“Remember, it’s a secret,” Brooke had said, running a finger gently down the side of her face.

The blonde had carried on as if nothing had changed. She’d practically ignored Sam at dinner later that night and had only given her a cursory glance that morning as she’d grabbed a banana and headed off to summer cheerleading practice. Part of her was glad for it, because if Brooke had suddenly turned to her and wanted to do it again, she might just have said yes. No, she probably would have said yes. And now she needed to know. Was it a fluke? Teenage hormones run amok? Could she really have enjoyed it that much, so much so she was already contemplating enjoying it again? Because that was patently insane, in so many ways. She wasn’t gay, or maybe she was, but she certainly wasn’t ready to accept it. She certainly wasn’t ready to have slept with Brooke, to have lost her virginity to Brooke.

Lily looked from the stash of returned magazines the brunette had shoved into her hands to the serious expression on Sam’s face, a little thrown by the desperation she saw there.

“Uh, are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked, unnerved by the slightly crazed glint in the other girl’s eyes.

“Probably not,” Sam said dryly, “but I need to know something.”

“Uh, because I’m married. Because you’re my friend,” Lily said, stressing the last word. She wasn’t ready to be sacrificed on the altar of exploration even if part of her couldn’t believe the chance she was being handed. Even if she had felt guilty about it, she’d always thought Sam was pretty hot. And, it wasn’t every day that she was given the chance to explore the bi part of her bisexuality. Or her supposed bisexuality. She was pretty certain she was bisexual, but hadn’t really been able to try it out past her hesitant kiss with Carmen back in the 10^th grade. But, if she said yes to what Sam was asking, then she could try it out. Part of her felt like she’d know for sure then, when she got to kiss a girl for real. It would fit the last piece of the puzzle into place. She’d kissed boys and liked it. She’d looked at girls and wanted to kiss them. This, then, was her opportunity, and she couldn’t really figure out why she was protesting. Maybe some part of her was remembering the abortive attempt at exploratory sex she’d made with Harrison at the beginning of Sophomore year, and the awkwardness and the awfulness that had prevailed for the following few days after she’d backed out of it. Maybe she was thinking about Josh. Maybe she just instinctively knew it might be a very bad idea.

Sam frowned, tone more biting than usual. “I’m not asking you to be my life partner. I just want you to kiss me. That’s all.”

But, this wasn’t Harrison and Sam wasn’t asking to have sex with her and she swore to herself that she’d tell Josh all about it, and about how it hadn’t meant anything to her but had been important to Sam and that, as her friend, Lily couldn’t really refuse her. Not when her friend was on the verge of some kind of crisis and desperately needed her help, and not when Josh would probably just think it was hot anyway and not really care beyond the fact that he hadn’t been able to watch. “Just this once,” Lily murmured, eyes focused on the red pout of Sam’s lips. Licking her own, unmindful of the unconsciously seductive move, she leaned forward slowly, nerves zinging with anticipation and a slight hint of terror.

The first press was soft, totally unlike the first kiss Sam had shared with Brooke, but the similarities were there, overlapping her experience of the day before. Soft skin and soft lips, the gentle hint of flowers and the choked cry of girlish pleasure, though there was some essential something missing. Kissing Lily was pleasant. Kissing Brooke had been all-consuming.

The other girl broke the kiss first, sitting back on her haunches, a slightly dazed expression dulling her eyes. “Uh, that was… that was nice,” Lily croaked, heart beating abnormally fast. She hadn’t expected kissing Sam to be so… well, so exciting. “Do you want to do that again?”

Cutting her eyes at her suddenly over-enthusiastic friend, Sam pursed her lips in contemplation. She could try it again, could see if the day before with Brooke had been the fluke she hoped it was. But, one kiss and she already knew that it wasn’t.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said steadily, trying to ignore the brief spark of hurt in Lily’s eyes. “I, uh… I need to go.”

She rushed away, knowing that she owed the other girl more than that. But, she couldn’t give it, not without talking about what had happened, and she just wasn’t prepared to do that. So, she could only hope that Lily would somehow take it all in stride, would chalk it up to some sort of safe experimentation and not freak out about the kiss and Sam’s subsequent race from her house. She couldn’t stay though. She had to straighten things out, first in her own head and then with Brooke.

Work constraints meant that her Mom and Mike never got back to the Palace before six. Brooke was usually back from cheerleading practice by 3:00, if she came home right after. For some reason, Sam had a feeling today would be one of the days when she would. And, as expected, the blonde was back, though rather unexpectedly, she was lounging on her bed when Sam threw open the door to her room. It was anti-climatic in a climatic kind of way, because she found that though her quarry was present, her mind had skipped town. The ride back to the Palace hadn’t resulted in any kind of earth shattering revelations or introspective epiphanies, so she was going planless. Given her lack of capacity for rational thought, the only things she had to hold onto were her feelings and topping her list of emotional turmoil was hopeless fury, so she went with it.

“I want to know what kind of game you’re playing,” she demanded, frustration growing as Brooke regarded her calmly, face giving away nothing. In fact, the blonde seemed utterly unmoved by the display of anger, taking her time sliding off of her bed and crossing the room until she was standing in front of Sam, eyes unreadable.

Truth was, she hadn’t been able to think about much of anything since the events of the afternoon before. She’d been out of control, warping and manipulating the situation like she had, and she’d tried to feel guilty about it, had searched deep within her soul to find some trace of embarrassment or shame but there wasn’t any. She was glad she’d done it, was glad she’d finally made a move and that the move had paid off. It wasn’t the most healthy move, most definitely wasn’t the sanest, but she’d done it nonetheless. She’d been with Sam, had touched her and tasted her and been touched in return, and it was far more than she ever could have hoped for. So, whatever the fallout, she could deal with it. Not that she wanted to deal with it. She just wanted to keep on doing what they’d started yesterday, no questions asked and no awkward conversations laying in wait.

At the moment, she was all about shirking the complications.

Reaching behind the other girl to shove her door closed, Brooke continued to advance until Sam’s back was pressed against the hard wood. “There’s no game,” she murmured seductively, bringing her hands up so that they rested against the wood on either side of Sam’s shoulders, caging the other girl. Operation Ignore Giant Issues was underway, and if she could help it, Sam would soon be far too busy to worry about berating her.

Laughing humorlessly, Sam tried to ignore the heat of the other girl’s body burning into her. “Like hell,” she said defiantly, trying to mask her sudden flare of desire with bravado. It was hard, though, when Brooke was pressing so intimately into her space, when her mind raced back to scenes from the day before and she felt her knees go a little weak. She didn’t understand this reaction, wondered if she would be feeling this way if she’d tried to push for a little bit more experimentation with Lily. Then again, she knew she wouldn’t, had been able to tell from their one kiss that while she might find these same activities enjoyable if she tried them with Lily, she wouldn’t have her brain come screeching to a halt, all thoughts but that of MORE thoroughly erased.

Head dipping, lips finding Sam’s throat with unerring accuracy, Brooke drew a gasp from the brunette. “No game,” she murmured again, easing forward until her body was pressed tightly against Sam’s, trapping the other girl between the hard wood of the door and the hot, soft curves of her body. Brooke felt reckless, conscious thought having long ago fled to make room for an indolent hedonism that she had never given rein to before the previous afternoon but that now seemed to be dominating her. She was normally controlled, always thinking about her actions and the consequences of those actions, all of which normally led to a great deal of inaction. Her life had been guided by expectations and social conventions for so long that simply doing something because she felt like it seemed almost like an unforgivable sin.

“Brooke,” Sam whimpered, trying desperately to keep a grasp on the few remaining shards of rationality that hadn’t fled when Brooke had pressed into her, hazel eyes glowing with seductive intent. This wasn’t the way she wanted the conversation to go. It wasn’t the way the conversation would have gone before the incidents of the previous day. Before then, Sam had been able to toss off scathing comments with barely a thought. Now it seemed that all she had left was barely a thought, with no comments, and really no words, coming to mind.

Brooke’s hand was on her breast, kneading the soft flesh through the material of her shirt. The blonde’s thigh was nestled against the juncture of her legs, pressing up into her, pinning her, and it seemed like the only thing she could focus on was that contact. She tried to fight past the multiple assaults to her sanity, tried to ignore the all too skillful kiss. Tried but failed, giving in with a whimper as Brooke’s free hand came down to flick open the line of buttons running down the front of her jeans. And then Brooke was spinning her around so that she was facing the door, was whipping her shirt over her head and roughly unclasping her bra, and Sam felt her heart begin to race. She felt dizzy, overwhelmed, overheated as Brooke’s hand slid down her stomach, stealing under the waistband of her panties and past soft curls. The blonde’s free hand came down from its perch against the door, wrapping around Sam’s side, her hand coming up to cup the other girl’s breast as she pressed hard into her back, wrapping Sam in a cocoon of flesh.

Using her chin to edge aside Sam’s hair, Brooke bent her head, teeth nipping the soft flesh she uncovered even as her fingers enveloped themselves in warm wetness. Sam moaned, bracing herself on the door with outstretched palms. She found it perversely easier to have Brooke touch her this way, when she didn’t have to look at the blonde, and pressed her hips forward gently.

At the move, Brooke’s face twisted in a feral smile. Her fingers had found a rhythm, circling relentlessly over Sam’s clit, and she tightened her grip on the brunette’s upper body, pressing her against her chest more closely. “Pretty girl,” she whispered against Sam’s neck, taking advantage of the other girl’s arousal to express some of the feelings she’d held in check for far too long. The words were inadequate, not able to bear up under the weight of Brooke’s emotions, but she felt powerful saying them, in finally giving voice to her long hidden attraction.

Sam could feel her heart beating in her throat, her eyes seemingly welded shut as she focused on remaining upright. Her legs were quickly turning to jelly and her head drooped forward to rest against the door. She couldn’t hold it up any longer, not when it took every ounce of energy she possessed to keep from collapsing. Not that it mattered. When her climax hit her knees buckled, sending them both crashing to the floor in a graceless pile of limbs. She heard Brooke’s grunt, was vaguely aware that she was almost pinning the blonde to the floor and had to be crushing her, but she couldn’t do anything about it. Her chest felt as if it were on fire and for a moment she was afraid that something was seriously wrong, that her heart couldn’t beat that fast without invoking some kind of medical emergency.

As she worked to regain her breath, Brooke shimmied free, rolling over so that she was on her side looking at Sam. The brunette turned to look at her weakly and spied her shirt lying on the floor just a few inches away. Snagging it, slipping it on so that she didn’t feel quite so vulnerable, she licked dry lips, mind racing as she tried to think of something to say.

“Don’t overthink it, Sammy,” Brooke said with a soft, sweet smile. “If you overthink it, you’ll ruin it.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense,” Sam protested faintly, rolling up so that she was sitting with her legs crossed. She propped one elbow on her thigh, head resting on her fist. All she really wanted to do was crawl into Brooke’s arms and stay there until she felt normal again, the compunction disturbing in the extreme. Instead she forced herself to look at the blonde coolly, trying to ignore the shivers still racing through her. “Why are you doing this? Is it some kind of trick? Some kind of evil game?”

Barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Brooke said, “What kind of trick do you think it is? What kind of game? Do you honestly think I’m trying to get one over on you?”

“I think this is definitely abnormal,” Sam muttered, unable to come up with any other reaction. Brooke was right. It didn’t make sense that she was trying to play some kind of trick, or that her actions were part of some kind of evil plan. If she’d wanted to embarrass Sam or up the ante in their little war, then sleeping with her would have been one of the most unusual, and quite possibly counterproductive, ways possible.

Fighting down a blush, Brooke strove to remain calm as she said, “Right. Definitely abnormal, which is why we absolutely cannot tell anyone about it.”

The blonde’s words didn’t match her actions, at least in Sam’s opinion. “I don’t get it, Brooke,” she said, well aware that the theme kept reoccurring. But, she hadn’t yet received a satisfactory answer, and was going to keep trying until that happened. “Are you, like, gay? Is that it?”

Recoiling back, Brooke narrowed her eyes, a look of something close to terror on her face. “What, me? Why, are you?”

Definitely confused, Sam said slowly, “You’re the one who started this. You kissed me. You… you know.”

Crossing her arms over her chest defensively, feeling distinctly threatened, Brooke huffed, “You were the one looking at those magazines.”

“Yeah, magazines,” Sam stressed, now on the defensive herself. “I looked at some magazines. You blackmailed me into sex,” she pointed out.

Sputtering, not quite happy with the far too accurate description of what had happened, Brooke protested, “Yeah, but you didn’t say no. And I seem to remember you being on both the receiving and the giving end. And,” she added triumphantly, “you liked it.”

Looking at the other girl with something akin to horror, Sam muttered, “This is insane.”

Deciding to press what she perceived as a tenuous advantage, Brooke leaned forward, voice silky as she said, “No, this is good. You liked it, I liked it. It feels good. We don’t have to worry about getting pregnant,” she added somewhat absently, shivering at the memory of her scare. “We’re all alone here most of the time, so we don’t have to worry about getting caught. It’s perfect, Sam.”

“Aren’t you forgetting the obvious?” Sam asked, trying not to let herself be too easily convinced by the surprisingly logical argument. “We don’t even like each other.”

Trying not to be hurt by the words, Brooke said softly, “We don’t have to like each other. Besides, I don’t dislike you. And, you know this is perfect. I know you’re curious about sex, Sam. What’s a better risk-free way of finding out everything you want to know?”

The pull to give in was seductive. She was curious about sex, had actually bemoaned her virgin status to Brooke only a few months before. Things hadn’t worked out with George and part of her was glad for it, but that didn’t mean she was any less intrigued. She didn’t like being the last one to know, didn’t like being behind in the race to adulthood. She wanted to experience it all, to learn what all the fuss was about. Not that she couldn’t see what all the fuss was about now, having being treated to the fuss firsthand twice now. The fuss was very, very nice indeed, and her hormones were telling her that she wouldn’t mind having a lot more of the fuss.

Damn hormones. She thought she wasn’t supposed to peak until her thirties.

Still, she was guarded. “What’s in it for you?” she asked, some part of her not quite understanding why Brooke was so in favor of continuing this. Of course, Brooke had been the one to start it, so there was some motivation here to which she just wasn’t clued in.

Nearly rolling her eyes, Brooke muttered, “Besides the obvious?” It was the best she could come up with, though. She wasn’t about to admit to a longstanding attraction, not when she could almost feel what she wanted within her grip. That would most definitely freak out Sam, and freak outs weren’t conducive to more, well… more freaky behavior.

Somewhat hurt by the scathing reply, Sam sulked. “Whatever. Sorry I asked.”

Sighing, moving on to damage control, Brooke said, “Look, I get the same things as you, Sam. So, come on… what do you say?”

Sam eyed the blonde carefully, trying to pick up any last-minute hint of malevolence. There was none, however. Nothing but Brooke staring at her in expectation, and Sam sighed.

“I guess we could give it a try,” she said slowly, shrieking with surprised laughter when Brooke bowled her over, pinning her arms to the floor above her head.

“You won’t be sorry, Sammy,” Brooke whispered, leaning down to place a searing kiss on the other girl’s lips. “I promise.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“Hey, Sam,” Brooke said, striving for blithe, “you want to help me pick out music for the cheerleading routine I’m working on.”

Looking at the blonde askance, the request the strangest, lamest excuse she had ever heard, she said slowly, “Yeah, sure. I’d, uh… love to, Brooke.”

“Stop it right there.”

Jane sounded entirely too concerned, and Brooke nearly cursed.

“Yes, Jane?” she asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible. Normally, that wasn’t very difficult for her to do, since she had long been considered to be quite innocent.

Eyes narrowing as she looked from Brooke to Sam and back again, Jane said cautiously, “I’m not sure what you two are planning, but I think I’m a little weirded out by it. Don’t get me wrong… the moratorium on fighting is definitely a welcome change. But the incredibly bad lying? It makes me nervous.”

Barely resisting the urge to shake her head in frustration, Sam resolved that she was going to be in charge of all secret rendezvous in the future. Brooke was apparently a horrible liar, something that didn’t really surprise her.

“Mom…” she started tiredly, only to glance up in surprise when Brooke cut her off.

“Jane, it’s just that… I know your birthday is coming up and I wanted to get you something special,” Brooke confessed, sounding for all the world like a bashful little girl. “I thought Sam could help, and I didn’t want you to find out because I wanted it to be a surprise…”

She trailed off, a hangdog look on her face, and Jane melted. “Oh, Brooke. That’s so sweet. You don’t have to get me anything, though. Having you in my life is gift enough.”

Face lighting up in a bright smile, Brooke hugged the older woman. The move drew a beaming smile from Jane and a glare from Sam. “So maybe we can go on with our secret plans then,” Brooke said slyly, shooting Sam a mischievous look that nearly ruined the entire thing.

******

“Having you in my life is gift enough,” Sam muttered sarcastically the moment they were behind closed doors. “That’s so disgusting.”

“I can’t help it I’m inherently loveable,” Brooke said breezily, walking over to Sam’s cd collection and flicking through the various selections.

Arching a brow in disbelief at the other girl’s offhand, yet still somehow serious, comment, Sam muttered, “What you are is the worst liar I’ve ever seen.”

Pausing in her inspection of Sam’s lackluster music collection, Brooke shot a glare over her shoulder. “I’ll admit that the first one wasn’t all that well thought out, but I think the recovery was more than enough to make up for it.”

Frowning grumpily, Sam huffed, “Maybe we should just work out hand signals or something. Like, you scratch behind your ear when you want to come upstairs and make out. We’re far less likely to get caught that way. Allowing you to continue to lie will only lead to inevitable disaster and parental disapproval.”

“Please. Then they’ll just think I have fleas or something,” Brooke replied flippantly, not quite sure why she found a dour Sam quite so arousing.

This perked up the brunette, who quickly smirked. Realizing the implication of her words just a second too late, Brooke was unable to head off the arrogant, “So, I’m that good, huh? Irresistible, even. You just can’t keep your hands off me.”

Warning clear in her tone, Brooke said, “Don’t get too cocky.”

Openly smirking now, Sam said smugly, “Oh, I’ll get cocky. You just admitted that you want me bad, like all the time. You make up bad lies just so you can have your wicked way with me. Apparently, you can’t help yourself.” Sam paused dramatically, eyes practically twinkling with amusement. “You’re my bitch.”

Brooke rolled her eyes, but couldn’t suppress the soft smile that crept across her face. The statement was horrifically true, though she was well aware that Sam didn’t know that. And, if she had anything to say about it, Sam would never know just how true it was.

“You’re delusional,” Brooke said, though there was a smile in her tone. Then, with unhurried deliberation, she scratched behind her ear.

******

“I’ll never understand why you cut your hair,” Brooke said wistfully, pushing a silky dark lock behind Sam’s ear. “It’s so gorgeous when it’s long.”

“It’s growing back,” Sam said defensively, tilting her head to the side to nip at Brooke’s palm.

Brooke stopped the nip with a soft kiss, then snuggled down into Sam’s shoulder, sighing contentedly. The transition from wary enemies to lovers had actually been smoother than she’d thought it would be. She wasn’t sure why, exactly. After all, she could still see suspicion lurking in Sam’s eyes on occasion, particularly when she did something far too blatant… like smile at the brunette a little too warmly, or want to hold her hand, or secretly want to come bursting out of the big metaphorical closet she’d built for herself. She was acting far more like a girlfriend than a socially debilitating secret, but she didn’t know how to stop herself. Now that she had full access to the girl of her dreams, literally, she found she couldn’t stop herself from taking advantage of it. She was even beginning to think improbable thoughts, like telling her friends or telling their parents or moving to Vermont and getting civil unionized and living blissfully among what she imagined to be gorgeous autumnal colors and placid, happy cows.

Quite frankly, it was disturbing. She was perilously close to forgetting about the sham agreement she’d pushed for and creating a real relationship. They were surprisingly good together now that they weren’t fighting quite so much, and Brooke had never felt happier. Sam was safe and exciting all at the same time, a place of comfort and a catalyst for exploration.

“Are you asleep?”

They were curled up in Sam’s bed, a cool breeze from the open window cooling the sweat slicking their skin, and Brooke realized she’d lost herself in her thoughts.

Wiggling slightly, running her fingers along the curve of Sam’s cheek to dig into her hair once again, she whispered, “No. Not yet.”

Casting a lazy glance at her alarm clock, Sam sighed. “It’s probably not a good idea for us to be doing this on a school night,” she said tiredly, idly scratching her nails along Brooke’s upper arm.

Brows furrowing into a frown, Brooke murmured, “School hasn’t even started yet.”

Rolling her eyes, Sam sighed again. “Tomorrow’s the first day, so this technically qualifies as a school night,” she pointed out, squirming slightly in an attempt to settle further into the mattress. She felt almost boneless, all of her energy long gone in the face of her earlier climaxes. It was a contentment she’d only recently become familiar with, and was slightly afraid that she was growing addicted to it.

That troubled her. She’d been thinking with something other than her brain when she’d agreed to the arrangement with Brooke six weeks before, but things had changed since then. She’d changed, had starting wanting more than clandestine meetings and the mock sham of petty bickering they still put up for their parents. She liked being with Brooke, talking to Brooke, spending time with Brooke. She liked her out of bed as much as she liked her in it, and she’d only recently become aware of the fact that she was setting herself up for a major fall. A very major fall, and one that she wanted to avoid at all costs. Whatever it was they were doing, it didn’t allow for feelings. She might have given in to the fantasy that it did, might have slipped into the secret realm created when they were alone in their bedrooms, the one where they had a real relationship and not a mutual fuck-buddy pact, but the small part of her that remained rational realized that whatever this was, it wasn’t going to last.

With that realization, she’d decided to distance herself. It was harder than she thought, and she hadn’t been too terribly successful at it thusfar, but it was time step up things. The last thing she wanted to be was weak and exposed when Brooke rejoined forces with her lackeys at school. In a vacuum, things were perfect. In the real world, she’d get her heart broken in a second. This time, she was going to be proactive. Besides, this faux relationship she was enjoying was most definitely fucked up. She was fairly certain she was being manipulated and used, but was too happy about it to really care. Nothing truly good could come from something that started so deviously, could it?

Brooke had been silent for so long that she had almost forgotten that the blonde was still awake. But, a soft, hesitant kiss on her cheek and a slight sigh let her know that she probably wasn’t the only one thinking some rather heavy thoughts. “We’ll worry about that later,” Brooke whispered, and Sam had the odd feeling that the other girl was talking about far more than a silly school night argument.

Evolution Two

She was going to tell her. She was going to do it today.

“Sam, I love you.”

She paused, frowning at herself critically in the mirror.

“I love you, Sam.”

The frown was still there, rapidly morphing into a scowl. It was too plain. She needed more.

“Sam, I think you should know that I love you.”

That wasn’t it either. It was the same thing, only wordier, and she sighed in frustration, tromping over to her bed and throwing herself down forlornly.

“This is so hard,” she groaned into her pillow, on the brink of tears.

“What’s so hard, princess?”

Gasping, sitting up and spinning around so quickly she almost made herself dizzy, Brooke said breathlessly, “Sam?”

Smirking, amusement shining in hooded eyes, Sam stepped into Brooke’s room, closing the door behind her. “Talking to yourself again?” she quirked, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the door lazily, thoroughly enjoying the blush chasing its way up Brooke’s cheeks. She liked to see the blonde thrown off-balance. It made her seem more human.

“Not exactly,” Brooke hedged, fingers plucking at her duvet nervously. This was it. This was her chance. “I wanted to talk to you about something actually.”

Straightening, far more serious in the passing of a second than she had been when she entered the room, Sam said softly, “I wanted to talk to you about something too.”

Brooke didn’t like the uneasiness in the set of the brunette’s shoulders, in the way she wouldn’t meet her eyes. She didn’t like the serious timbre in her tone, and didn’t like the way the very air in the room seemed to change, to grow heavier. Swallowing, looking away herself, she muttered, “You first.”

Eyes focused on the far wall, Sam bit her bottom lip nervously. “Uh, okay. It’s just… well, you know that George transferred back…”

She trailed off, and Brooke felt her heart skip a beat. When George had moved away mid-way through their Junior year, she hadn’t been upset in the least. When he’d reappeared at the end of the first week of classes, she’d been a little nervous. After all, Sam had dated him for a while, had truly seemed to care about him. Brooke hadn’t really had any serious competition for Sam’s affections over the summer, and she didn’t like the notion that some had appeared. She wasn’t sure where she stood in relation, and the thought left her feeling vaguely uneasy.

Growing more flustered in the silence that trailed on after her abortive attempt to engender conversation, Sam stuttered, “He asked me out. I said yes.”

Chest constricting, making it extremely difficult for her to breathe, much less think, Brooke said dully, “Oh. Okay.”

It was really all she could say, shock pervading her body and stealing away the ability for autonomous thought. She was relying on instinct alone, and apparently her instincts had been right on about George. Of course, her instincts had been helped along by the way Sam had seemed to pull away from her lately, the way she’d found reasons to hang out with her friends after school and eat dinner at someone else’s house and return only in time to give Brooke a sheepish smile and a shrug and a careless ‘I’m tired’ as she met her eyes in the mirror while they were brushing their teeth and getting ready for bed.

“So you’re okay with that?” Sam asked tentatively, feeling relief rush through her. She’d been right. There was no future in the thing she had with Brooke, and George as a contingency plan wasn’t so bad. He was nice and fun and a fabulous diversion, and if he was there then she might just manage to not break her own heart. After all, it wouldn’t do to get too wrapped up in this thing with Brooke. It wasn’t right, and the guilt had been eating away at her. Some days she felt like she was wearing a sign, a veritable albatross around her neck, and she imagined people looking at her with pity and whispering behind their hands about how she was fucking her stepsister, poor girl, and that she was a dirty, shameful secret and it was so sad that she didn’t know it. “It’s just that I was hoping you wouldn’t mind. I know we don’t really have a relationship or anything, but I thought I should tell you.”

Spine stiffening, mask falling in place, Brooke said with forced gaiety, “No, totally. If you like him, I say give it a try. Besides, just because you’re dating him, that doesn’t mean that things have to change between us.”

The moment she said it, she knew she shouldn’t have. Sam blinked, brows crashing together in a fierce frown. “It’s not right, Brooke. If I’m with George, then I should only be with George. We can’t keep doing this.”

While she couldn’t quite figure out why, Sam could see that Brooke was hurt, her eyes taking on that soft, wounded quality that had worked to subdue her anger on more occasions than the brunette could remember. But, not this time. The mockery of a relationship that they were having, the one confined to private and existing only in their locked rooms, wasn’t enough and sometimes she had the sickening feeling that whatever was going on between them was twisted, was fatally wrong, and as much as she wanted it, it couldn’t continue. She couldn’t keep on sleeping with her stepsister and lying to her friends, her Mom and Mike. When George had asked her if she wanted to go out – just as friends, he’d reassured with an easy smile – the part of her that felt desperately trapped by what was happening with Brooke jumped at the chance. George was her shot at a normal relationship, one that everyone could know about and one that she could share with her friends. He was her chance for legitimacy. The fact that she felt intensely guilty about Brooke, both because of what they had together and because she knew she would never tell George about it, had put her on edge, had made her words a little more harsh than she’d wanted them to be. But, now that she was confronting her, she felt herself get angry. Brooke wanted to keep on fucking? She wanted to keep her comfort blanket of sex at her beck and call because it was all about the physical and fuck the emotional? Strike angry, Sam was livid.

“If you do this…” Brooke started to say, voice threatening even though she had no idea how she was going to finish the statement.

“You’ll what?” Sam broke in with a hiss, nervousness and guilt and rage putting her on the offensive. “You’ll tell everyone I like girls?”

Sam didn’t know why she was accusing Brooke, or jumping to the conclusion that the other girl would try to threaten her or blackmail her. Or maybe she did, maybe she was thinking about the incident that had gotten them both in this situation in the first place, and remembering the way Brooke had taken control of it, the way she had twisted it so that Sam capitulated, so that she got what she wanted. Maybe she just wanted to get a little of the ugliness bottled inside of her out, wanted to hide her hurt feelings in anger.

Brooke remained silent at the taunt, eyes full of venom as she absorbed the unexpected and unwarranted attack.

“How’re you going to validate that particular claim, huh? You out me and you out yourself,” Sam scoffed angrily, hating Brooke, and maybe herself, in that moment. “You were the one who started this. How’re you going to explain that? Are you going to tell everyone that when you crawled down between my legs, I didn’t stop you? That I enjoyed it? Maybe people will start to wonder where you picked up your technique. Just how many girls have you practiced on, Brooke?”

Her words were deliberately ugly and hurtful, cruel and callous. She wanted to inflict pain on the blonde, wanted to see the effects of her untidy emotions. She wanted some kind of response… anything. Anger, perhaps, to make her feel better about what she was doing. She wasn’t even sure why she should feel bad about calling a halt to things, but she did and it made her confused and angry and uncertain, and what she desperately needed was for Brooke to validate that, to argue with her like they had before the whole thing between them had gotten started. She needed to feel in control of something again, and if the only thing she could control was Brooke’s pain, then so be it.

Eyes gone blank and body rigidly wooden, Brooke said stiffly, “You’re the only girl I’ve ever been with, Sam.” She wasn’t sure what had prompted the attack, and she definitely didn’t know how to respond to it. Part of her screamed at herself to fight back, to make Sam hurt as much as she was hurting. But, the pain was too much, leaving her drained, unable to summon the necessary emotion. Besides, she didn’t really want to hurt Sam, strange as the thought might be. Even in the face of the ugly words, the threats, the recriminations, all she wanted to do was wrap Sam in her arms and not let go until she took all of it back, until she promised that the date with George had been a big hoax, until they could laugh about the whole thing.

“Then its time for you to find a new playmate,” Sam spat, turning on her heel and flinging open the door, trying desperately to ignore the tears burning her eyes.

The door slammed behind her, causing Brooke to jump. She looked at it for a moment, chest burning as she realized she’d forgotten to breathe.

Exhaling, feeling tears start to flow steadily, she whispered, “I love you, Sam.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“What’s up with Brooke?”

Sam poked her fork into her mashed potatoes dejectedly, trying desperately to ignore Carmen’s question. She didn’t want to think about Brooke, about the hurt look in her eyes and the way she left a room as soon as Sam entered it.

“Yeah, she seems kind of… I don’t know. She seems kind of sad,” Harrison said thoughtfully, looking over to the popular table where Brooke sat, listlessly picking the crust off of her uneaten sandwich.

“Something going on at home, Sam?” Lily asked, looking at the uneasy brunette with concern. She’d noticed that Sam hadn’t been acting quite like herself for the past few weeks either, and the thought that the two were on the verge of beginning another apocalyptic year of fighting was a bit depressing. “I thought you two were getting along better.”

Scowling, jamming her fork into the potatoes with a little more ferocity than was necessary, Sam growled, “What am I, her personal slave? I don’t know what’s up with Brooke.”

“Whoa, chill Kujo,” Harrison said, leaning back in his seat and holding his hands out defensively. “Lily asks questions in peace.”

Slumping down, guilt at her part in Brooke’s apparent bad mood weighing heavily on her mind, she sighed. “And I said I don’t know. Ask Brooke, if you’re so concerned.”

Needing to get away before she cracked, before she blurted out the whole sorry tale, Sam pushed back away from the table, chair screeching loudly as she stalked out of the lunchroom. Watching their friend’s dramatic exit in something akin to shock, the three looked at one another dubiously.

“Okay,” Carmen said slowly, brows lowering. “Guess we’re in for McQueen/McPherson drama, round 217. Anybody care to place any bets on the winners?”

******

“I can’t take this,” Sam said, bursting into Brooke’s room to find the blonde sitting on her bed, headphones on.

Reaching up to pull them off, Brooke looked at Sam expectantly. “Take what?” she asked nonchalantly. After crying virtually non-stop for almost three weeks, she’d decided that what she needed to do was get over it. She’d had her fling with Sam. It’d been fun, and the other girl had decided to move on. So it burned that she’d been the one dumped. So it hurt that she’d been on the verge of declaring her feelings when she found out that what they had was apparently not so high on Sam’s list of priorities. She’d had enough of the moping, and of giving Sam the satisfaction of knowing she’d hurt her.

“Of you walking around here like a zombie,” Sam said shortly. She’d worked herself up into quite an impressive indignant rage and was holding onto it fiercely. Rage blocked out the far more confusing guilt and loss she’d been feeling. Rage was definitely better.

Shrugging her shoulders casually, Brooke said, “Don’t worry about it. I was just in a funk, that’s all.”

A funk. Sam fumed at that. Brooke wanted to write her feelings off as a funk. She knew she shouldn’t be mad, that she should just walk away and not have the confrontation she could feel brewing, but she couldn’t. Insight that she’d been consciously trying to avoid made itself known with a vengeance, and she felt her anger grow. Maybe she’d broken it off with Brooke because she’d wanted some indication that whatever it was they had was important. She wanted the other girl to beg her not to go, to say that it was more than just sex and convenience. She wanted Brooke to feel something, to have feelings for her. Their liaison had been enjoyable. It’d been educational. It had been everything Brooke had promised that day in her room and more.

It had been the perfect arrangement.

Sam wanted to be more than just some arrangement. She wanted to think she was better than that, and suddenly she was furious. Hatred crept up her spine, all directed at the girl staring at her impassively, and she snapped, all of the emotion that she’d been trying desperately to suppress spilling out in a rush of heated words.

“You said I shouldn’t rush into my first time, that it would only happen once. You told me it should be special,” Sam spat venomously, anguish ravaging her broken voice. “You stole my first time, Brooke. You took it without asking.”

She stopped for a moment, disgust overwhelming her suddenly. Tears clung to dark lashes, slid down the ivory skin of her cheeks. “Then you convinced me to go along with a sham of a relationship. And that’s my own fault, because I let you. I let you trick me into thinking that second best was good enough, and it’s not. It’s not nearly good enough, and I’m not going to do it anymore.”

Voice sharp, Brooke said, “Yeah, I know. I got the memo, remember.”

Taken aback by the callous carelessness in the other girl’s voice, Sam took a step back. “Yeah, I guess you did. You know, whatever. Just… whatever. I don’t know what I thought this was going to prove.”

“You know what,” Brooke said coldly, feeling a chill settle deep in her bones at the accusations, “I’m a heartless bitch. Write it in your diary, tell all your friends. Believe it, if it makes you feel better, but don’t come in here and attack me when you’re the one who ended things. And don’t make me feel like I did something wrong. I didn’t steal anything from you. I didn’t force you. You didn’t tell me to stop and I never heard you say no. Don’t think I’m going to feel bad over this retroactive blame you’ve decided to throw my way to justify what you did. Own up to it, Sam. You wanted me, and now you can’t deal with that.”

“That’s so arrogant, so typically Brooke McQueen,” Sam muttered snidely. “Far too perfect for anything to ever be her fault.”

“Yeah,” Brooke said indignantly, needing to get Sam out of her room before she fell apart completely, “right now that’s pretty much it.” She paused, gathering together as much hatred as she could. Narrowing her eyes, an impervious arch of a brow designed to grate against Sam’s nerves firmly in place, Brooke muttered, “Shouldn’t you be off screwing a football player or something?”

Clearly wounded, Sam drew herself up straight. “Fuck you, Brooke,” she said, drained, then turned and walked slowly from the room.

Brooke watched her go, every ounce of her energy dedicated to keeping herself on the bed so that she wouldn’t rush after her, wouldn’t wrap her arms around Sam and not let go. She felt like utter shit, Sam’s words ringing through her head. Was that really how Sam saw things? She felt like she’d been robbed, like Brooke had stolen something important from her? Shaking her head in dejection, wondering how it was that all of her bad karma had decided on revenge at the same time, Brooke smiled sadly.

“I love you, Sam,” she murmured, giving in to the urge to cry.

XXXXXXXXXX

Nearly a week later, Brooke looked with disgust at a small, bluish bruise on the side of Sam’s neck. “A hickey, Sam?” she questioned archly, toothbrush hanging from the side of her mouth as she looked over at the brunette derisively. “Tres skanky.”

Refusing to rise to the bait, Sam scowled, jerking her hairbrush through her hair. “You’re just jealous,” she muttered.

“Of my own sloppy seconds?” Brooke said with a small, humorless laugh. “Hardly.”

Slamming the hairbrush down on the counter, eyes blazing with fury, Sam took a quick step over to where Brooke was standing, crowding her against the bathroom counter. “Finally, the truth,” Sam scoffed, running her tongue over her top teeth. “I was getting tired of you playing the obviously false part of the aggrieved party when you know just as well as I do that the only thing you’re upset about is the fact that your easy outlet for casual sex decided to cut you off.”

“Wow, you’ve got me all figured out,” Brooke said dryly, tone heavy with sarcasm. “That’s totally me. I’m such a user. Not like you,” she added with faux innocence. “The only reason you were with me was because you loved me, right. Because you couldn’t stand to be without me.”

The deliberate irony was enough to make her laugh. “Can the martyr routine, Sam. Your moral high ground is nonexistent.”

“At least I’m not bitter,” Sam sneered, backing down slightly.

“At least I’m not a slut,” Brooke shot back, though the venom in her tone was significantly less potent that she would have liked.

Shaking her head in amazement, a soft snort of laughter echoing between them, Sam muttered, “Whatever, Brooke. I’m so over this.”

This time, when the door closed, Brooke didn’t let herself say it.

******

“Brookie, all this scowling is going to cause some major wrinkles,” Nicole said distastefully, settling down onto her chair gently. Following the line of Brooke’s gaze, she settled on Sam and George, the reunited duo apparently thoroughly enjoying their lunch. George was feeding Sam slices of apple, the display one step beyond sickening in Nicole’s estimation. “He’s such a hottie,” she sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. “What he sees in Spam McPherson is beyond me.”

Not knowing where the indignation was coming from, Brooke said scathingly, “What, you don’t think Sam’s hot?”

Looking at the other blonde askance, clearly checking for subtle signs of some kind of head trauma, Nicole asked, voice full of concern, “Are you having some kind of psychotic episode? Has living with McBitch finally driven you insane?”

Shoulders slumping, Brooke continued to glare in Sam’s general direction. “No,” she said, depressed. “I’ve just been feeling on edge lately.”

Patting Brooke’s hand comfortingly, Nicole murmured, “Is it Homecoming? Missing the era of your glorious reign?”

Scowling, Homecoming the last thing on her mind, Brooke muttered, “Yeah, that has to be it.” She trailed off, then added, almost absently, “I’m not running this year. If I get nominated, I’m going to withdraw.”

Nicole tried to hide the speculative gleam in her eyes, and almost succeeded. Instead, she plastered on her best sympathetic voice. “That’s too bad, Brookie. You’re perfect for it, you know.”

Brooke shook her head sadly, remembering Sophomore year when she’d won. She’d tried to call a truce that night, offering her tiara to Sam and settling the question of the coveted right sink. It had been a momentary détente, one she’d cherished. She loved seeing Sam smile.

“Everybody deserves to wear the crown at least once,” she said wearily, echoing the words Carmen had said to her in the Novak, the words that had kept her from withdrawing her name from the race the first time around. “Its time I move on.”

“Regardless,” Nicole said, voice once again all business, “the after-game dance is fast approaching and you’re currently unattached.”

Sighing, too tired to deal with the issue, Brooke murmured, “Maybe I’ll skip it this year.”

“Skip it?” Nicole echoed, horrified. “One, its Senior year. Last chance, and all that. Two, that’s a little too social reject, don’t you think?”

“It’s just a dance,” Brooke muttered, scowling down at the table. Where was Mary Cherry? She was always good for a diversion.

“No,” Nicole said patiently, “it’s Homecoming. You have to make an appearance, preferably on the arm of the studliest stud you can find.” The blonde paused, taking in Brooke’s abject lack of interest. “Surly and depressed just isn’t going to cut it, Brookie. People are starting to talk.”

“Let them talk,” Brooke said dully, surprised to find that she had absolutely no interest in what might or might not be being said about her.

Sighing, afraid she hadn’t made any headway with her uncharacteristically morose friend, Nicole said, “Just think about it. Whatever the problem, social suicide isn’t the answer.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Nicole had been right. The sulking wasn’t getting her anywhere, and she’d be damned if she continued to let Sam know that she was affected. What she needed was a plan, and after several hours of careful thought, she was pretty sure she had one.

“Diego,” she said shortly, drawing the attention of a boy with whom she was only marginally acquainted. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Looking around in confusion, not quite sure why Brooke McQueen was addressing him but curious enough to want to find out, he said smoothly, “Sure, what’s up?”

“Privately,” she added, looking pointedly at his companions.

Shrugging his shoulders, giving his football buddies a “Whatever” look, he said, “No problem.”

“Good,” Brooke said curtly, not quite sure her plan wasn’t crap. But, he was following her into an empty classroom, and since the plan was apparently already in motion, she wasn’t going to interfere with it.

Settling into one of the desks, wondering again why he’d been summoned, Diego waited patiently. It wasn’t that he wasn’t popular. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, and exquisitely built normally got him entrée alone, but he didn’t aspire to the same social heights that Brooke occupied. He wasn’t particularly upset about that, but was still a bit surprised to find himself talking to her. They were more like planets in orbit, circling around one another but rarely in contact. Having sudden contact was a little disconcerting.

“So,” he said awkwardly, “what’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, aware that she was about to be brutally blunt but unable to think of any other way to approach the topic, Brooke said quickly, “Rumor has it that your position as tight end is especially apropos.”

There was a moment when Diego blanched, when his face tightened with something like fear and his eyes widened in shock. Then it was gone, neatly covered, and his voice was calm as he said, “I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about the little known fact that your favorite part of football is probably the communal showers,” Brooke said knowingly, an arched brow daring the boy to contradict her.

Sitting back in defeat, not sure where the attack had come from but too blindsided by it to prepare a proper defense, Diego said weakly, “It’s not true.”

“No, it’s true,” Brooke said with amusement, recognizing the uncomfortable squirm for what it was, “which is why you’re going to be my date for Homecoming. Actually, not just for Homecoming… you’re the incredibly lucky man who will have the honor of being my next boyfriend.”

Clearly caught by surprise at the new turn of events, Diego looked at Brooke guardedly. “I’m not exactly following,” he said cautiously.

“Look,” Brooke said impatiently, “here’s the breakdown. You’re a gay football player. It’s probably in your best interests to kind of keep that on the down low, right? You need a girl to divert suspicion; I need a boy to get my friends off my case about my current lack of a boyfriend. See how this is mutually beneficial?”

“Oh my God,” Diego said on a soft, surprised gasp, a light bulb almost literally turning on over his head. “You’re gay. Brooke McQueen’s gay.”

“I am not,” Brooke said from between gritted teeth. “I’m just not particularly interested in the hassle of having a boyfriend right now but don’t want to have to deal with the irritation of being single.”

“You’re looking for a beard,” Diego scoffed, dark eyes twinkling. “This is priceless. Who is she?”

“There isn’t any she. I don’t know where this astonishing leap of logic came from, but you’re wrong,” Brooke ground out. Then, frustration nearly overflowing, she muttered, “This was such a stupid idea.”

Backing down, not completely unaware of the powerful allure of denial, Diego said softly, “No, it’s not stupid. It’s a great idea. I’d love to pretend to date you.”

Tension bleeding away slightly at his words, Brooke said cautiously, “Are you sure? I mean, you’re going to have to actually go out with me some, and hold my hand at school and maybe sit by me in the lunchroom occasionally. You might have to kiss me too.”

“Honey, please,” Diego said flirtatiously, Brooke’s discomfort making him feel oddly at ease, “we may be in California but we still live in Orange County. My gay football player ass would prefer to remain unkicked. If I have to date the most popular girl in school and engage in occasional displays of public affection with her to keep it that way, I think it’s probably worth it.”

******

“You’re going to Homecoming with whom?” Nicole asked again, eyes scrunched up in confusion. If she hadn’t been so baffled, she would never have allowed herself the expression.

Speaking slowly, Brooke repeated, “Diego Diaz. You know, the football player.”

“Uh huh, honey,” Mary Cherry said gleefully, her tone a bit too lascivious for mere curiosity. “Quite the Hispanic hottie. I had no idea you had caught the jungle fever too, Brookie. Did ya get it from Sam? Maybe it’s in the water.”

Looking at the blonde in confusion, Brooke shook her head, letting it pass without comment. “Uh, whatever.”

“Hey baby.”

Brooke smiled up at her pretend boyfriend, insanely grateful that he had chosen that moment to appear. Sliding into the seat next to her, placing a kiss on her proffered cheek, he slid an arm around her shoulders, snuggling in close.

“Diego, this is Nicole and Mary Cherry. I’m sure you already know Sugar Daddy,” she said, introducing the table’s other occupants.

“What’s up, yo,” Sugar Daddy said with a smile, reaching out his fist in friendly greeting. “Good to have another guy around. Josh mostly sits with the wifey now, and I was feeling kinda outnumbered, yo.”

“Diego,” Nicole said coolly, clearly appraising Brooke’s apparent new love interest.

He smiled in response, flashing parallel dimples to their best advantage. “Nicole. Radiant as always.”

The stiffness eased away, giving way to a smile as Nicole devoured the compliment.

“Hola, mi amigo,” Mary Cherry said brightly, her Texas-flavored butchering of the language drawing a few pained flinches. “Habla espanol?”

“Uh, MC, unlike you most of the time, I think he speaks English,” Nicole said sharply, throwing Diego a dazzling smile.

“What?” Mary Cherry said defensively. “I was tryin’ to make him feel comfortable.”

“You’ll have to excuse her,” Nicole whispered loudly, shooting Mary Cherry a slightly disgusted look. “Way too much head trauma as a toddler, if you know what I mean.”

“Uh, no problem,” Diego stuttered, a little thrown by his first visit to the strangeness that apparently comprised the inner circle. “I was just checking to make sure we were still on for this Friday,” he said, turning to Brooke.

Smiling brightly, aware that her tone rang a little false but unable to do anything about it, Brooke said happily, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Great,” Diego said with a slightly disbelieving look, dipping down for another kiss on the cheek. “I’ll pick you up around 7:30.” Pulling Brooke into a hug, he continued with a whispered, “You have so got to work on this fake dating thing.”

“Quite the cutie,” Nicole said impassively as Diego sauntered away. Eyeing him speculatively, she murmured, “I can see why they call him a tight end.”

“If you are referring to the tightness of his end,” Mary Cherry whispered conspiratorially, “I totally concur.”

Brooke relaxed slightly, the lack of laughing and pointing restoring her faith in the plan. If he’d passed the Nicole test, then he was damn near close to perfect.

******

“So who’s the new boytoy?” Sam asked blandly, leaning close to the mirror as she applied her mascara. She’d seen Brooke with the guy, obviously a jock, the previous day and was desperately trying to ignore the completely out of place flash of jealousy she’d felt.

“Who, Diego?” Brooke replied blithely, lips smacking together as she finished applying her gloss. Barely sparing Sam a glance, Brooke walked past her, disappearing into her room.

“Who, Diego?” Sam mimicked silently into the mirror, sticking her tongue out at her reflection in disgust.

“Not jealous, are you?” Brooke asked, her voice floating back into the bathroom.

Scowling into the mirror, using the tip of her finger to smooth out her eye shadow, Sam scoffed. “You wish.”

“Actually,” Brooke said, suddenly reappearing in the doorway, “I could care less.”

Sam told herself she wasn’t angry, but threw away the broken mascara wand nonetheless.

XXXXXXXXXX

“Look at them,” Sam muttered in disgust. George followed her line of sight over to Brooke and Diego, bodies pressed tightly together as they danced. He didn’t really see what the problem was, other than the fact that they appeared to be enjoying themselves entirely too much for a school dance.

“What?” he asked, clearly confused. “What’s wrong with them?”

“It’s not right,” Sam said fiercely, though she had no idea what it was that was not right about it. All she knew was that she’d recently developed an intense hatred of Diego Diaz, a boy she really hardly knew. He’d been nothing but polite to her on the few occasions they’d happened to meet, usually when he appeared at the Palace to pick Brooke up for a date. Outwardly, there was little to hate. Perfectly styled hair, a smile that could melt steel, a body to die for, sexy dark eyes and gorgeous golden skin… he was actually nauseatingly perfect. And, apparently, a fabulous dancer too.

Well aware of George’s utter lack of understanding and furiously avoiding introspection that might lead to self-awareness, Sam pulled her boyfriend closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I’m glad you came back,” she murmured seductively, her smile leaving George a little weak.

“Me too,” he husked, leaning down to place a light kiss on her lips. “I’ve never been happier.”

Catching sight of Brooke and Diego out of the corner of her eye, the look of sheer enjoyment painted across their faces enough to make her want to stab something, she looked back at George, determination written clearly across her face. “I think I could make you even happier,” she said slyly, the look in her eyes more than enough to let him know exactly what she was thinking.

Pulling her closer, suddenly quite excited at the prospect of obliquely promised activities to come, George bent down, lips brushing Sam’s ear as he said, “You want to get out of here?”

Looking up at him, dark eyes glittering, she said softly, “I’d love to.”

******

The hotel had taken cash and hadn’t seemed too concerned with details, like the obviously under aged nature of their potential customers. Of course, that particular hotel had quite the reputation at Kennedy, so that was only to be expected, but Sam felt a rush of relief nonetheless as the door to the room closed behind them. They could have gone back to the Palace. Her Mom and Mike were out of town, Mike on a business trip and her Mom taking advantage of the frequent flier miles for a short vacation. Thankfully, they’d taken little Mac with them, leaving Brooke and Sam unencumbered. But, she couldn’t go home, couldn’t do this with George if Brooke were right next door. Couldn’t do this in her bed, not with memories of Brooke still permeating the air, even after close to two and a half months of separation.

The room itself was standard issue, with a queen sized bed, a dresser, a desk and a nightstand. The window overlooked a street and the bedspread was a mix of unassuming pastels. The door to the bathroom was open, and through it she could see the requisite coffeemaker and assorted toiletries. It was absurdly mundane, and she was suddenly quite sad. Nothing here was special.

George’s large, warms hands came to rest on her shoulders, cupping them before sliding down her arms. He entwined his fingers with hers, stepping up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, bringing her own with his. The movement drew her back into the moment, pulling her from her perusal of everything that was wrong and forcing her to try to think of everything that was right.

“Are you sure about this, baby?” he asked, voice full of concern.

Sam looked at the pastel bedspread, at the neon sign of an all-night diner shining in through the matching pastel drapes. She looked at the nondescript stationary sitting on the bedside table, at the sterile hotel phone. Then she looked up at George, his face startlingly close to hers as she turned. “Yes,” she whispered, throat suddenly very dry.

As soon as the word crossed her lips, he was kissing her. Turning her in his arms, he brought his hands up to cup her face, and Sam tried to lose herself in the kiss, much as she’d tried to lose herself in his kisses since they’d started dating again. Her hands were under his suit jacket, running along broad shoulders and down the flat expanse of his chest, and she felt herself ache for more, felt the wrongness of it.

Tearing her lips away from his, she looked at him for a second. George’s eyes were hooded, pupils dilated. He wanted her.

“I want this,” she said calmly, deliberately, willing herself to believe the words.

Fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, Sam watched as he shrugged out of his jacket, as he threw it to the floor. His chest and abdomen was a collection of muscles, and she ran her fingers along the delineations, his skin rough against her fingertips. She wondered why that was, why George’s skin felt rough where Brooke’s was silky smooth and instantly tried to push the thought away. Brooke had no place in what was happening. George… he was the one she was with. He was the one she should be focused on.

“Sam,” he moaned, the deepness of the voice confusing her for a second. She frowned, wondering if it were possible to physically rip memories from her mind, to tear away their haunting presence. Nearly laughing at the absurdity, she shook her head, trying desperately to clear it as George’s fingers found the zipper to her dress. He fumbled with it and she turned, holding up her hair to help him as she slammed shut the part of her mind that screamed that Brooke never fumbled.

“God, you’re beautiful,” George husked, and Sam tried not to blush under the heat in his gaze. She could see his arousal, watched as his fingers grappled with his belt. She heard the hiss of fabric as he pulled it free, the thump as it hit the floor, and then the rasp of his zipper wiped away all other sound.

He paused, and she looked up at him, unsure. She wondered if maybe she’d done something wrong, if he could sense her trepidation. Instead, she watched as he reached back into his back pocket, pulling free his wallet. “Condom,” he rasped, the crinkle of plastic absurdly loud as he held it up carefully.

Sam swallowed, nodded. She’d seen one, knew what it was for, but she’d never had to put one to practical use. Oddly enough, she wished she’d paid more attention during her mother’s sex talk. She needed guidance, something, because she felt almost like an observer and not a participant as she stood there watching George, her eyes cataloguing every single difference between him and Brooke. She wanted George to wipe away all thoughts of Brooke, to replace those memories with newer, less painful ones. She wanted to be a blank slate, with all of the pain, anger, confusion and fear wiped clean.

Laying the condom down on the bedside table, George drew her into his arms again. He kissed her softly, the touch comforting, and Sam felt herself relax slowly, felt her heartbeat start to return to normal. She hadn’t even realized she was close to panic, and clung tightly to his shoulders, wanting to restore her sense of balance.

She didn’t wait for him to try the clasp to her bra, reaching back and undoing it herself. It fell to the floor, and she felt the roughness of his chest against her nipples. She shivered, the feeling odd yet arousing. George’s fingers were digging into her buttocks, pulling her against him with purpose, and she whimpered as she felt him, hard between her legs. His movements were rougher now, his hands shaking as he pushed his pants and underwear down, kicking off his shoes. She chanced a look down, a gasp coming to her unbidden as she saw him for the first time.

Curious, she reached out, wrapping a hand around him. He was thick, warm to the touch, and she felt a hint of apprehension. Holding him like that, she felt the seriousness of what she was doing. This was it, no turning back.

“Let me,” he murmured, and she had no idea what he was talking about until she saw him grab the condom from the side table. The plastic crinkled again as he ripped it open, as he pulled it free from the package. She watched with something close to detachment as he pinched the tip of the condom, placing it on himself and rolling it down. It was all so clinical, so strange. She thought it should be more exciting, more imbued with some kind of meaning. She needed more than practicality and efficiency. She needed magic.

“Sam,” he said softly, drawing her attention back up to his face. Then he was kissing her again, and she tried not to notice the roughness of the sheets against her skin or the way he felt against her after he removed her panties. His hands were on her breasts, and she tried desperately to ignore the part of her that said he was too big, too clumsy. And then he was on his knees, kneeling, looming over her, huge as he blocked out the light streaming in from the street, the neon sign disappearing completely. She could feel him prod against her, the alien sensation causing her to jerk in surprise, and then suddenly, he was pressing forward.

She flinched, gasped, the pressure more intense than she’d anticipated. He was on top of her again, his chest pressed against hers as his forearms dug into the mattress by her shoulders, his hands accidentally trapping and pulling her hair. He looked at her for a moment, his face almost blissful, then dropped his head to the mattress besides hers, his cheek brushing roughly against her skin as his hips began to move slowly.

Each thrust brought a small gasp, and she felt herself move underneath him, her body driven by the strength of his. It was odd, this feeling of being covered, of being impaled, of being overpowered. It was overwhelming, and she wrapped her arms around his back and hooked her legs behind his thighs and tried to hold onto him, tried to anchor herself against all of the feelings coursing through her. She felt desperately out of control, like a puppet at the whim of another, and she tried to push aside the unfamiliarity, tried to embrace the experience and what it signified.

His movements were speeding up, and she tried to relax, to focus on the friction and the pleasure. She’d learned how to do that, how to tense her body and narrow down everything she was feeling to that one point of contact that she knew was going to drive her over the edge, but this was completely different. It was a different feeling, a different kind of pleasure, and her nails dug into his back as she struggled to hold onto it. She could feel it, could feel a hint of what she’d felt before, with Brooke. She just needed something more, some intangible yet all too important.

And then he was shuddering, his body tensed and strained as he held himself perfectly still, and she rocked her hips up into him, straining for the elusive more. But, he was already easing himself down slowly, his weight crushing her, and she closed her eyes and tried not to whimper with frustration as he slid out of her, rolling over onto his back beside her.

“Mmm, Sam,” he murmured contentedly, one hand coming up to rest behind his head. “So good, baby.”

Bottom lip quivering, wanting to point out that it had only just started to feel good, wanting to point out that he didn’t touch her the way Brooke touched her, didn’t make her feel the way Brooke made her feel, she turned away, eyes focusing blankly on the far wall.

Evolution Three

Brooke heard the sound of the downstairs door opening. She’d seen Sam leave with George, had seen the look in her eyes. She knew that look, knew what the brunette was planning. It had taken everything she had not to rush to the bathroom and expel the contents of her stomach. Instead she’d continued dancing, telling herself over and over that it didn’t matter, the mantra not doing a thing for the nausea. Diego had noticed, had looked at her with those beautiful concerned eyes, and Brooke wished for a second that he could really love her and she could really love him and they wouldn’t have to pretend. If so, it would be perfect. He was gorgeous and kind and loving and caring… and hopelessly gay, which was probably why she liked him so much.

He’d left the dance with her early, promising her that he didn’t mind as he dropped her off at her house. She had a feeling that he really didn’t mind, that he was happy with the amount of time they’d put in at the dance and was confident that the charade was doing for him exactly what it was supposed to be doing. Besides, she had no doubt that anyone watching their departure would come to any other conclusion than that they were sneaking away for a little clandestine sex, which she found satisfyingly humorous.

There was no sex, of course. After he’d left, she’d run upstairs to her bathroom, had torn off her dress and pulled on her most comfortable pair of pajamas before collapsing onto her bed and curling up in a ball. She didn’t want to think about just who was most definitely having sex, didn’t want to know about it, and most definitely didn’t want to hear about it. In fact, she’d rather pretend like it had never happened.

Given fate’s determination to tighten the cosmic screws just a little tighter, the door to her room swung inward silently as Sam’s footsteps slowed in front of it, revealing the somewhat tortured and morose countenance of her erstwhile lover.

“Home early, aren’t you?” Brooke asked caustically, ready to do or say anything to drive the other girl away. She didn’t need to hear the gloating, or to see the way her hair was mussed and her make-up smudged. She didn’t need to have incontrovertible proof.

Robotically, looking through Brooke almost as if she didn’t see her, Sam said, “I slept with George.”

“What, you want a gold star?” Brooke said acidly, trying to ignore the deep pang of hatred that rushed through her as Sam provided her with that proof. Hatred for Sam, hatred for George, hatred for herself and for the situation. She never should have given in, never should have even known what it was like to have Sam. If she hadn’t done that, she wouldn’t know what it was like to lose her so completely.

Sighing, moving into the room, seemingly heedless of the other girl’s antagonism, Sam said softly, sadly, “It’s not the same.”

Momentarily drawing back her ire, sensing an undercurrent of something more, Brooke remained silent, face a blank.

Laughing harshly, eyes staring without seeing, Sam continued, “This can’t be right. I can’t think about you when my boyfriend touches me. I can’t wish it were you instead of him.”

Heart rate increasing in response to the sullen declaration, Brooke sat up a little straighter, trying to tamp down an irrational bolt of hope. “It’s not wrong,” she said smoothly, fully aware of the verbal betrayal of her own self-interests as she made an abrupt about-face. If she were a good friend, a true friend, she would be helping Sam out in her time of need, not watching out for herself. But, she wasn’t any kind of friend at all, apparently.

Shaking her head in disgust, Sam said, “I broke up with him after. I told him he needed someone a little less damaged but I don’t think it made him feel any better.”

She paused introspectively, then added, “I don’t think I’m quite sane right now.”

In reply Brooke held up the covers on the unoccupied side of her bed wordlessly, unspoken invitation clear. She wasn’t sure what was guiding her actions, and felt almost certain that Sam would look at her in derision, would laugh and shake her head and say that it was ridiculous for her to even think of offering. All she knew was that she had to take the chance, had to push down the part of her that wanted to throw up at the thought of George’s hands touching her Sam and take this potential opportunity and run with it.

Self-hatred clear in her eyes, Sam kicked off her shoes, fingers moving to unzip her dress as she felt herself start to crumble. “Do you have a conscience? A soul? Anything? Any compunction about taking advantage of my situation?”

Pursing her lips as if in deep thought, Brooke said honestly, “No. Not really.”

“You really are evil,” Sam exhaled in wonder, shoving the dress down over her hips, leaving the fabric in a careless heap on the floor. “You’ve got everyone fooled. Even me, even after all this time. I still fall for it.”

Eyes hypnotic in the darkness of the room, Brooke shook her head, the movement barely perceptible. “I just don’t see the point in denying myself. I don’t see any point in you denying yourself, either.”

“Don’t you get it, Brooke?” Sam asked in exasperation as she reached behind her, unclasping the clasp to her bra for the second time that night. “This is not right. This is not normal. You are not normal.”

Brooke clenched her jaw, refusing to let the words get to her. “What I get,” she hissed sharply, “is that I’m the only one here not making excuses for what I want.”

Sam started to reply, started to scream that she was firmly convinced that Brooke didn’t quite get anything when the blonde stood, closing the distance between them and pulling Sam into a kiss that burned away everything she’d been feeling, everything she’d been planning to say. Brooke’s hands sliding up and down her back felt insanely, disgustingly right, and she wanted to hate her for that too.

But, when Brooke pressed her down onto the bed and straddled her waist, looming over her as she whipped her pajama top over her head and tossed it to the side, she wanted to whimper with the rightness of it. She didn’t feel crowded, didn’t feel overwhelmed.

Brooke was flying, her heart racing so fast she wondered if she should be afraid. She was touching Sam again, was looking down into heartrendingly beautiful dark eyes, and she wanted to cry. She deliberately ignored the situation, ignored what had prompted Sam to return to her. So long as she was back, Brooke could work through those things. The pain could come later. At that moment, she was far too wrapped up in the pleasure. She poured everything she was feeling into her touches, into her kisses. She was going to make it so good that Sam never left her again.

Sam wondered how Brooke could have her ten times more aroused just by touching her than George had ever made her feel. She didn’t like it, didn’t like the implications and didn’t like what it said about her, and when Brooke’s hand slid between her legs, the aching soreness there left over from her previous encounter making her wince, she wrapped her hand around the other girl’s wrist, tears immediately flooding her eyes.

“Brooke, no,” she whispered desperately. It was all crashing down on her. She’d slept with George, had broken up with him because he couldn’t give her what Brooke was giving her.

Brooke froze, mortified by the tears she could see streaming down Sam’s cheeks. The other girl looked miserable, and she pulled her hand free so that she could wind her fingers in Sam’s thick hair. Dusting soft kisses across the other girl’s face, she murmured, “Sam, sweetheart, it’ll be okay.”

Turning her face into Brooke’s shoulders, the tears burning her eyes as she began to sob, Sam said tightly, “No, it’s not okay. It won’t be okay.” She paused for a second, voice choking as she said wistfully, “Brooke, this is so utterly fucked up. I am so utterly fucked up.”

Wrapping her arms around Sam, feeling her heart break a little at the obvious anguish in the other girl’s voice, Brooke settled down beside the brunette. She pulled her closer, not quite sure what was happening and definitely not sure what she was going to do about it. This outburst was different from all of the ones that had come before. Before, Sam had been angry, had been cruel. This time, she was obviously hurting, and Brooke wanted nothing more than to comfort her.

The only problem was, she didn’t quite know how.

XXXXXXXXXX

“You requested an audience, my queen?” Diego said with a stunning smile as he slid into the passenger’s seat of Brooke’s car. Closing the door behind him, looking out at the Kennedy High students clumped together in groups or rushing to their cars in a desire to leave the school as quickly as possible, he waited.

Brooke turned slightly, smiling gently as she watched him watch their contemporaries. She wondered if he felt like she did sometimes, like she didn’t fit in, like she was an alien surrounded by another distinct and unfamiliar alien race. “Do you have a boyfriend, Diego?” she asked curiously. “I know we’ve never really talked about it, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want…”

“Yes,” Diego said, breaking in with a quick grin. “His name is Silas. And, we don’t talk about it because it’s awkward. We don’t talk about it because I’m ashamed that I’m too afraid to openly go out with him on Friday nights so I go out with you instead, because you’re the perfect cover and I’m selfish enough to want that.”

“Tell me about him,” Brooke said as she reached over, placing her hand on Diego’s arm comfortingly.

Sitting back in his seat, staring without seeing now, Diego said softly, “He’s so totally not like me, and sometimes we’re so different that I don’t see how we can be together. He cares about books and art and activism and all that, and all I want to do is play football well enough to maybe get a scholarship to some college somewhere. He understands what I’m doing with you, but he doesn’t like it, and to be honest, I don’t like that I’m doing that to him. Like I’m treating him like he’s not important …” Diego trailed off uncomfortably, turning to Brooke with a sad smile. “You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” she replied wistfully, “I think I do.”

They watched each other for a moment more, each wrapped up in thoughts of their own shortcomings, their own failures, their own fears. “Hey, Diego,” Brooke said suddenly, tilting her head to the side with a bright smile, “you think you might want to double date? You know, you and your boyfriend and me and my… girlfriend.”

Dark eyes lit up as Diego rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Girlfriend? I knew it,” he exclaimed, feeling some of his stress peel away at Brooke’s disclosure. “So spill… who is she? Do I know her?”

Pushing down a smile, trying to contain some of the enthusiasm rushing through her, Brooke hedged, “Actually, she’s not officially my girlfriend. I mean, it’s really kind of complicated. Very complicated.”

“Aren’t all teen relationships complicated?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “It’s required.”

Sighing, Brooke replied, “Maybe, but this one is especially complicated.” She paused, searching for the right way to divulge Sam’s identity. It would be her first time to own up to what was happening. Hesitantly, she added, “You’ve met her.”

“Oh, God,” Diego said, sitting back in horror. “Not Mary Cherry, right?”

“What?” Brooke said in disbelief, slapping him lightly on the arm. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“Just checking,” Diego drawled dryly, absently rubbing his arm. “She’s actually disturbingly frightening in a way I can’t quite figure out. Like I can’t decide if she’s just simply insane or intensely psychotically insane, waiting to snap at any second and take us all out in a blaze of bar-be-que coated glory. Besides, all this secrecy and drama makes me think it has to be someone horribly inappropriate, and she’s by far the most inappropriate thing around here. Except for April Tuna, maybe.”

“Anyway,” Brooke segued, trying to ignore the part of her that realized that was a viable option given Mary Cherry and steering well clear of any thoughts of the April Tuna, “it’s not her.”

“Then who?” Diego asked, exasperated. He hated riddles.

As if it had been choreographed, Sam walked by at just that moment. Flicking her hair back over her shoulder, laughing at something Lily had said as the wind picked up, plastering her already tight shirt to her body and highlighting all of her curves, she turned briefly and flashed Brooke a dizzying and slightly mysterious smile, the look in her eyes enough to make the blonde want to drop to her knees. Easily picking up on the slightly melted look Brooke was sporting, Diego chuckled.

“That may just be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, shaking his head at the lovestruck look on the blonde’s face. “There’s a certain porn-esque quality to this whole thing that makes even me a little excited at the prospect of seeing you in action with Sam McPherson. Who is, might I add, the hottest girl in this school, present company excluded.”

Shooting Diego an impervious look, Brooke said archly, “I thought you were just telling me all about your wonderful boyfriend.”

“Maybe I’ve recently discovered that I’m bi,” he replied flirtatiously, a wide grin letting her know that he was thoroughly enjoying himself at her expense. “What was that about double dating?”

Suddenly serious in the face of his levity, Brooke said pensively, “Is there some place you go with Silas, some place where you can be yourselves and not have to worry? Some place where you can dance, maybe?”

“You want to get your groove on with your girl in public?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows for emphasis. “I think I can swing that. You got fake IDs?”

Blushing, Brooke stuttered, “No. That is, I’ve never needed one…” She trailed off, suddenly feeling horrible socially inadequate. She had no idea how to get a fake ID, however much that seemed like it should come part and parcel with the popularity gift basket.

Barely refraining from teasing the blonde again, Diego said easily, “No problem. I’ll need pictures of both of you. Make sure that you’re standing in front of something white. California blue is tricky, but we can photoshop it in.”

“You’re going to do it?” Brooke asked dubiously. She didn’t want to hurt Diego’s feelings by implying that he couldn’t, but she didn’t want to get arrested either.

Rolling his eyes, he said, “Uh, no. Oh yeah… I’ll need $50 too.”

“Okay,” Brooke said, mentally compiling a list of ways to finagle the necessary funds from her Dad. “One more thing… we’re not officially dating. Actually, we’re not officially doing anything other than sleeping with one another and refraining from starting school wide food fights. I have no indication from her that she wants anything more, and I’m not going to push for it, so if there’s any weirdness, please ignore it. Please.”

Shaking his head in something close to disappointment, Diego mumbled, “I’ll ignore it, but you’d better not ignore what you’re really doing for too long. It’ll end badly… trust me.”

XXXXXXXXXX

“We need pictures and $50 for what?” Sam asked dryly. She was leaning back against the headboard of her bed, advanced biology book open and ignored in her lap. After coming in from school, she’d changed into a pair of old, worn boxers, and was intensely amused by Brooke’s inability to stop staring at her legs.

“I told you,” Brooke said, voice full of exasperation. “We’re going out with Diego and his boyfriend this Friday night. He’s going to get us fake IDs.”

“And why do we need fake IDs?”

Sighing, searching for patience, Brooke explained slowly, “So we can dance.”

The double dating idea had been Brooke’s idea, and Sam wasn’t entirely convinced that she liked it. She was less inclined to hate Diego now that she knew he was gay, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to buy into the charade. She was well aware that Brooke undoubtedly thought that she could keep up the act. To all outward appearances, it would look like she was still dating Diego. Only now, Sam knew that Brooke wanted everyone to believe that she had started dating Silas, the mystery man she hadn’t even seen yet. Sam didn’t want anyone thinking she was dating Silas. In fact, she didn’t want anyone thinking she was dating at all. She didn’t need to see George’s hurt eyes, much as she had for the last few weeks at school. He’d been staring at her with such a heartfelt expression of confusion and pain that she’d had to escape to the newspaper room during her spare time just so she didn’t have to see it. It made her uncomfortable and irritated, primarily because of the self-loathing it induced. She’d used George, and a large part of her was ashamed about that.

Which was partly why she’d had absolutely no intention of telling anyone that she and Brooke were… doing whatever they were doing. She had no desire to see the depths of hurt that would cause, when George figured out that he’d been dumped because he couldn’t measure up to a secret, semi-incestuous girl-on-girl relationship. Besides, she was self-aware enough to know that all of that supposed bravery she projected at school and in her writing was, for the most part, a façade. Underneath it all, she was just a normal teenager going through the same things as every other normal teenager. She didn’t want to be different, didn’t want to be the one everybody stared at and whispered about. Quite frankly, she didn’t want to be a freak. Having Diego know was more than she’d wanted, but at least she knew his secret too.

Given that, the notion of procuring fake IDs and fake dating and the kind of dancing she had an idea Brooke was referring to wasn’t entirely appealing. So, a bit more sharply than she’d planned, Sam snapped, “I never said I wanted to go dancing.”

The hurt look reappeared, this time in Brooke’s eyes, and Sam fought the urge to pull her comforter up over her head, to bury herself under her makeshift shield until people decided to stop looking at her that way. But, she couldn’t really do that, not with tears shining bright in Brooke’s eyes. All of the fighting they’d done before, all of the cool aloofness and intractability and all of the detached scheming that had gone into Brooke’s seemingly haphazard seduction had done a fairly good job of persuading her that the blonde’s heart was slightly icy. But, icy or not, the intimation of emotions put Sam on edge. She couldn’t deal with any more disappointment.

So, hating herself even as she said it, Sam muttered, “Dancing could be fun.”

Brooke smiled a watery smile, seeing Sam’s concession as the peace offering it was and more than ready to grab hold of it before the situation spiraled into something more serious. So, trying to blink away her unexpected and unwelcome tears, she said happily, “It will be fun, Sammy. They’re going to take us to a club in the city, and we won’t know a single person there.”

Rolling her eyes, the obliviousness of the statement almost too much for her, Sam drawled, “It’ll be absolutely perfect for you then.”

“And you,” Brooke teased, closing the textbook with precision then carelessly dropping it to the floor. “You know, I’m more than willing to let you do a little hands-on studying of my biology. And later, maybe I’ll brush up on my chemistry. While we’re at it, if we’re lucky, we can test out some physics.”

Slightly taken aback, Sam grinned, voice a flirtatious murmur. “Are you always horny?” she teased, arching an imperious brow. She’d somehow forgotten, in those months she’d been with George, just how sexual Brooke could be. Impulsive, seeming to decide in the span of a second that she wanted more and lacking any compunction to delay gratification, and it continually left Sam fatally off-balance. Not that she denied Brooke often. There was something infectious about the blonde, something that made her want to forget all of the warnings her brain was so desperately trying to send in favor of the immediacy of the moment, the thrill of what they were doing.

Grinning widely, moving so that she was straddling Sam’s hips, Brooke pretended to give the question serious thought. “Not always,” she said after a long moment, hazel eyes twinkling. “Just when you’re around.”

If any part of Sam thought the statement odd, the kiss that followed managed to suppress her capacity for cognition long enough for her to forget about it.

XXXXXXXXXX

“The blonde has it bad.”

Diego barely heard the words over the thumping bass of the club music, but when they registered, he turned to Silas with a wry smile. “I know. Sad, isn’t it.”

Moving in behind his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around Diego’s waist as the two stood on the balcony, watching the teeming mass of writhing bodies below them, Silas leaned his head forward, resting his chin on the other boy’s shoulder. “Why is it sad?”

Diego entwined their fingers together, turning his head for a quick kiss. Breaking away with a soft smile, he said, “Because Sam’s just along for the ride. She has no clue.”

“Hmm,” Silas hummed. “I like Sam.”

Shooting his boyfriend a sardonic look, remembering the way the two had fallen into intense dinner conversation as if they were the only ones at the table, Diego muttered, “I noticed. Should I be jealous?”

Face bland, Silas said thoughtfully, “I don’t know. She is a hottie. Smart, too.”

He felt Diego stiffen and sighed, tilting his head over to place a quick kiss on tan skin. “I guess it’s just too bad for her that I’ve already found someone with both of those qualities, and more.”

******

 “So, Silas is nice,” Brooke said nonchalantly, drawing Sam off to the side of the dance floor for a breather. She’d pulled the brunette out into the crowd as soon as they’d gotten there and hadn’t let her out of her sight. But, she was a little tired and far more sweaty than she would have preferred, so a break seemed in order.

“Yeah, he’s cool,” Sam said excitedly, eyes flashing.

And extremely good looking, Brooke silently added bitterly. Of course, she had been expecting that. What she hadn’t been expecting was an Ian Somerhalder look-alike who seemed to share all of Sam’s interests. Favorite authors, favorite books, favorite historical scandals… they’d covered it all as she and Diego had merely sat back and watched, the conversation sustaining itself quite nicely without any input from them.

“Should I be jealous?” Brooke unconsciously echoed, unable to keep a scowl from creeping across her face.

Sam’s grin started off small, but soon spread. “Of a gay man? I’m not sure I see the threat there.”

The threat, Brooke thought but didn’t dare say out loud, was that the spark of deep-seated interest that Silas had evoked was an expression that had, at one time, been something the blonde had been used to seeing on a regular basis. And she didn’t mind sharing, really, because she wasn’t jealous and proprietary enough to want to cage Sam. Interacting, casual flirting, new friends… they were all well and good. The problem, however, was when other people started earning that spark on a more frequent basis than she did. After having mended things somewhat after the George incident, Brooke had seen a precipitous decline in her share of the spark.

She craved the spark.

She needed the spark.

She couldn’t imagine a future without the spark.

Evolution Four

“You’re going to prom with Harrison?”

Brooke wasn’t quite sure if her voice was hurt or numb, which made sense given that she wasn’t quite sure which of those things she was feeling. This was… this was betrayal.

Sam answered blithely, with a carelessly shrugged shoulder. “Yeah. I want to go. He doesn’t have a date. I don’t have a date. It seemed like a good idea.”

Jaw clenching as she fought to hold back anger, Brooke gritted out, “What do you mean, you don’t have a date?”

Rolling her eyes, sighing in exasperation, Sam chuckled. “What? Go with you? Is that what you’re suggesting, Brooke?”

Voice viperishly stung, Brooke shot back, “Obviously not. Because that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe you expected me to go with Silas,” Sam said haughtily. “After all, that would complete the perfectness of your plan. I could take my fake gay boyfriend to the prom with me while you went with your fake gay boyfriend, and we could dance with our fake gay boyfriends and sip punch and shoot each other sly looks and leave early. Then my fake boyfriend and your fake boyfriend could rent us adjoining hotel rooms so we could all have wonderful, secret post-prom gay sex together.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Brooke nearly screamed, unaccountably irritated by what Sam was saying. “Are you mocking me? Are you passive aggressively trying to win some kind of argument? Is there a point here you’re trying to prove? I don’t get it.”

Shaking her head with disgust, Sam muttered, “Obviously. Look, I’ve already made up my mind. I’m going to prom with Harrison, and after, we’re all going down to the beach.”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous,” Brooke spluttered. “We’re going to spend the night together.”

“What,” Sam scoffed, “like a normal couple?”

“We are a normal couple,” came the irritated reply. Scowling deeply, Brooke murmured sharply, “This is senior year, Sam. Last hoorah and all that… do you honestly not want to spend the night with me?”

“What I want is to feel normal,” Sam spat, lips quirking up into a frustrated smirk.

The words, as usual, ripped straight through Brooke’s gut. “Fine then. Go to prom with Harrison and ignore me all night and have a fucking clambake or whatever with your friends on the beach afterwards and be normal. Be alone and normal.”

When she left or, more precisely, stormed out, Brooke did so with a resolute slam of the door. The sharp click of the lock on the door to her side of the bathroom effectively locked her away from Sam, but not from the anger she could feel creeping through her veins. She’d had what she now realized were stupid fantasies, idiotic visions of them two of them dancing together for at least one perfect, romantic moment. A moment she wanted to recreate later, when they were alone in their room or out under the stars or anywhere, really, that was far enough away from reality for them to believe they were the only people left in the world. She had rather foolishly imagined soft kisses and illegally obtained sparkling wine and sheer perfection for at least one night.

With a choked sob, she let the thought chase itself through her mind again. One night. One night when she was herself again, not this strange, scared caricature she’d become. After the things that had happened in the fall, she found that she was physically incapable of saying the words, of telling Sam how she felt. Instead she was bitchy and jealous and slightly psychotic, or at least she felt that way. She needed a safety net, a certain distance that allowed her to be with Sam but not in danger of being hurt by Sam, and when she examined herself in an objective light, she didn’t like what she saw. She was a coward, afraid to truly stand up for what she wanted and more subject to the whims of another than she’d probably ever been. She was a crying, sniveling ghost of who she’d been, trapping herself in a space where she grew increasingly unhappy with each passing day with no intention of doing anything to change it.

She was living half a life, tricking herself into believing in a shiny veneer of happiness that didn’t exist. There was no perfection. There never would be any perfection. If she were stronger, then she’d say no more, would set down rules or break all ties or do something other than rant and pout and take what came her way regardless of how it made her feel. She would storm back into Sam’s room, would pin her to the bed and tell her that she loved her and not let her get back up until the other girl understood how things were going to be. There would be no going to the prom with Harrison, there would be no careless flirting (because damn it if she was going to watch Sam half-heartedly encourage any more clueless little girls and boys while she was standing right beside her, for chrissakes) and there would be no doubts that their relationship was normal and good and everything the brunette needed.

But then, to do that, she’d need to face her fears. Topmost, of course, was that Sam would merely laugh at her, would call the whole thing off with a careless shrug of the shoulders and a ‘whatever’ and move on with her life as if they hadn’t had something special. And then she hated herself even more, because it was embarrassing to be in love with someone who didn’t feel the same way, to care about someone else more than they cared about you. It was pathetic, really, made even more so by the way she was desperately clinging on to whatever she could get, and Brooke momentarily felt a curl of nausea rise up in her belly, threatening to overtake her.

She’d been reduced to something pathetic.

She even disgusted herself. No wonder Sam could act the way she did.

What she needed to do was regain control over this situation. She needed to forget about the ridiculous feelings she’d been feeling for so long that they didn’t even matter anymore. There had been a time when this thing between them had worked, and she remembered exactly when and why that was. This was all about sex, was about gratification and her getting what she wanted and screw anything else. If she was going to fix things, then that’s what it had to be about again.

She was back in Sam’s room before she even fully formulated her plan, the other girl’s wide, surprised brown eyes making her unaccountably furious. She knew it was the