Title: Things Left Unsaid

Author: Green Quarter

Email: green_quarter70@yahoo.com

Pairing: S/B

Rating: NC-17

Archiving: http://www.realmoftheshadow.com/greenquarter.htm Enormous effulgent exaltation to Kim at the Realm for her excellent and estimable hosting.

Disclaimer: Characters of Popular are not mine. They belong to whomever.

Feedback: Always appreciated, at above address.

Note: This fic is inspired by the scene in “Fire in the Hole,” where Brooke gives Sam advice about George, and then they watch a pornographic movie together. That is about all you need to know. Oh, and in this story, Brooke is still dating Josh, which deviates from canon. Sorry about that.

Thirty-seven thousand thanks to JuneBug, for her amazing Beta-ing skills.

Part 4

Brooke rushed down the school hallway, still holding the note she was given in homeroom before she had even sat down that said to report immediately to Principal Krupps. She reached the office to find the principal nowhere to be seen, but Sam sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk. “What are you doing here?” she blurted, surprised.

“I don’t know yet. What are you doing here?” Sam responded, just as surprised.

It had been a week since that night at the movies, and an uncomfortable formality had sprung up between them. For the most part, they had avoided being in each other’s company, but when it couldn’t be helped they were unfailingly polite.

“I don’t know either.” Brooke sat down in the chair next to Sam’s, unconsciously mirroring her posture, which was slumped forward with chin resting in hand. The silence drew out between them. After a few minutes, Brooke said, “Do you know where he is?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Brooke studied Sam out of the corner of her eye. The girl sat calmly next to her, dressed in Brooke’s beige short-sleeved sweater with complementing A-line skirt. As weird as it somehow seemed, Sam looked really good in her clothes. She looked down at her own outfit, a faded pair of jeans and a form-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt of Sam’s that had a Chinese character emblazoned across the front of it. It was much more casual than what she usually wore to school, but it felt oddly liberating to go against the grain for once.

The night before, for the first time since that night at the movies, Sam had knocked on her door. Brooke ran to the door and opened it, not knowing what to expect, but happy that Sam was seeking her out for any reason. But it wasn’t her that Sam wanted; it was her clothes. Sam had asked if she could borrow an outfit for school, explaining that she was bored with everything in her wardrobe. Brooke had thought that Sam’s style was inseparable from the girl herself, the funky, boho image she cultivated a fitting expression of her personality. But far be it from her to deny Sam anything. If Sam had asked her, she would have shorn off her hair and given it to her. Brooke had wordlessly gone to her closet and thrown the doors open, and walked toward the door, meaning to leave Sam alone to make her selection. When she had nearly reached the door, she heard Sam thank her, and offer her own closetful of clothes to Brooke in return.

Brooke went directly to Sam’s room, standing in the doorway for a minute before moving inside. She hadn’t been in this room in over a week. It looked exactly the same, with books and papers piled on most surfaces, and clothes in various states of cleanliness strewn haphazardly about. It was the next best thing to spending time with Sam herself, to be allowed into her sanctuary. Opening the closet door, Brooke could not stop herself from wrapping her arms around a bunch of Sam’s clothes and burying her face in the lingering scent that attached itself to them. After a few moments, she realized what she was doing and grabbed the t-shirt, leaving the room quickly, not wanting Sam to find her doing something creepy like sniffing her clothes. What would be next, pawing through her underwear drawer? She met Sam in the hallway and showed her the t-shirt, asking if it was okay to borrow it. Sam nodded and asked permission for the things she had draped over her arm, and Brooke had barely looked at them. She didn’t care what Sam took; she could have it all.

God she had missed being with Sam. Looking at her now, in the warm morning sunlight that streamed through Principal Krupps’ office windows, she wondered for the nine millionth time if she should have done things differently. Sam had not been home much this past week, and presumably she was spending all her time with George. That was a good thing, right? It was the reason why Brooke had broken things off with Sam, so that she could be with George unimpeded. But the fallout was this frozen existence, this non-friendship, with barely any communication between them anymore. While they hadn’t exactly been talking much before, now it was if they didn’t even speak the same language. If she had known that her and Sam’s relationship would become something one could liken to a Reagan-era missile silo, once potentially explosive but now empty and crumbling from disuse, would she have still done it? Even the catty bickering from their early acquaintance would have been something. She would give anything to have a silly argument about the TV remote with Sam.

“Girls, sorry to leave you unattended,” Principal Krupps boomed in his overly cheery voice, as he strode into the office. “Thanks for responding so swiftly to my summons.” He smiled broadly at them, not fazed by their lack of response. Brooke and Sam waited to be told the reason for their visit. “We have been very lucky to secure Bill Bixson for an assembly this afternoon,” he announced.

Brooke had no idea who that was, and from Sam’s blank look, she didn’t think Sam knew who he was either.

“Who’s that?” Sam asked bluntly.

“Bill Bixson, motivational speaker?” Krupps asked, clearly shocked that they weren’t in the know.

“What or whom does he motivate?” Brooke asked.

“The teens of today, Brooke,” Principal Krupps exclaimed. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised that two of our foremost students aren’t aware of his sterling reputation.”

“Motivate teens to do what, exactly?” Brooke doggedly kept to the point.

“Brooke, what don’t the youth of today need motivation for? School, play, work, college, peer pressure, you name it, Bixson motivates.” The principal sat back and smiled at them.

“Wait. He motivates us to engage in peer pressure?” Brooke asked, confused. She heard a snort of laughter disguised as a cough coming from Sam.

“Principal Krupps, forgive me for being obtuse, but what does this have to do with Brooke and me?” Sam was using her speaking to adults voice.

“I’m glad you asked, Samantha. I would like to do something a little different than the usual “have the motivational speaker speak to his captive audience” kind of thing. I’d like it to be a bit more interactive.”

When he didn’t continue, Sam prompted him. “What did you have in mind, sir?”

“Well, I thought that Brooke, as befitting a school leader of her unparalleled status, could moderate a discussion between you, our resident rabble-rouser and editorial firebrand, and Mr. Bixson,” Principal Krupps declared.

“That may be fine for Brooke and me, but I fail to see how the student body would find it the least bit interactive,” Sam replied. Brooke could see that Sam was just short of proclaiming it the stupidest idea in recent memory.

“Oh, they’ll all love it. After all, between the two of you, a major portion of the school’s population is represented.”

Brooke decided it was time to end the interview before Sam asked just which portions of the school’s population each of them represented. “That sounds great, Principal Krupps. When is the assembly?”

“Sixth period, just after lunch. Oh, and girls, let’s make this a bit more interesting than our last assembly. We got very little response from Mothers Against Drunk Driving and their sobriety tips set to ‘Edelweiss.’”

***********************

“What the hell, Brooke? I so do not want to do this, and you didn’t even give me a chance to object!” Sam exclaimed as Brooke propelled her out of Krupps’ office.

“Come on, Sam. You know you can do this in your sleep. You’ll be able to score points off this guy without even trying.” Brooke reasoned. She was being selfish and she knew it. If she and Sam had to do this together, Sam would not be able to avoid spending at least a little bit of time with Brooke. Here was a chance to begin mending their tattered relationship. Brooke wanted to remain friends with Sam, if she could have nothing else, and she was grateful to have this excuse to talk to Sam.

“Of course I will,” Sam huffed, “but it doesn’t change the fact that I have tons of homework, a deadline for the paper, and did I mention, tons of homework?”

“School has barely even started, homeroom’s not over yet. How can you have tons of homework already?” Brooke was happy to note a suspension of the formality between them and quickly tried to capitalize on it. “So when do you want to work on this? I could get out of English third period, what do you have then?”

“I have a test in trig,” Sam said slowly, looking at Brooke suspiciously. “Anyway, we don’t need to work on anything together. All you have to do is introduce us, I’ve got the hard part.”

“Well, do you want to talk about it at lunch? Maybe bounce a few ideas off me?” Brooke persisted.

“Possibly. I don’t know if I’ll have time. Look, I’ve got to go, see you at lunch, maybe.” Sam headed down the hall, leaving a frustrated Brooke in her wake.

************************

From WTF.doc

Shit, lunch is almost over. I’ve done nothing to prepare for this assembly that’s happening in… five minutes!? But how do I prepare for a conversation with a motivational speaker anyway? I’ll just have to wing it I guess.

****************************

Brooke sat down at her usual table and scanned the cafeteria for Sam. She absently picked up her apple and started rubbing it on her sleeve as she looked over to where Sam normally sat, but she wasn’t there.

“Hey B, is that why you’re wearing that ratty t-shirt? Because you didn’t want to polish fruit with anything that had a designer label?” Nic’s strident voice distracted Brooke from her task.

“I was wondering when you were going to say something. Couldn’t hold it in any longer, huh?” Brooke replied easily.

“Well it’s a dark day indeed when the school’s leading fashionista is seen wearing something that could have been purchased in the back of a comic book,” Nic retorted. “And what’s up with Spam? Is that your Calvin Klein she’s pulled over her huge misshapen head?” What gives her the right? I would sic the cops on her stealing ass and put a stop to that sort of thing pronto.”

“She asked me if she could borrow it and I said yes,” Brooke said patiently.

“Well that’s your tough titty then. I hope it’s not returned with oily bohunk George drool all over it,” Nic said airily, watching with satisfaction as Brooke’s mouth turned downward in an expression of revulsion.

“Nic, that is just gross.” Brooke said sourly.

“What’s gross?” Josh put his tray down and kissed Brooke on the head before sitting beside her.

“Nothing,” Brooke said flatly, flinching slightly at Josh’s touch.

“We were just talking about Sam’s new look, and how George would appreciate her sudden rise from fashion troll-hood,” Nic had found an unexpected vein of discord, and she was intent on mining it.

“Oh, Sam doesn’t have to do anything special for George,” Josh stated. “He loves her just the way she is. And us guys like it when a girl looks her best all natural and casual, without going through a major ordeal to pretty herself up.” Josh picked up his sandwich and took a big oblivious bite, unaware of the silence that now surrounded him.

“I didn’t know they were serving foot for lunch,” Nic said dryly.

“What?” Josh frowned and looked at his sandwich.

“Because that’s what’s in your mouth, dumbass!” Nic shouted. “How could you say something like that, when Brooke works so hard to-“

“No Nic, you’re the one who started all this, but Josh and I are going to finish it,” Brooke said with deadly quiet. “Josh, would you please come with me?” She got up from the table and walked out of the cafeteria without another word, not even checking to see if Josh was behind her, which of course, he was.

**************************

“Hey, where have you been? I thought I was going to have to do this by myself,” Sam exclaimed when she saw Brooke come into the backstage area of the auditorium, the assembly already a few minutes behind schedule. Then she noticed how pale Brooke looked. “Are you okay?” she asked, suddenly concerned, putting a hand on Brooke’s shoulder.

Brooke leaned into Sam and her eyes filled with tears. She was definitely not okay, Sam realized. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” Brooke said gratefully, looking into Sam’s eyes. Then she was distracted, looking past Sam at something. “But not now.”

Sam turned to see Principal Krupps being pounded on the back by a balding man in his late forties in what looked like a powder blue satin tuxedo. You’ve got to be kidding me, she thought to herself. Principal Krupps led the man over to them and Sam bore the brunt of the man’s glad handing, allowing Brooke a minute to compose herself.

“You must be Mr.Bixson,” Sam began after she had endured her share of backslapping and hand wringing. “Your reputation precedes you, sir.”

“Well, I have found that assisting teens to find and follow their bliss in the new millennium is most rewarding, and personal satisfaction leads to professional fulfillment,” Bixson pontificated.

Oh Jesus, Sam thought. Did he just say “follow their bliss?”

Just then, Brooke came up beside Sam and thrust her hand out. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bixson, I’m Brooke McQueen.”

Sam watched Brooke get her share of arm pumping, marveling at how she had pulled herself together. No one would’ve known that the girl was on the verge of tears only moments before. She wondered what could have happened to make her so upset.

“Well, should we get the show on the road?” Principal Krupps asked, ushering them through the wings and onto the stage, where two podiums were positioned downstage, and three chairs further upstage. Sam and Mr. Bixson sat down while Brooke went directly to one of the podiums.

After the collected students in the auditorium had quieted down, Brooke introduced Bixson first, reading from what looked like a professionally put together bio. Yes, Sam saw that an 8x10 headshot had been stapled to the resume, and she wondered where Brooke had gotten it. After five minutes spent recounting the acclaim, awards, and commendations that highlighted Bixson’s career, Brooke said, “And joining Mr. Bixson for our discussion will be Kennedy’s own Sam McPherson.”

Yep, that’s me, totally undistinguished Sam McPherson, Sam sighed to herself.

Brooke sat down and Mr. Bixson jumped up to the podium, launching into what sounded like a well-rehearsed sales pitch, although what he was selling was not entirely clear.

“Students of Kennedy High, I feel your pain,” Bixson began. “Your parents don’t get you, your teachers don’t understand you, your principal is certainly out of touch,” he gestured to Mr. Krupps who was standing in the back of the auditorium looking surprised. “But I understand. I know what it’s like to be seventeen and lost. It wasn’t that long ago that I left the ranks of teendom and joined the boring world of adults,” he disclosed with zany grin.

Oh brother, Sam thought, rolling her eyes.

“So thank you,” Bixson looked down at his notes, “Brooke McPherson, for that generous introduction. I gather I am to be joined up here by a bona fide member of the teen generation, and that is,” he looked down again, “Samantha McQueen.”

Sam got up to a smattering of applause, distinctly hearing George yell “Alright Sam!” She stood at the podium and pulled the microphone down from Brooke’s level to her own, wincing at the feedback this produced. “That’s McPherson,” she corrected, although Bixson was already off and running.

“Okay Samantha, why don’t you tell me about some of the issues you’ve been facing as an American teen in the new millennium.” Bixson was talking to her, but smiling reassuringly out at the crowd.

“You mean besides the issues that we all face as Americans like a struggling economy, a trumped up war, diffident and cowardly leadership of our nation, and the fact that the CSI franchise seems to be multiplying at an alarming rate?”

“I was referring to any issues that affect you personally,” Bixson said.

“I’m not facing any issues that I’m aware of,” Sam replied. There wasn’t a chance in hell that this charlatan would get her to spill any of her secrets.

“Really?” Bixson’s voice was dripping with disbelief. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“It’s true,” Sam responded. “I’m a normal, well-adjusted, standard-issue, typical average teen.”

“She is!” Sam heard Lily yell from the audience.

“No issues here,” Sam insisted.

“No problems with your parents?”

“No.” Not in a while anyway.

“Teachers?”

“No.” Glass didn’t count. Everyone had a problem with her/him.

“Friends?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No.” Not that I’d tell you anyway, you shyster.

“Girlfriend?”

“What?!”

“Just checking, but nah, you don’t seem the type,” Bixson looked at her speculatively.

Whoa. Wait. I don’t seem the type? Sam didn’t have time to really think about that because Bixson continued to pepper her with questions.

“Do you abuse drugs?”

“No!”

“Uppers? Downers? Speed? Smack? Horse? Peyote? Reefer?”

“No, no, no, no, no, no.” Honestly, who called it reefer anymore? And what the hell was peyote?

“How about alcohol?”

“Um, no,” Sam didn’t “abuse” alcohol; she had an occasional drink every once in a while at a party, but if there were ever a time when she wanted to begin a career as a binge drinker, it was now. She was starting to lose her patience with the third degree. How come she was the one put on trial here?

“What about sex?”

“What about it?” Sam returned impatiently.

“Have you had sex?”

Sam was taken aback. “That is so completely none of your business!”

“Ah ha. She has issues with sex,” Bixson told the audience.

“I don’t have issues with sex!” Sam protested.

“Then why are you so defensive?” Bixson asked innocently.

“So defen-“ Sam looked to the back of the auditorium where Krupps was still standing, not believing that he wasn’t putting a stop to this nonsense. Fine, she’d put a stop to it herself. “Listen to me, you small-minded, smarmy, fraudulent, prurient pri-“

“Okay!” The microphone was wrenched away from her as Brooke suddenly appeared beside her at the podium, a reassuring hand on her back. “Principal Krupps wanted for this to be an interactive afternoon with Mr. Bixson, so why should we let Sam here have all the fun? Anyone else feel like discussing their issues, or lack thereof, with him?” Brooke looked around the audience briefly before continuing. “No? Well I guess we’re done here.”

“Wait! I have an issue.”

Sam and Brooke looked out at the sea of faces and saw Josh standing up, an aggrieved look on his face. A murmur of surprise rolled through the audience.

“Oh no,” Brooke muttered.

“Yes, young man, what is the problem?” Bixson tried to take back control of the assembly, which was quickly sinking towards chaos.

“My girlfriend just broke up with me for no reason at all,” Josh wailed, his voice clearly laced with pain.

“Josh, I don’t think this is the time or place to discuss this,” Brooke said quietly.

“This is the girlfriend?” Bixson asked.

“Butt out, Bixson!” someone in the audience called.

“Yes, she was my girlfriend until today, until about twenty minutes ago, actually. Then she pulls me into an empty classroom and dumps me for the second time! Why Brooke? Things were going so well.” Josh was like an injured bear, bellowing out his anguish.

“Yeah, why Brookie?” Mary Cherry stood up, her usual look of glazed idiocy compounded by confusion. “You two are Kennedy’s golden couple. Your being together makes sense, like Brad and Jenny, or three carats in a platinum setting, or rice cakes and celery sticks.”

Sam and Brooke looked at the audience and could see the question on all of their faces. The murmurs grew louder and Sam could hear calls of “Why’d you do it?” and “What’s up with that, Brooke?” from the more vocal members of the crowd. Then she saw traitorous Nicole consoling Josh, speaking softly to him as she rubbed his forearm in commiseration.

“So, Brooke, why did you break up with, Josh, was it?” Bixson looked out to the audience for confirmation.

Sam yanked the mike back. “Don’t answer that, Brooke. You don’t owe anyone any explanations. You hear that, Bixson, you Tony Robbins wannabe hack?” Sam was letting her anger get the better of her, but felt it was a more acceptable emotion than the intense flicker of happiness that went through her at the news of Brooke’s breakup, followed by a large dose of guilt for feeling glad over its demise.

“Maybe Brooke wants to answer,” Bixson pointed out.

One look at Brooke’s expression was enough to tell Sam that the last thing Brooke wanted to do was explain herself.

“How in the world do you think it’s okay for you to pry into people’s personal, private affairs? It’s none of your fucking business!” Sam turned to the student body, which was listening to her, open-mouthed. “It’s not any of your business! What gives you the right to ask these impertinent as hell questions and make judgments about anybody?” she continued, directing her rant back at the main source of her fury, Bixson. “Especially when you’re wearing that ugly ass, moth-eaten, hasn’t-been-fashionable-since-the-Nixon-administration suit! Brooke never did anything to you. Why are you picking on her? Why are you treating her like she’s a guest on Springer? I’m sure she had very valid reasons for doing what she did. And, I repeat, why does she owe you any explanation? Who the fuck died and made you Oprah?”

Sam could see Principal Krupps striding up the center aisle, finally. It only took her flipping out and uttering a few expletives before he did anything about it. She was so caught up in her tirade that she didn’t hear Brooke trying to calm her down, telling her to be quiet or she was going to get in trouble. Sam was too far gone. “I see you Kruppsy! Come and get me. I put the blame for this entirely on you. This was all your brilliant idea,” Sam knew she was in deep shit and could only seem to dig herself in deeper.

“Detention, Ms. McPherson! Two weeks,” Principal Krupps practically leapt onto the stage and clamped his hand around her upper arm, pulling her towards stage left and the wings.

Sam went docilely, her bravado gone. Why did I rush to her defense like that, Sam wondered, totally perplexed. It’s not like anything had changed between her and Brooke. She was still persona-non-grata as far as she knew, although Brooke had been acting weird today. And this was obviously the reason why she was upset. After she and Principal Krupps were offstage, she heard Josh plaintively say, “Please just tell me why, Brooke.”

Sam turned around, resisting the arm that tugged at her. From deep in the wings she saw Brooke take a deep breath as she stood at the podium, preparing to answer. “Please Mr. Krupps, can I just hear what she says?”

Krupps nodded his assent, it seemed he was curious too. Sam moved closer, peering out at the stage from behind a tall black velvet curtain.

“Josh, I don’t know why you want to hear this in front of the whole school, but I’ll try to give you a better explanation than the one I just gave you at lunch.” Brooke paused to collect her thoughts. “The only thing I know is that there should be something more. Something better. Something bigger. For you and for me.” She paused again, seemingly trying to put her thoughts into words. “Love should be something big, uncontrollable and unwieldy. It should be spilling over and leaking out in big embarrassing puddles all around you. It should be a crazy, breathless sled ride head first down an icy hill with tombstones hidden under the snow. It should be dangerous, inconvenient, messy, inappropriate even. And at the same time comfortable, effortless, unforced and natural. It should make you feel like your heart is breaking one second and then have you laughing with unspeakable pleasure the next. And you would feel like dying if you ever had it within your reach and then were unable to hold onto it.”

If a pin were to drop somewhere in the Kennedy High auditorium at that moment, it would have sounded like a thunderclap.

“We didn’t have that, Josh,” Brooke continued sadly. “Life would be so much easier if we did, but we don’t. You know it, or you will know it, when you find the person you’re supposed to be racing down the hill with. It’s not me, I’m sorry.”

“How do you know that, Brooke?” Josh pleaded.

Sam was fiercely hanging onto the curtain like it was a physical representation of Brooke’s every word.

“You’re just going to have to trust me, Josh. I want this for you, I really do. It’ll be so worth it in the end.”

“You talk like you’ve already experienced it, but now we both know it wasn’t with me,” Josh commented bitterly.

“I might have had a glimpse of it, might’ve had a chance at it if circumstances were different, if someone else hadn’t gotten there first, but no, I’ve never really experienced it,” Brooke said, her words cryptic to everyone except one person, encouraged now beyond words.

Josh just shook his head and walked up the center aisle, clearly defeated. Nicole trailed behind him like a buzzard sniffing a fresh kill.

Sam eased her death grip on the curtain, and could see Brooke puff her cheeks out and expel a breath, maybe in disbelief of what she had revealed to the whole school. The image before her of a dazed Brooke in profile produced an inexplicable lump in her throat.

“So now that everyone in the whole school has complete details of my private life, including Mr. Bixson,” Brooke wryly announced to the auditorium, “I think we can stick a fork in this assembly.”

Mary Cherry stood up, her mascara flowing down her face along with her tears, and began a slow clap. “Oh, Brookie, that was better than a Mexican soap opera! I love my school assemblies with a heapin’ helpin’ of escandolo on the side!”

Brooke stood there stunned while the rest of the student body joined Mary Cherry in a slowly building round of applause before filing out of their seats, headed for their next class.

Principal Krupps placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and led her out into the hallway. “Ms. McPherson, I hope you don’t have plans this afternoon, your detention begins forthwith.”

Sam nearly bounced down the hall, filled with exuberance. “Sure thing, Kruppsy, er, I mean, yes sir, Principal Krupps.”

Among the conversations heard as the students drifted off was, “Man, that was so much better than the last one when those ladies sang that weird song.”

“Shut up dude! My mom was one of those ladies,” came the reply.

“Oops, sorry, man.”

Part 5

It was late.  Brooke had been expecting Sam ever since about five o’clock, when detention should have long been over.   She had heard the phone ring earlier, and Jane answering it, suspecting it was probably Sam, but she had made no attempt to find out from Jane where Sam was.  Knowledge of Sam’s whereabouts would come in due time.  This kind of purgatory she was in felt right somehow.  At around ten, she turned out the light and got in bed, and now was simply waiting.

Sam could be anywhere, but in her heart, Brooke knew where she was.  She was with George.  As she should be.  In her impromptu speech at the assembly Brooke had finally admitted to herself, and by extension the whole school, that she had made a terrible mistake, and there was nothing to be done but live with it.  Not a mistake in breaking up with Josh; that would have happened with or without Sam as a catalyst.  No, her mistake was in deliberately severing the connection she had forged with Sam, in retrospect the deepest, most intimate bond she had ever shared with another person, and it was gone.  She could still be having some semblance of a relationship with Sam if she hadn’t put a stop to it in some misguided attempt at being honorable.  Honor was for chumps.  Even the scraps left over by George would have been better than nothing.

Sam was kind.  She had been so supportive, so indignant on Brooke’s behalf that afternoon, and to think she had gotten two weeks detention over it.  Perhaps there was a way to salvage something out of the tangle in which they found themselves ensnarled.  Brooke was certainly willing to build some new kind of friendship with Sam, and Sam’s energetic defense of her character this afternoon showed that such an overture might not be unwelcome.  She simply had to have Sam in her life in some capacity, but the formal non-friendship of the previous week would not cut it.  Maybe they could go back to being the kind of friends they were before they had watched that damned porno movie, Brooke thought hopefully.  It would be hard to not include that sexual component, now that they had traveled a little way down that road, but it could be done.  At least they hadn’t gone all the way, Brooke reassured herself, but as she pondered that fact, she didn’t know whether it was a good thing or not.

She heard a sound on the stairs and felt herself tense.  She listened as footsteps made their way down the hall towards her door, there was a pause, and then the footsteps retreated and she heard Sam’s door open and close.  Brooke expelled a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.  Sam was home.  Brooke was seized by indecision.  She wanted to see Sam badly, but maybe she should wait until morning.  It was late; Sam was probably tired.  God only knew what she had been doing all this time.  She sat up in bed and listened, maybe Sam would boot up her computer and stay up awhile, then Brooke could reasonably interrupt her.  Dammit!  She couldn’t hear anything!  Why was it that she could usually hear the scratch of a pencil on paper through the walls but now nothing?

Footsteps again.  Back out into the hallway and into the bathroom.  Water running, teeth brushing, face washing, the standard nightly routine.  Sam was going to bed.  Brooke waited, still trying to make up her mind.  Finally, after about ten minutes of uncertainty, she made her move.  Quietly entering Sam’s room without knocking, she stood by the door, her eyes quickly readjusting to the darkness.  She saw Sam lying on her back, the bed sheet and blanket pulled up to her chin, eyes shut.  As she approached, Sam sighed and turned to the side, lifting up the covers with one arm and wordlessly inviting her into the bed.  Brooke instantly slithered into the bed and felt Sam’s arms wrap around her, and the warmth of her body and of the blankets in which she and Sam were now enfolded.

Brooke rested her head on Sam’s chest and listened to the sound that had become her favorite, the steady, reassuring thump of Sam’s heart, now beating at a slightly elevated rate.   She could feel it as if she were holding it in her hand.  “Thank you,” she breathed.  What she was thanking Sam for she didn’t quite know, maybe it was for her help that afternoon, or for letting her into her bed, or allowing her to listen to her heart.  Gratitude came pouring out of her, and she tightened her hold on Sam, clutching at her waist with one hand.

“I thought you were asleep, you’re light was off,” Sam whispered.

“No, I was waiting for you,” Brooke replied.  This was better than she could’ve hoped.  Here she was with Sam, in her bed, like they had crossed over some bridge to understanding without having to say anything.  Needing to be still closer, she stretched her thigh across Sam’s legs.  Exhaling in contentment, it was not outside the realm of possibility that Brooke would never leave this very spot ever again.  Soon she felt Sam’s lips press against her hair, over and over, urgent kisses all over her head.

“Brooke… please… I don’t… I can’t…”

Raising her head to look into Sam’s face, Brooke was fearful of the agitated sound of her words.  But even in the darkness she could see Sam’s eyes flashing with desperation in that moment before she crushed her lips against Brooke’s, exposing her raw need.  They were drawn to each other with the inevitability of the most basic law of attraction, like magnet to metal.

Brooke moved her body so that she was lying on top of Sam, relaxing against her, breast to breast and thigh to thigh.  Her forearms lay on either side of Sam’s head, her hands tangling in Sam’s dark hair and gently cradling her skull.  Now that Sam had initiated this, Brooke left her inhibition far behind.  She took the lead, capturing Sam’s lips and brutally forcing her tongue past Sam’s teeth, but Sam was right there with her, dueling with her own tongue, matching her passion, the kiss devolving into a frenzied battle of wills, of frustration released, of permission granted.

After the first furious power of their coming together, the kiss slowly turned from turbulent to tender, their lips meeting again and again in soft, wet, languorous caresses.  When they finally broke apart, somehow Brooke found that she was now lying on her side and Sam was facing her.  She pressed her cheek against Sam’s and pulled her towards her, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotion raging through her.  She felt Sam throw her pajama-clad leg over her hip, bringing them even closer.  Sam was whispering between kisses placed near her ear and down her neck, “We’re okay, we’re okay.”  Brooke realized that there were tears on her cheeks and that was probably why Sam was trying to reassure her, but she didn’t know why she was crying.  All she wanted was to stay this way, completely wrapped up in Sam.

They lay like that for a long while, locked together, as close as two people can humanly be.  Brooke removed one hand from Sam’s neck to place it over her left breast, on top of the ribbed cotton of Sam’s tank top, anxious to feel the beating of Sam’s heart.  She wanted to put her hand under Sam’s shirt but resisted the impulse.

“Brooke.”

Brooke nodded against Sam’s shoulder.

“We have to talk.”

“Okay.”  Brooke braced herself.  She had no idea what was coming.

“Do you know where I was tonight?”

Brooke hesitated, then thought she should just meet her fate head on.  “Somewhere with George?”

“Yes.  With George.  Do you know what I did tonight?”

Oh god, if she says she lost her virginity I don’t know what I’ll do, Brooke thought.  “No.”

“I broke up with him.” Sam said flatly.

Brooke drew away from Sam and gazed at her face as best she could in the darkness.  “You did?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed wearily.

“Are you all right?” Brooke was instantly concerned.

“I’ll live to tell about it,” came Sam’s clipped reply.

“Is he all right?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t take it very well.  He didn’t understand why I was doing it.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I heard some very wise words today, and they gave me hope,” Sam said simply.  She was silent for a moment before continuing. “I know we have a lot to talk about, a lot of things need to be said, and I thought I was ready to do this, but I’m not, really.  Right now I just want to be with you.  Just quietly be.”

“Okay.”  Taking in Sam’s revelation, Brooke felt like an armoire had just been lifted off of her, and she stifled an inappropriate urge to laugh hysterically.  There was a distinct possibility that this was very good news for her.  She paused, not wanting to seem insensitive, then couldn’t help herself.  “Do you think we can quietly be with your shirt off?”

Sam chuckled.  “I think that can be arranged, as long as reciprocity is enforced.”

“Done.” Brooke helped Sam out of her tank top and then whipped her own t-shirt off.  They settled back down, and Brooke resumed her earlier position with her head resting against Sam’s chest.  Sam held Brooke in a loose embrace.

“I’m sorry, Sam, I know that couldn’t have been easy.  Oh wait, does quietly being preclude us from talking?  Sorry.”

“No, we can talk.  It wasn’t easy.  It was very, very hard.  You ought to know.”

“Yeah,” Brooke acknowledged, but she didn’t want to talk about it.

They were quiet for a while.

“Brooke?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you crying?”

Brooke contemplated the question.  “I don’t know.  Maybe because I was happy?  Relieved that you were home?  Glad that we were together?  I’m not sure.  I was feeling a lot of emotion just then.”

“Oh.”  Sam thought about that.  “I made you feel all that emotion?”

“Yes.  You always do, it has just manifested itself in different ways over the course of our knowing each other.” She had only just realized this truth as she was saying it.

“Hmm.”

Brooke needed to say something important, even if it violated the spirit of quietly being.  She moved so that she was looking into Sam’s face, which she could somehow see more clearly, though it was still dark.  Maybe the moon had risen or something.  “Look, Sam, I made a big mistake that night at the movies.  I don’t want to discontinue whatever this is that we have together.  I thought I was doing the right thing for you and George.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Yes.  I heard what you said today, you know, after I got the hook.  I was listening from the wings.”

“You were?” Brooke was bashful, but happy Sam had heard what she had said.

“And I had some time to think during detention this afternoon.  I figured it all out,” Sam smiled.  “’Cause I’m smart.”

“You are,” Brooke agreed, returning her smile.

“I didn’t want to assume that it was me you were talking about, but between me and Josh, I didn’t think you had time for anyone else, and since you had just broken up with Josh…” Sam ‘s expression was half proud, half embarrassed.  “Thank you for trying to do what you thought was best,” she continued sincerely.  “Not many people would forfeit their own desires for someone else, if that is what you desire,” she added, a bit uncertainly.

“It is, you are.  You are what I desire,” Brooke stated quickly.  “That sounds funny.  You are who I want,” she clarified, for the slow people in the back.  “I want you.”

“Good,” Sam grinned.  “Because I want you too.”

They were quiet, each digesting their mutual declaration.  Then,

“Well, do you think we should do something about it?” Brooke said slyly.

“Whatever do you mean?” Sam asked, clearly amused.

“You know, commemorate this momentous occasion?”

“What, the day we both broke up with our boyfriends?” Sam asked teasingly.

“We are both single now,” Brooke pointed out.

“Like that ever stopped us before!” Sam retorted.

“Honestly, Sam, can you think of a better time?”

Sam cocked her head to the side, thinking.  “Actually, no,” she conceded.  “I can think of no better time.”

“You are smart!”

“In a minute I’ll be clapping my flippers and barking like a seal,” Sam said, giggling.

“Yeah!” Brooke agreed, then frowned.  “Wait, I don’t get it.”

“Seals are smart!”

“Okay, whatever you say,” Brooke would agree to anything at this point.

“Are you just humoring me?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“No, I simply defer to your presumably vast repository of arcane trivia regarding the brain magnitude of North American Sea Mammals.  Are seals mammals?”

“Beats me.  Come here.”

Brooke readily abandoned the topic of semi-aquatic creatures and gave herself up to this girl, this amazing girl who made her so happy.  They kissed, and it was like that kiss was a lake, deep and clear and they swam into it, forgetting all of their uncertainty and insecurity and doubt.  Although there was still a lot to say to each other, somehow they both knew that things were going to be all right.  When they surfaced from their embrace they felt washed clean and renewed, something had changed.

“Wow.  There was something different about that,” Sam said when she regained her breath.

“Yeah,” Brooke agreed.  “That was, like, on a whole new level.”  Their heads were close together on the pillow, and Brooke sighed in satisfaction.  She heard Sam sigh as well, but it didn’t sound as contented.  Automatically Brooke feared the worst, but didn’t know what that could be.  “What’s wrong?”

Another sigh, this time definitely not contented, but sounding more frustrated.  “I want to totally be in the moment with you, Brooke, and I am.  There’s nowhere I’d rather be but here, and no one I’d rather be with than you, but what happened with George is still very fresh in my mind and I can’t help thinking about him,” Sam confessed.

Brooke didn’t have the same problem; she knew that she had done the right thing with Josh.  She felt bad that he was hurting, but in the long run they would both be happier.  She didn’t know what specific problem Sam was having but wanted to help if she could.  “Do you still have feelings for him?” she asked tentatively, hoping the answer was negative.

“The feeling that remains is one of overwhelming guilt,” Sam said hollowly.  “I haven’t had any romantic feelings or attraction towards him since, well, if I’m honest, since the night we watched your dad’s movie.”

Brooke tried to tamp down the strong desire to get up and do ten cartwheels at Sam’s disclosure.  “At the risk of exposing my self-interest, I still think it was better to end it now if you weren’t feeling anything for him.  Look how long I let this go on with Josh before I had the sense to stop it.”

“Yeah, I know, you’re right,” Sam agreed solemnly.

“Look, maybe I should go.  You may not be able to handle this right now; I’m being totally selfish.  You need some time to adjust, or… something,” Brooke sat up.

“No!  It’s been seven,” Sam looked at the clock, “no, eight days since we’ve been together like this.  Please don’t go.”

“Are you sure?” Brooke was already lying back down, not entirely surprised by the intensity of the relief she felt.

“God, yes.”

“So it’s back to plan ‘quietly be?’”

“Please.”

They lay together in Sam’s bed, not speaking.  Brooke’s face was inches from Sam’s, and yet she couldn’t see her.  The room had gotten very dark again, and she cursed the cloudy night sky.  “I can’t see you.”

“Don’t you remember what I look like?” Sam joked, and reached over to turn on the lamp on the bedside table.

“No wait,” Brooke stopped Sam.  “I know something better.”  She quickly got up and went to Sam’s door.

“Brooke!”

“What?”

“Look at yourself,” Sam said, the smile evident in her voice.

Brooke looked at her semi-clothed state, topless and an old pair of sweats cut off above the knee.  “They’re asleep, and I’ll only be gone for a minute.”  She was back in forty seconds.

“What’s all that?” Sam asked, sitting up from her prone position.

Brooke dumped an armful of candles on the bed.  “Mood lighting.”

Sam picked up two burgundy-colored tapers.  “Did you get these from the dining room?”

“Yeah, they’ll only notice they’re missing when they have their next dinner party, which won’t be for, like, five years.  We’ll have plenty of time to replace them.”

Brooke set up the candles on the night tables that flanked Sam’s bed, everything from fancy fat aromatherapy candles and utilitarian emergency power outage candles to her favorite Spongebob candle that she swore she would never light.  She had gotten the candle from her Secret Santa at school the previous year, tickled by the unexpectedly appropriate gift.  Hardly anyone knew of her unfathomable devotion to the absorbent and yellow and porous one.

“You’re going to burn Spongebob?” Sam asked incredulously.

TV-watching habits being hard to hide from someone you live with, Sam had knowledge of her embarrassing crush on an animated sea sponge.

“The things we sacrifice for love,” Brooke replied unthinkingly, then looked quickly at Sam, glad that the darkness would hide the plum color she knew her face had just become.  Sam struck a match and began to light the candles, a wide grin on her face.

“Did you ever find out who your Secret Santa was last year?” Sam asked casually.

“No, I didn’t even try.  I like the mystery that goes along with it,” Brooke lit Spongebob and murmured, “Sorry, little guy.”  Then realization dawned.  “Why?  Was it you?”   She looked at Sam, who nodded with the same huge smile on her face.

“Radiohead tickets and a Spongebob candle?  You,” Brooke took Sam’s face in her hands and kissed her quickly, “are so,” and then kissed her again, “thoughtful.”  Sam received one more kiss, this one stretching out for some minutes before they separated, pulling slightly away so that they could gaze at each other.

“I’ll buy you another one,” Sam said.

Brooke looked blank.  “Another one?”

“Yeah,” Sam prompted.  “Another Spongebob candle.”

“Oh.  Okay,” Brooke said bemusedly.  Her mind had completely shifted focus.  She had stopped thinking of Spongebob some time ago, and had been preoccupied with congratulating herself for the cleverness of candlepower.  Sam had never looked more beautiful than she did right now, lying back among a bunch of pillows surrounded by a warm amber glow, smiling faintly at Brooke.

“I just have to…” Brooke never finished her thought as she leaned into Sam, ravaging her lips and demonstrating what it was she just had to do.

“Here we go,” Sam said breathlessly.  Her hands were roaming all over Brooke’s body, one moment tracing the vertebrae along her spine, the next gripping her shoulders as Brooke concentrated on the sweet-smelling skin of Sam’s neck, laying a multitude of tiny kisses there.

Brooke kept moving downward, faced with the dilemma of which breast would first be the object of her attention.  After a moment’s deliberation she chose the right, and wasted no time closing her mouth around the hardened bud.  Tracing the areola with her tongue, she coaxed it into a stiffer, longer point, and was gratified to feel a shudder go through Sam.  She brought her hand up to cup the other breast, stroking the puckered nipple with her thumb.  Then she switched, taking the left in her mouth and cupping the right in her hand.  The guttural moans that came from Sam told her she was doing something right.

As much as Brooke was enjoying pushing Sam to greater heights of desire, and could have remained right where she was, concentrating on Sam’s breasts and making her moan ever louder, she had an intense need to go further, and hoped Sam would trust her enough to follow.  She had referred to it obliquely before, but didn’t know if Sam had really caught her meaning.  Brooke wanted tonight to be the night.

Continuing to devote her mouth and tongue and lips to the worship of Sam’s breasts, Brooke’s hand stealthily moved down the soft, smooth expanse of Sam’s belly and slipped underneath the elastic waistband of her cotton pajama bottoms.  Maybe it was laundry day again, because Sam was not wearing panties, Brooke was thrilled to discover.  Moving her hand through Sam’s soft curls, Brooke tried to gauge Sam’s reaction to her bold advance, and let her hand rest delicately against the most private part of Sam’s body.

Sam sat bolt upright and clapped her hand over Brooke’s, while simultaneously trying to rid herself of her pajama bottoms with frantic, jerky movements.  Pulling her hand from Sam’s pants, which earned a whine of disapproval from Sam, Brooke quickly divested Sam of the impeding bottoms, and added her own sweat shorts to the pile on the floor next to the bed.   Sam was still sitting up, watching her return to the bed with an intent look in her eyes.  Brooke pulled her toward her, spreading Sam’s legs wide and throwing them over her thighs as she sat close to Sam, her own legs creating a circle within which Sam sat.  She drew Sam in her arms and kissed her, caressing her back and feeling her shoulder blades flex under her fingertips.  “Do you want to do this?” she murmured in Sam’s ear.

Immediately Brooke felt Sam nod.  “Yes, more than anything,” Sam breathed.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Sam pulled back and gazed meaningfully into Brooke’s eyes.  “Yes.  With you.”

Brooke’s eyes welled up with unshed tears, feeling overwhelmed once again with emotion.  Sam smiled at her and cradled her face in her hands, wiping the tears that began to fall with the soft pads of her thumbs.

“I love you Sam.  I really, really do.” Brooke whispered thickly.

“You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear you say that,” Sam quietly replied.  She kissed Brooke’s tears away, pressing her lips to her cheeks over and over again.

Their lips met softly, barely touching in a gentle, hopeful expression of their fragile new love.  Then, by some kind of mutual empathy, they deepened the kiss, increasing the urgency as they were inescapably caught up in their passion for each other.  Brooke tried to pull Sam still closer, hands grasping at Sam’s waist, and Sam’s forearms were resting lightly on Brooke’s shoulders.  Brooke reached down and placed her hand where it had been before, and felt Sam’s hold on her tighten.  Letting her instincts take over, Brooke caressed Sam as she herself would want to be caressed, hoping that it would please her.  She watched as Sam closed her eyes and bit her lip in an expression of pure bliss, and her breathing became ragged.

With one arm curled around Sam’s back, the fingers of Brooke’s other hand gently explored, and Brooke looked into Sam’s face and used her reactions as a barometer, taking careful note of what resulted in a moan, or a sigh, or a sharp intake of breath.  Sam’s body seemed to become boneless, and she slumped against Brooke, resting her head on her shoulder.  Brooke lightly lay Sam back and then followed, closing the angle between their bodies and the bed.  Positioning herself between Sam’s legs, Brooke was momentarily torn between wanting to discover all of Sam’s secrets and witnessing the effect she was having on her, but the lure of the unknown was too great and she bent her head, peering in the dim light, all the while maintaining contact with her fingers.

“I think I need about twenty more candles to see you properly,” Brooke commented, “guess I’ll just have to go by sense of touch.”

“Oh my god, Brooke, you’re doing just fi-INE!” Sam yelped as Brooke chose that moment to use her sense of taste as well.

Brooke looked up and grinned at her, licking her lips.  “Like that?” Watching Sam nod wordlessly, she said, “Me too.”

Any more sounds for the next little while were of the inarticulate variety, as Sam was too lost in a haze of sensation to form actual words, and Brooke was using her mouth for other, more pleasurable pursuits.  Soon Brooke felt Sam’s thigh muscles tensing and relaxing rhythmically, and her pelvis grinding into her, and she held on as best she could, using her lips and tongue and fingers to make Sam’s first time a memorable one.  When her orgasm came, Sam unknowingly grabbed fistfuls of Brooke’s hair while her back arched, pressing herself as far into Brooke as she could.  When the shockwaves had subsided somewhat she sat up slightly and pulled Brooke up, but Brooke didn’t need the encouragement and was already crawling up Sam’s body, and languorously stretched out so that she covered Sam like a blanket.  When she lay against Sam’s chest, their breasts smushing together nicely, Brooke could feel Sam’s heart pounding so hard she thought her own heart would change its rhythm to beat in time with it.

When Brooke kissed her, Sam could taste herself.  It was the most erotic thing she had ever experienced in her young life, and for the first time she was overcome with emotions she had no name for.  The absolutely essential thing was for her to try and make Brooke feel as much as she had made Sam feel.  Even though she thought her reserves of strength had just been thoroughly depleted, Sam flipped Brooke onto her back in a move that surprised them both.

“Where’d you learn that?” Brooke asked, astonished and a bit breathless, smiling up at her from among the pillows.

Sam shrugged, grinning, “Don’t know.  Must be innate.”

She decided to employ the same formula Brooke used, since it had worked so well when she herself was the test case.  After a quick kiss, Sam moved down Brooke’s body to dedicate herself to Brooke’s sadly neglected breasts.  She could’ve just stared at them all night; they were so beautiful.  Not too small, not too big, just the right size to hold in her hand or taste with her mouth.  She cupped both breasts in her hands, rolling the already rigid tips between her thumb and fingers as a prelude to tasting.   Thinking once that the exact shade of pink of Brooke’s nipples must have a sweet, confectionary flavor like bubblegum or strawberries, Sam was pleased to remember the taste that was uniquely Brooke from the last time she had done this.  Better than strawberries, she thought, as she bent her head to suck and grazed her teeth across the taut peak, gratified to hear Brooke’s gasp of delight.

She had only been at her pleasurable task for a few moments before she felt Brooke pushing on her shoulders, muttering, “Down, down, down.”

Ever obliging, Sam scooched lower on the bed and regarded the pinnacle of experience and sensation, somewhat daunted by the thought of measuring up to Brooke’s fabulous feat.  Shoving performance anxiety to the back of her mind, Sam parted Brooke’s thighs a bit wider and settled down between them, making an inspection of this familiar but altogether new terrain.  Hoping that the night in the movie theater was not a fluke, Sam reached out with her fingers and began to touch Brooke, amazed at the wetness there.  She didn’t think it would take very long for Brooke to reach her climax, which was confirmed when Brooke started moaning and talking nonsense, Sam understanding every third word or so.

Her fingers continued their exploration, and Sam thought she was doing admirably, judging from the undulation of Brooke’s hips, until Brooke suddenly became coherent.

“Oh, Sam… Sam, let lips do what hands do.”

Sam stopped for a moment and looked up at Brooke, wondering where she had heard that before, but Brooke was lost, and was not even realizing what she was saying.  Then Sam figured it out and smiled, thinking that Brooke was just about the cutest thing on the planet.  She followed Shakespeare’s advice and replaced her hands with her lips, then had the brain wave of adding her hands back as well and was pleased to hear Brooke elicit an extended groan of satisfaction.  All of a sudden, Brooke became completely rigid under her hands and mouth and let out a shout that Sam was sure would wake the parentals.  She felt Brooke’s inner muscles contract around her fingers, but Sam didn’t stop until Brooke went limp beneath her, and felt her hands grasp her shoulder weakly, wanting her to join her further up the bed.

They cuddled together, Sam brushing stray blonde hairs away from Brooke’s face, watching her slowly come back to herself.  When she saw that Brooke had returned to the land of the living, she finally said out loud what she had only admitted to herself on the unprinted page of a document that existed only as a series of one’s and zero’s.

“Brooke.”

Brooke looked at Sam, had indeed been looking at Sam the whole time, but now really focused her attention on her, gazing into her eyes.

“I love you,” Sam said simply.  “I’ve loved you for a long time, and I will love you for a long time.”

Brooke smiled tremulously and hugged Sam to her.  “Thank you,” she whispered, really thankful that the night had turned out as it had.  It could have gone so many different ways.

They lay together, just feeling inordinately pleased with themselves, that they were finally able to break through all the misunderstanding and fear and come through the other side rewarded by love.

After a little while Brooke observed, “Bixson doesn’t know what he’s talking about.  It’s obvious that you are issue-free when it comes to sex.”

“Thank you,“ Sam felt vindicated.  “You’re so much more intelligent than he is.  Speaking of intelligent, I must have the smartest girlfriend in the world.  One who can quote Shakespeare while she’s otherwise occupied with having an orgasm.”

Brooke felt a little thrill at Sam’s using the word girlfriend, but was utterly confused  “What are you talking about?” she asked, a tiny frown marring her up until just recently placid and sated expression.

“You don’t remember saying ‘let lips do what hands do?’” Sam asked.  “From ‘Romeo & Juliet?’”

“I said that?” Brooke answered with disbelief.  “We’re reading it in English, but I honestly have no memory of saying it, Sam.”

“Yeah, we’re reading it too.  Awfully appropriate, though,” Sam quipped.

“How embarrassing.  I’m such a geek.” Brooke reddened.

“No way.  It’s cool!” Sam insisted.  “I’m into literary chicks.”

“Well I guess it’s okay then,” Brooke was still chagrined, and kissed Sam thoroughly, hoping for a change of subject.

But when they separated Sam said, “It sure is, now give me my sin again.”

**************************

From WTF.doc

Then there's Josh and George.  What did they ever do to deserve their fate?  I'm so sorry that two goes into four once with a remainder of two, in this case.  But I'm not willing to

***************

A soft, continuous tapping could be heard somewhere to Brooke's left, she heard it before she was fully cognizant of where she was.  Then everything that had happened during the night came back to her, and she opened her eyes.  She had a view of Sam’s bare back; she was sitting upright, cross-legged, the sheet drawn up to her waist, with her laptop balanced on her knees.  And the girl was typing.  In bed.  In their bed that they had just shared for the first time.  Typing.

Brooke sat up and rested her chin on Sam’s shoulder.  “What are you doing?” She tried to keep the edge out of her voice but only half-succeeded.

“Don’t get upset,” Sam stopped what she was doing and turned her head to place a quick kiss on Brooke’s cheek.  “This is the first, last, and only time I’ll be doing this.  In bed, I mean.  I’ll still have to use my laptop on occasion, you know, like when I have homework, or an article or whatever.  And my handwriting has turned to shit ever since I’ve been using a computer, have you noticed that?  Has that happened to you?  I guess that’s to be expected.  But I’m not going to make this a habit.  This is a special circumstance,” Sam’s babble petered to a stop, finally.

“What is it?” Brooke was becoming curious.

It’s something I started when we first… got involved,” Sam said, and then it looked like she came to a decision.  “I think you should read it.”

“Now?”

“When I finish.  It’s nearly done.”

“Okay.”  Brooke was intrigued by the prospect of reading what Sam had to say about them.  She had never been privy to much of anything that Sam had written before, unless it was published in the Zapruder.

Sam looked at the screen and tried to regain her concentration.  The room was quiet for a moment before the hushed tapping continued.  Brooke supposed she could have read over Sam’s shoulder, but she knew how annoying it was when people did that.  But she definitely needed a change of view.  After relighting a few of the candles on the night tables, she scooted down the bed and sat facing Sam, getting as close as she could so their knees were touching.  Brooke watched her type, endeared by the expression of fierce concentration occupying her features.

Only a few minutes had elapsed when Sam slowly looked up from her laptop, her eyes dwelling on Brooke’s bare breasts, which because of Brooke’s good posture were positioned right above Sam’s laptop monitor.   Her eyes hovered there for long seconds before continuing up Brooke’s body to her face, and the look of devilish amusement that she wore.

“You know how distracting you are, don’t you?”  Sam smirked.

“Am I distracting you?” Brooke answered innocently, stifling a laugh.

“One second,” Sam said determinedly and looked back down at her keyboard.  “This will only take one… more… second.”

****************************

From WTF.doc

I love you Brooke.

*********************

Sam hit save and brought the cursor up to page one.  She turned her laptop around and presented it to Brooke without a word.  With her chin in her hands, Sam watched as Brooke scrolled through the text, expressions of dismay, amusement, consternation, sadness, and joy flickering over her features.

When Brooke had read all that the document contained, she sat in front of the laptop, tapping her finger slowly to her cheek, looking at Sam speculatively for a moment.

Then she began to type.

*************************

From WTF.doc

And, in my opinion, you didn’t look like an idiot in my clothes.

****************

Sam read what Brooke had written and looked up and smiled at her.  She shut down her laptop and closed it with an air of finality.  Getting up and depositing it on her desk, she noticed that the room was getting lighter with the coming of the new day.  She blew out the candles before returning to bed, lying on her side facing Brooke.

She gazed at Brooke for a moment, then looked toward the window, a mischievous smile on her lips.  “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” she recited, and couldn’t hold back a giggle.  “It is the east, and Brooke is the-“

“Sam!  Shut up,” Brooke cried, and covered Sam’s mouth with her hand, an embarrassed grin covering her features.  “You are never going to forget that, are you?”

Kissing Brooke’s palm and then taking the offending hand in her own, Sam replied, “Not a chance.  It’s the cutest thing in the world.  O Brooke, Brooke!  Wherefore art thou Brooke?”

“Okay!  I am hereby declaring a return to quietly being!” Brooke loudly tried to override what Sam was saying.

“All right,” Sam said peaceably, but the dam had burst and a return to quietly being was not forthcoming.  Although they were both sleep deprived in the most pleasant of ways, they found themselves talking about anything and everything through the hours of the early morning.  They chattered and laughed and babbled away heedlessly, their words running over each other in their haste to tell each other everything.  Bursts of stories, life philosophies, gossip, dreams, ideas, jokes spilled giddily and ceaselessly from their lips.  Perhaps they were making up for all the time they had refrained from really talking to each other, or maybe they just had a lot to say on this particular morning, but it didn’t look like there would ever be a problem with things left unsaid ever again.