Chapter 10

Pearson has started talking to me again. At first, progress was slow- a few words here and there, a nod in the hallways- and then it started picking up speed. He would drop a witty sentence, start a conversation, and suddenly- bam- the old Pearson was back.

            Brighton has noticed it too. We’re dating now, and I’m still not sure whether or not I like it. But Brighton is a good friend, and I like spending time with him. Though he can’t say the same thing about Pearson and I.

            “You and Pearson seem to be friends again,” he tells me on Wednesday night. I have my French workbook, which is more of an encyclopedia than a workbook, propped open on my lap. Valley Academy’s tests are hard, and I have to cram in study sessions weeks before the actual assessment. In my elementary school, I could go over cue cards at breakfast the morning of the test and still score nineties.

            “Yes,” I tell Brighton, barely glancing up. J’ai, ils ont, elles ont. Conjugations are always the hardest part, and it doesn’t help that all my classmates have been learning French since they learned how to walk. “We are.”

            “Well…” Brighton has a worried expression on his face. It’s an expression I recognize well, because he gets it whenever we visit Madeleine. His eyebrows knit together and his mouth turns serious, making him look like an angry five year old. Is it bad to think of your boyfriend that way? I can practically imagine him throwing toy cars with fury.

            “What?” Now that my concentration is completely broken, I push away my French workbook and look at Brighton. “What is it?”

            Brighton sighs and tugs at his collar. He always looks crisp and clean, with his sweater vest neatly in line with his dress shirt. It’s the exact opposite of Pearson, who always has something sloppy on his outfit; untied shoes, loosened tie, blazer with the frayed sleeve ends. “You’re just friends, right?” he asks me. “I mean, you still like me. Right?”
            Now it’s my turn to sigh, because honestly. He sounds like a lovesick fifth grader. I stand up from the couch and slip my workbook into my knapsack, slinging it over my shoulder and slowly backing away from Brighton. “Yes, Brighton. I still like you. I can be friends with Pearson too.”

            “I know,” Brighton says quickly. “Hey, where are you going?”

            “To my room.”

            “Well…wait.” Brighton bounds towards me, covering the distance between us in two strides. I’m always surprised by how long his legs are. They’re almost as tall as I am. He leans towards me and wraps me in a hug, and I breathe in his scent: peach laundry detergent.

            Pearson always smells like snow.

            Violet is studying when I come into the bedroom. She’s always studying; that’s one of the reasons she has a ninety-five percent average. But today she’s in full concentration mode: hair pulled back in a tight bun, pajamas on, a mug of tea on her desk coaster. She doesn’t look up when I enter the room, so I know it’s serious. Violet is always on the lookout for intruders.

            I take a seat on my bed and scream. Because someone is already lying there.

            “PEARSON!” I stand up and grab my bottom in pain- I landed right on his bony kneecaps- and he and Violet burst into laughter. Pearson sits up and peels my covers off, jumping out of bed and grinning at me.

            “Scared you, didn’t I?” He gives Violet a high-five, and I’m struck with an unfamiliar pang of jealousy. “I knew it. I knew you’d be the jumpy type.”

            “Jumpy type?” I glare at him. “Of course I’m going to jump when you hide in my bed like that!”

            Pearson just smiles. He’s wearing a grey and navy striped rugby shirt, and he looks even better than usual. “Technically I’m breaking school rules,” he tells me, tapping his foot impatiently on the carpet. I know he’s not really impatient- it just comes off that way, because of his nervous energy. “But I thought, what the hell. Be brave. Be adventurous.”

            “You always are,” I remind him.

            Violet swivels around in her desk chair, taking a temporary study break. “You know, you should probably go. Before a teacher comes, and Holly and I get punished for your adventurousness.”

            “Right. Oh, Violet, Hudson wanted me to tell you that you’re still on for that romantic walk on Saturday, and the need to kiss you roars like a tiger in his loins.”

            Violet throws a pad of Post-It notes at him, and one sticks to the front of his shirt. “You are so immature, Pearson.”

            Pearson opens the door laughing, but his smile disappears when he sees who’s already there. Because standing in the doorway is Brighton.

            “Pearson?” Brighton’s eyes widen. “Why are you here?”

            “Brighton?” Pearson starts to hyperventilate. “Why are you here?”

            He slams the door in Brighton’s face.

            “Oh, my God,” I hide my head in my hands. How did this happen? It’s like a nightmare coming true; Brighton finding Pearson in my bedroom is definitely not a good omen. “Pearson. Open the door. You’re just making it worse.”

            Pearson, for his part, has collapsed to the floor dramatically. He raises his curly head from the ground and gives me a look of dread. “I’m sorry, Holly,” he tells me miserably. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

            “I know. Open the door.”

            He does, and Brighton is standing in the exact same spot as before. “I have Holly’s sweater,” he says. His voice comes out like a croak. “She left it in the common room.”

            I stand up from my bed and face him, with an expression that I hope shows how trustworthy I am. “Brighton,” I tell him. It looks like he’s about to cry. “It’s not what it looks like.”
            “What is it, then?” A tear rolls down his cheek, and I feel like the world’s biggest jerk. Please, please stop crying. Please, please stop crying.

            Violet gets up from her desk chair and moves in front of me. “He needed help with his chemistry homework. I was tutoring him when Holly came by, about five minutes ago.”

            Brighton can smell the lie. His tears are coming faster, flying down his face like a rainstorm. He throws my sweater into the bedroom and dashes down the hallway, feet pounding against the carpet. “I thought you liked me,” he shouts, before all of his sounds disappear completely.

Author's Note

Hope you like it!

Reviews

[BillyGirl]

Great writing! I'm warming up to Brighton more in this. Really feel for him here :'( On to read the next chapter!

[T. Logan]

I'm just happy you posted three chapters. Yay! This is good, it really adds questions for the reader. I must go on.