Mr. Brightside

Jack, October

I've looked everywhere for Bree with no luck. So, I'm standing outside the girls room waiting. I hear giggling, then the door opens and Cookie and Hillary walk out.

"Hey, Jack," Cookie says when she practically crashes into me. "What's up?"

"You seen my date anywhere?"

"Yeah," Hillary snaps. "She was with my date last time I saw her."

"Cash?"

She nods her head with her mouth in a grim line. "Yep. They were fighting."

"About what?"

"Who knows," she says, rolling her eyes. "They were over by the lockers when we went into the bathroom." She points to where this hallway dead-ends at the intersection of the crossing hall. It's dark, roped off so students don't wander around.

"Okay, thanks."

"If you find them, tell Cash I'm waiting to go. This dance is so lame."

"Will do."

When I get to the end of the hall, I look down the length of the crossing hall in each direction. No sign of them. I hop over the rope and jog to the cafeteria. Not there either. I see movement on the other side of the windows, so I head to the doors leading to the courtyard where Peyton always sits.

They're out there together in the shadows of the cement wall. I stand by the door, hidden in darkness, and watch them. The courtyard is half-lit by a few lampposts. He's looking at the ground, shaking his head while Bree vapes. She's saying something to him, but he just turns away. She pushes him hard in his shoulder, the one with the sling still on it.

"Fuck!" He yells, spinning around on one foot and lunging at her.

That's my cue. I wrench the door open, and I'm on him so fast he doesn't see me coming. My hand wraps around his neck and shoves him hard against the wall.

"Don't. Fucking. Touch. Her."

He clenches his jaw and narrows his eyes. I'm still holding him against the bricks, but there's not much he can do with a dislocated shoulder and a cast on his arm.

Then something malevolent creeps into his expression, a slow mocking smile that makes me want to put my fist through his pretty-boy face.

"Don't worry, Chap," he says in a sing-song voice. "I won't ever touch her again. She's all yours now."

I'm still holding him firmly in place when Bree gently rests her hand on my back. "Come on, Chap," she says softly. "Let's go."

I take a deep breath, reluctant to loosen my grasp.

"Chap, it's okay. Come on."

I give my head a shake and ease up on my grip. He's not even worth a punch. Not worth words. As we're walking away, he says, "Oh, and hey, Chaplin?"

I stop, but I don't turn to look at him.

He laughs, hollow and cold. "You'd better watch out for your other girlfriend too."

I look at him over my shoulder. What the hell is he talking about?

"Yeah, you know. That dyke whore you love so much. I hear she's been getting busy in the locker room after games."

Something sharp comes unhinged in my gut. I've never felt this way. No inhibition at all. I could tear his limbs off and stuff them all up his ass right now. My whole body is tense, the way it gets right before I lay into a QB when I sack him. It's a good thing Bree pulls me away, because that something inside me that snapped wants to pound him into a bloody pulp.

My head is spinning, and I feel like I might vomit as Bree leads me through the hallways, out the door, and to her Jeep. She digs around in her purse and pulls out her flask.

"Here," she says, shoving the whiskey at me. "This will make you feel better."

I unscrew the top and down all the contents in one long swig. She unlocks the doors and we climb inside.

I sit there, just breathing. A million little pictures flash through my mind—them outside arguing about something, Peyton in her dress, Peyton kissing that turd, Cash's face when I had him nailed to the wall, Peyton giving me that wry smile when we danced, the sadness in Bree's eyes when Cash turned away from her, that stupid asshole Logan kissing Peyton—and all of these pictures are questions, not answers.

"I think it's going to rain," Bree murmurs looking out at the night. I raise my eyes when the lightning flashes in the car. Then the thunder follows.

I like the way the rain makes me feel when it finally pours down. Like the sky had been holding its breath and suddenly exhales. It's like relief, or comfort. But the moments before the rain, when the wind gusts and lightning strikes, those are the best. It's a rush of energy, a building of tension that finally releases, and everything is good and right and calm. I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. "Got any more Fireball?"

A sly grin spreads across her face. "Chap, I think I'm a bad influence on you," she says, pulling what's left of a very sizable bottle out of the console.

"Nah." I unscrew the cap and tilt my head back.

"Chap!" She giggles. "You're going to make yourself sick. Easy, boy."

"Sorry, you want some?"

"No, I think I'm done. Nothing like a fight with an ex to sober a girl up."

"What was that about, anyway?"

She looks down at her lap, fidgeting with her corsage. Then she turns her head to look out the window.

"Did you ever meet somebody, you know, and think this is the person I'm meant to be with?"

The image of Peyton kissing Logan flashes into my mind again.

I shrug.

"Well, that's how I felt about Cash the first time I saw him. His family had just moved here. Sixth grade. And I was on the sidelines with the cheer squad. He took off his helmet and smiled at me. It was so pure. All it took was that one smile."

I nod and think about the first time I saw Peyton smile.

I take another few swigs of whiskey. Her face is still turned toward the window. I clear my throat.  "So what happened with you two? What went wrong?"

She turns back to me and studies my face. "You're so handsome, Chap."

I take another shot and shrug.

"You are! Rugged. Masculine. And the way you protected me back there. It was so..." she shakes her head and gazes up at me.

It's hard to mistake the look in her eyes.

"I think you're trying to change the subject," I say, and all of a sudden it seems so funny. I just start laughing like a moron.

She smiles sadly and shakes her head. "I'm not. It's just hard to explain. He changed. Or I changed. And I don't like the person he became. And I guess he didn't like the person I became either."

"That's not possible." A little voice in the back of my head tells me I just slurred, but I ignore it and keep drinking.

She's quiet for a minute. "He didn't like that I had a mind of my own. That I had a life of my own. He wanted me to be...like an accessory."

"Like a trophy?"

"Yeah. Perfect, golden, empty."

"Unchanging."

She nods. "Yeah. And I didn't like who I became when I was with him. I think the Cash I fell in love with is still somewhere inside, but that's the worst part of it all. He just won't come back out."

She looks so sad and raw that something makes me lean into her. Her gaze rests on my mouth for a few seconds before she looks back up at my eyes. Then she leans in too. Her kiss is soft, her hands trail up my neck, and she runs her fingers through my hair, drawing me closer.

I pull away when a sudden wave of nausea hits me. "Oh, God, Bree. Sorry, I'm not feeling so good right now."

"Are you gonna throw up?"

"No...maybe. Hang on." I open the Jeep door and step out into the wind. The rain's just started in spits, but it feels so good that I lift my face up to it. Then it comes harder, soaking my shirt and seeping down my back.

"Come back in, Chap!" She calls. "You're getting drenched!"

I open up my arms and raise them towards the sky. "It's great, Bree. I feel great."

"Jack! Come on. My leather is getting wet."

I crawl back in. "I feel better now," I say, turning to her. But now she has two heads instead of one, and she's kind of waving about in my vision. "I think I needa get home," I say, my head falling back on the seat. "You okaytadrive?"

She nods.

"Good, dat's good."

Somewhere between school and home, I fall asleep.