Girlhood, lipgloss and stupid boys.

Chapter eleven

Eventually me and Noah go into the garden. It doesn't feel sad. Everyone there is (while grieving) still happy. It was the same at her funeral. It was what she wanted. Celebrate someone great and everyone knows she'd never turn down a party. Imogen comes with Rosie's family which means everyone's there. Luckily, Mrs. Hartford isn't a fan of the Giles family. We take some good photos and we're even successful in cheering Noah up. There's a big speech, everyone cries but it isn't sad like my usual cries. This isn't hopeless. I don't think anything truly is.

I let Imogen borrow my lipgloss and tell her she looks pretty. I do think she looks pretty. Prettier than I ever could. I wish I could kick that jealousy but I'd have to like myself first. Imogen is kind and makes good decisions. I can't even do that. I feel good at certain moments then that insecurity comes back and I'm hyper aware of everything I'm doing. There's even cake. I LOVE cake. It's chocolate. Mine and Mrs. Hartfords favourite. But I don't dare even approach the table. This dress is bad enough. I go away from the crowd and go into the treehouse. No one uses it but I remember it. It's nice. We're all grown up and at least (through all the complications) we're still friends. (Not that I had a choice with my brother being around)

I hear someone climb into the treehouse. It's Noah. "Hey." I say. "Hey, bumblebee. Cake?" He offers me a plate. I know I should say yes. I'm gonna say yes. "No thanks." I don't say yes. Most of this is probably rooted in my whole relationship with Peter. He makes me say no to food all the time so why not when he's not around? Noah drops the plate in between the two of us. "Why did you say what you said yesterday..?" He asks. Oh..not that again. It's only fair he has some follow ups. "Being around you was causing some issues with Peter. So I was just trying to distance myself.." I answer. I'm not lying. Well, I'm not exactly telling the truth either. "And that was your choice? Or his?" He asks, knowingly, "um what difference does it make..?" I ask, in response. "I don't get you Brooke." He sighs. "I don't get me either."

We sit and talk in the treehouse for a bit. It's fun. It's light. My phone buzzes up. All those feelings fade when I read the message.
Peter: Where are you, baby?
Brooke: busy.
Peter: With who? Where are you?
I don't answer him. I'm tired of his bullshit to be honest. "You just gonna ignore him?" Noah asks, "Yep. I can't be bothered with all that right now." I say. I'm surprised by my own decisions. I REALLY don't get me. I pick up a fork and have a bit of the cake. Noah smiles. He has a pretty smile.

(Authors note: I just wanted this one to be simple and fun. Last one was a bit much and I want some good vibes.)