4 YEARS LATER
IT WAS THE START OF LIZ'S LAST SCHOOL YEAR AND BROOKE DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO FEEL. As a sophomore, she still had two years to go before she got to leave Midtown and while she appreciated her parents paying so much to let them go to that school, it was small enough that an ordinary public school could've given the both of them more options for classes.
But when you're Liz Allan, being attached to a school as prestigious as Midtown was merely icing on the cake; she did so much that she could get into any college she wanted.
Brooke, on the other hand, wasn't so sure she could say the same. As the younger sister to the poster child of good daughters, she had a lot to live up to and none of the tools to actually make it, nor the drive to want to. All she wanted was to get out of that school.
Unfortunately, Liz left first. Which meant Brooke would have to meet all of the requirements that Liz set for her after receiving her diploma.
"No, stop, we have to take a picture!" the girl's mother called out, stopping the girls before they walked out the door. Neither drove—Liz had a fear of driving as it was unpredictable and Brooke couldn't be bothered to get her permit—so they were being picked up by one of Liz's decathlon teammates.
"Mom," Liz sighed, rolling her eyes. She was dressed in a sweater and skirt, a staple for her, but both were new, courtesy of the shopping trip the three Allan women went on.
"Honey, it's the first day of your last year, we have to remember this," their mother pleaded, smiling.
Liz sighed good-naturedly and smiled for the camera. Brooke inched out of frame, frowning as her mother took multiple pictures. Noticing that her sister wasn't in the frame, Liz reached out and wiggled her fingers, biting her lip, not stopping until Brooke sighed and took her hand, coming to stand next to her.
The two girls smiled and looked like the most loving sisters in the world. It was often debated in Brooke's mind whether or not that was the case and she chose not to dwell on it so early in the morning.
"Let's go, Flash is waiting," Liz said, tugging her sister along, waving goodbye to their mother and shouting a goodbye to their father.
Brooke whined as she did the same, closing the door behind her. "Do we have to ride with him? He's so annoying."
"Hey, he's going through a lot," Liz said softly, waving at the boy who was checking his reflection in the mirror of his new car.
"Well, until you tell me what it is, I'm just gonna assume it's his daddy not buying him a nicer car," Brooke scoffed, rolling her eyes. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, waiting with Liz as they looked both ways before crossing the street.
"Brooke," Liz scolded, smiling at Flash Thompson. "Hey, thanks for doing this."
"No problem, Liz," Flash said, jumping up and opening the door for them, Brooke climbing into the back, "I've got practice anyways. Sup, Brooke."
"Hi," Brooke replied, settling on the nice seats of his car. At Liz's look, she rolled her eyes. "How're you?"
"Fine," Flash replied, clearly not wanting to engage in any more conversation with the younger Allan girl.
That was fine by Brooke and she happily put in her earbuds and closed her eyes as they made their way to school. That was more interaction than she was used to and the only reason she even spoke was because she promised her mother she would try and make friends this year.
Try, being the operative word.
Brooke didn't need to check the clock to know they would make it to school with more than enough time. With Liz being Student Council President, she was in charge of setting up the table where all students were to pick up their planners, schedules, and locker combinations. It made for a hectic morning and Brooke was glad she could get set up before the onslaught of people.
Brooke reached out and felt her bag periodically to assure herself that her sketchbook was safe inside and hadn't been forgotten or disappeared. She had gotten a brand new one just before school and had already filled it up halfway. It hadn't had enough pages to begin with, but her father bought it for her when he came back from one of his trips, so she couldn't turn it down. At least she didn't have to use her own money.
At least he actually remembered her while he was gone.
The thought made her sour even more than she already was and she settled even deeper and lower in her seat, glad that Flash had such a nice car.
During the dead air space of her music, Brooke heard Flash ask, "Liz, why don't you have a boyfriend? I mean, there's a whole line of people, you've gotta at least found someone over the summer."
Liz laughed, shaking her head. "I just...I don't want to be bogged down with a relationship. I mean, I have so much to focus on, so much work to do, and it's high school. A relationship would just get in the way, take up too much of my time and energy, and end in heartbreak when we move away."
Flash and Brooke blinked, the former laughing almost uncomfortably. "Uh...wow. That's...nice."
Liz laughed. "Yeah, well, I mean, it's not like I'm saying you shouldn't try or be afraid to try, finding someone you truly care about is nice. I just haven't and I don't actively want to."
At least there was one thing Brooke and her sister could never be compared on. Both being single, no one ever got the chance to say that Brooke was the undateable one. Sure, Liz was the prettier one, but neither were any more dateable than the other because neither went on dates.
Liz went on one date back in sophomore year and she left it to come home early and watch Netflix with Brooke and complain about how dates were overrated.
It was one of the fonder memories Brooke latched onto because she hadn't been compared to Liz once that night. At least, she hadn't when Liz came home early. All comments about Brooke going out with actual friends like her sister died immediately when the older girl returned home, announcing that she didn't like it one bit.
Their father was ecstatic when he heard it over the phone, then again when he returned home a few days later to hear the whole story. He wasn't home often and missed a lot of the things that happened, for both Liz and Brooke. Their mother missed most things that happened to Brooke, but that a different matter entirely.
When they finally reached the school, Flash had first choice at a parking spot and took the best one, whooping as he jumped out.
Brooke and Liz followed closely behind, Brooke hanging back, letting the two walk ahead of her. Neither turned back to make sure she was still there, both engrossed in their conversation.
She sighed as she followed them to the gym, looking at the pictures on the halls, all of science fairs or students winning awards or famous scientists and scholars. She didn't belong here. She didn't belong at a place tailor made for the great minds and the scientifically gifted; she wasn't Liz.
She hung back as the other members of Student Council greeted her sister, hugging and shouting, asking about summer and how she felt to be back. Brooke wondered if they had all coordinated their outfits beforehand as they were all matching without being too flashy. She wished she had someone she could do that with.
"Brooke, come here," Liz called, waving for her sister to approach the large white tables, searching in the sophomore section for her name. She plucked the planner from the pile and handed it to her.
"Thanks," she said softly, taking the planner from her sister and making her way back out, stopping just before she climbed the stairs to the sophomore hallway.
To her right were the stairs to the sophomore hallway which would soon be crowded with people all rushing to get situated before the first day truly began. On her left were the stairs leading down to the art room, a large spacious room connected to the locker rooms. Arts weren't well funded in any school and this school was no different, but it was funded and Brooke would take all she could get.
She wasn't too fond of the teacher, though, the man being very strict for someone who was supposed to be supporting creativity, so she decided not to see him too early in the morning and climbed the stairs to the sophomore hallway, glad to know she would have a good chunk of time to herself.
It wasn't that she didn't want to spend time with anyone, but rather that no one wanted to spend time with her. She would rather spend time with someone who genuinely cared than someone who just wanted to leave. She couldn't handle that.
She sat down crossed legged and pulled out her sketchbook. It had a nice, plain brown cover that reminded her of a paper bag and she took a moment to run her hand over it a few times. When she finished, she opened it to where she had previously been working and pulled out her second pencil case.
She usually didn't sketch in certain sketchbooks, preferring to go with the flow, finishing whatever she started. She didn't do anything the art teacher suggested, which angered the man to no end at her lack of imitative to formally learn.
She didn't make art to make it. She didn't try to make it pleasing or placing certain colors and shapes one way, using the canvas like a snapshot photograph, that wasn't why she made art.
She made it because it was all she had. It was one thing she was good at, but it wasn't a talent she showcased, not in the way a person expects to. She made art for show, of course, but it was different than the art she made for herself.
The art she made for show followed the rules, to some extent. She kept herself more distant, relying on what she knew people liked to see. She was successful, but there wasn't enough of her to say it was her type of art.
What she drawing on the page, however, this was her. She had started it that night, when she was having trouble falling asleep.
It was of Liz. She had drawn her sister enough to almost not need reference to draw her correctly; not that there wasn't plenty of pictures of her older sister on her mother's Facebook, the school website, and various people's social media to use to make sure she didn't draw her eyebrows too thick or too thin.
She had drawn Liz with a graduation cap, except the cap wasn't truly a cap. It was opened, revealing a brain. But the brain wasn't the pink, fleshy substance that was usual, but a golden with silver veins. At least, she had colored them silver. A closer look and the veins were actually words. Words that Brooke had been on the receiving end of multiple times, words that Liz never heard, but didn't need to hear to believe herself. Words of how great Liz was and how Brooke had to try to be more like her.
It was a complimentary to one she had done of her family. It wasn't the same graduation cap piece, but it was a family portrait, except the background had been a bleeding forest, the blood gushing gold, the frame being full of compliments about the family, all excluding Brooke, all she had actually heard. Their clothes were pristine and their smiles wide, the frame silver, but the bleeding forest had been a harsh mix of colors for the trees, brown and greens slashed together to make torn branches, pumping red veins for the branches, blue hearts as the fruit hanging or fallen on the ground. It had been one of the darker ones she had drawn and she had hidden it away from view of her family as it would raise many questions, especially as to why she hadn't included herself with them.
She had, of course. She was the forest.
Instead of a diploma, her sister was brandishing a bar. Instead of the proverbial bar she had set, it was a physical bar. Brooke found the pun interesting and wished she had someone to share it with. She had one person she could show it to, but the thought of showing her made her stomach turn.
Summer without her had been freeing and Brooke wasn't so sure she was ready to go back.
"Excuse me."
She glanced up to find someone standing in front of her, his sneakers tapping hurriedly against the floor, not in impatience but more of a tic than anything.
She slid to the side wordlessly, continuing to sketch. The boy was struggling with his combination, sighing softly to himself.
"Bro! How was your summer?"
The two both turned to find a boy racing down the hall as fast as he could, grinning.
"Hey! It was great, the Stark Internship is so awesome," the other boy said, falling into an elaborate handshake with the other boy who immediately demanded details.
Brooke raised an eyebrow, turning back to her sketchbook. She wished she had a handshake with someone. She and Liz used to have one before the girl decided that handshakes were only fun with people who weren't family. Brooke's mother was too tired to learn a handshake and her father tried, but was gone too often to remember.
Stark Internship. That was interesting. She wondered if Liz had applied for it; she probably hadn't if she didn't get in.
While more people flooded in, Brooke pressed herself up against the wall, deciding to wait until she was alone to finish the rest of the picture.
So she turned the page and worked on something else. The Stark Internship. Working for Tony Stark, most likely. Her father had very strong opinions about that man, some her mother and sister disagreed with, herself slightly included. She honestly didn't care what he did, trying not to pay too much attention.
He was a rich man, so most likely he needed someone to do menial things like get him coffee or run errands. But he was also a superhero, so he maybe would need someone to polish his suit.
She didn't usually do still life's, but she liked the idea of having a cup of Starbucks coffee next to the Iron Man helmet and decided to roll with it. She made the helmet melt slightly and colored it brown, like the coffee. The coffee cup was metallic red, the drops that hit the table being gold.
It wasn't her art, but it was pretty. She could safely show people this, though they would ask her for a meaning.
That was a problem she had when showcasing her art. The meaning. When she made art specifically for showcase, she had no meaning. No one ever believed her, but it was true. She didn't make it for herself, but for other people. So they would notice her for even a little bit, acknowledge her talents without simultaneously worrying about whether she was okay or not.
As she finished up the picture—she had had a good two hours to make it—the bell rang. By then the hallway was filled to the brim and she had to commend those two boys who had obviously come early to beat the crowd. She had to wade through the sea to make it to first period.
Tucking away her sketchbook and stepping into her first period class, Brooke Allan was blissfully unaware of the fact that today was also her last first day.
Her last first day at Midtown High.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
( 10.02.17 )
My descriptions for the art are going to be a little outlandish, much like how Adam Silvera does it in his books (read them they're painful and great) they're very out there, but very imaginative. Mine will be more grounded, but I like the slight morbid whimsicalness of it.
That's all I have to say so thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!