Character Analysis:
Alexander Brougham
Thinks he wants a relationship, but is actually terrified of opening up, because he has godawful parents.
Scratch that, that’s an awful thing to say. His relationship with his parents is strained, and this affected his views on the stability of relationships. Says he adored Winona, but went silent on her for a month despite describing the relationship as good.
Is a commitment-phobe!
Therapy needed?
Pretty eyes, I guess. We can work with that.
A knock on the door an hour after Brougham left made me swing around to see Mom, still in her clothes from school. Her sunflower dress had splatters of blue goop on it—presumably from one of the day’s experiments—and her hair was frizzy and coming out of its bun, but overall, she still looked awesome.
Mom had always shunned the clothes available in the plus-size section of most stores. Her philosophy was just because a woman was fat, it didn’t mean she had to dress in clothes designed to make her blend into the background. If society wanted her to take up less space, Mom made a habit of taking up extra to spite it. So she got most of her clothes online, in a style best described as loud. Everything she owned came in vibrant prints and popping colors, from A-line dresses covered in cupcakes to peplum tops in a red and orange zigzag pattern to knee-high boots in raspberry pink.
“Still working, huh?” she asked. Because she had no idea about my whole locker venture, she figured whenever I was hunched over a notebook or papers or a Word document, I was studiously making my way through the week’s assignments. I was more than happy to encourage this misconception.
“Yup,” I said. “I had a friend over after school so I’ll be going for a while yet.”
“A ‘friend’?”
I saw her point. The only “friend” I usually brought over was Brooke, and I’d never referred to her so distantly in my life. Brooke was Brooke. Brougham was a friend. And that was being extremely generous. “Yeah. Alexander Brougham?”
Mom blinked in surprise. “He’s in my class.”
“My condolences.”
She folded her arms. Oh god, here it came. “And is he perhaps someone you hope to be more than friends with?”
“I’d pay good money to avoid Alexander Brougham ever seeing me like that.”
Mom laughed. “Strong feelings.”
“To put it lightly.”
“Well, we’ll see how that goes,” she said. She had that annoying tone, though. The all-knowing, wise bringer-of-enlightenment tone adults got when they thought they knew you so much better than you did.
I was about to retort, when my phone buzzed against the wood of my desk. I glanced at it, assuming it was Brougham updating me on the Winona situation, but it was Brooke. I snatched my phone up and opened the message.
Soooooo I have a lot to tell you.
Long story short, Ray came around
to help me write my essay. A Lot
Happened. When can I call?
“Oh my god,” I murmured. I half-expected Mom to ask what was wrong, but a brief glance up told me she’d already left. I reread it silently once, twice, three times. Each read-through, my stomach sank lower and lower, and my heart started a funeral march thud.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
I tried desperately to think of another explanation for “A Lot.” A Lot Happened, we got the whole essay done? A Lot Happened, Mom got into a fight with Ray over her bad attitude and stupid face? A Lot Happened, we got to talking about our family trees and realized we’re cousins?
I told myself any of the above could be true. But I didn’t really believe it. Because something that should’ve occurred to me much earlier had finally become obvious.
Ray.
Ray of Sunshine.
Ray of Godforsaken Sunshine had found an excuse to talk to “her,” the her in question being Brooke, my Brooke. To hang with her. Realistically, there was only one thing A Lot was likely to be. Ray of Sunshine had made her move, like I’d instructed her.
And I rarely had to give people their money back.
With trembling hands, I started to bring up Brooke’s number, then I paused to breathe. I didn’t know if I was ready to hear what she had to tell me.
Seven months or so ago, at the end of sophomore year, Brooke had written in to the locker gushing about a girl she’d kissed. She wrote that it happened suddenly, while the two of them were setting up for an after-school event, and they hadn’t had the chance to debrief because others came into the room. And then in Brooke’s familiar, bouncy, cotton-candy handwriting, came the words “I think I really like her. What do I do next?”
I remembered the feeling that’d come over me all too well. Like someone had just run a bulldozer into a room filled with puppies and kittens right in front of me. Shock, and panic, and a rising nausea that threatened to force itself right out of my throat. And my heart tried to escape through my chest, screaming bloody murder. Because right around the time all this happened, I’d started wondering if maybe there was something going on with Brooke and me. There’d been a lot of meaningful glances, and loaded pauses, and casual finger brushing while we walked. And eye contact that went on, in my opinion, for way too long.
But I was sure as hell I hadn’t kissed Brooke without realizing it. So who the hell had?
I’d given Brooke a call, as casual as I could. Led the conversation toward the Q&Q Club fundraiser we’d put together earlier that week. The one Brooke had gone in with Jaz to prepare for. And she confirmed everything I already knew was true. Yes, she’d had a crush on Jaz for a while. Yes, they’d kissed. Yes, Brooke wanted it to go somewhere.
No, no, no. But then, why the lingering looks with me? The flirting with me? Had I misread the situation? Or could she like both of us, but Jaz was the one who’d made the first move? And then, filled with grief and jealousy and fear and panic, I did a thing I wasn’t proud of. I sent Brooke a response from the locker.
Dear BAMN765,
The best thing to do in this situation is act like it didn’t happen. Don’t bring it up, don’t flirt, and especially don’t let yourself get in a one-on-one position with this girl for a while. I know it sounds counterintuitive, but if you end up one-on-one, things can get awkward, and nervousness makes us act flustered and weird. She might pick up on your vibes and feel like there’s an expectation—or, worse, desperation—there that would be majorly off-putting. Nothing kills a budding relationship faster than someone feeling pressured to keep things going too fast.
Don’t worry about putting her off: if she likes you, she’ll find a way to contact you and let you know her feelings. Just make sure she’s the one doing the pursuing. Be cool, be casual, act platonic.
Brooke didn’t bring up the letter to me. She didn’t bring up Jaz again, either. I didn’t hear another word of it until a week later, when another letter ended up in the locker.
Dear Locker 89,
I’m a lesbian, and last week I kissed a girl I know and I thought she was into it. I happen to know she’s a lesbian as well so this isn’t a “was she just confused” letter. Since we kissed, though, she’s been avoiding me, and acting like it didn’t happen. She’s being friendly but only when we’re in groups, she hasn’t been close with me, hasn’t texted me, hasn’t mentioned the kiss. I’m like did I fucking imagine this? Should I assume it wasn’t as good for her as it was for me, or should I try and reach out to her? I would’ve already but I lost confidence when she started acting all distant.
And, god help me, I replied.
Dear hellsbells05,
I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it does sound like she probably wasn’t into it. It’s unusual behavior to act as though a kiss didn’t happen—especially if you’ve seen her around since—and if your gut tells you she’s avoiding being alone with you, you’re probably reading the situation right. In this case, my advice would be to move on unless she changes her behavior miraculously. You’ll have many first kisses in your life, and I promise most of them will turn out better than this one. You deserve someone who’s psyched to kiss you, and who can’t get enough of you, and who will call you immediately after to set up a time to hang out. Don’t lose your dignity by chasing after someone who’s made it clear they’re not psyched. You’re too good for that.
I’m sorry I don’t have better news.
And that had been that. Brooke made it clear she didn’t want me to bring up her kiss with Jaz when I tried to check in on her, so I kept quiet on the topic. And over the summer, Jaz met a girl at church, and they started dating seriously.
And it was only following this that Brooke and Jaz began to feel comfortable enough around each other again to debrief on the whole kissing situation. And that’s when they found out.
“It was almost like the locker sabotaged us,” Brooke had raged the next time we caught up. “I understand whoever answers the letters gets a lot of questions every week, but would you really not catch on that Jaz and I were talking about each other?”
“I don’t know,” I’d said, swallowing. “Maybe they were distracted.”
“Maybe,” Brooke had said, but she’d glowered.
The rest of the week I had guilt nightmares every night, from Brooke finding out I was behind the locker and never speaking to me again, to Jaz sobbing to me in the girl’s bathroom that she’d lost the love of her life.
As awful as this was, as much as I hated what I knew I was about to hear, I had to make up for what I’d done last year. This time, I was going to be supportive. I was going to be happy for Brooke. I was going to have her back in this. Even if it made my insides rot. I just had to make it through this phone call, then I could cry as much as I needed to.
As soon as she picked up the phone, Brooke started babbling. “Okay, so, Ray came over and we were working on the essay and it was all casual and fine and then Mom and Dad invited her to stay for dinner, so she did, and they got along super well and she was being really nice and she’s actually really funny which I was not expecting, then we hung out for a while after and we were looking at something on my phone and she, holy shit, Darcy, she asked me out.”
I’d braced, I’d braced, I’d braced, but I still stumbled. Gut shot. She mistook my gasp for a gasp of joy. “I know,” she said. “And I said yes! We got along weirdly well outside of school, and it was really sweet and generous of her to help me with my essay, don’t you think? And then she said she’s been into me for ages now, and she always catches herself staring at me in Q and Q Club and council meetings, and have you noticed her staring at me? Because I never did, and now I’m wondering if I’m just oblivious, or what.”
Talk. Speak. “Um, I’m not sure.” Speak happier than that. “But wow, that’s incredible!”
“You think so? I think it might be! I didn’t see this coming, I mean, Ray. I thought she hated me. Darcy, hanging out with her was nice, can you imagine?”
Oh, I could imagine. I didn’t want to, but I could, and, oh god, now it was burned into my brain and I couldn’t stop thinking about them laughing and touching fingertips and sitting in each other’s personal space. How could this happen? With Raina? Of all the people I could’ve seen as a threat … “Are you, like, together now?”
“Don’t jinx it. I don’t know what’s going to happen now, I just needed to tell you.”
Okay. Well, they weren’t together.
But who knew how long it would stay that way for?
So I swallowed the sob that lurked somewhere in my throat, took a deep breath, and forced a smile. “Where are you guys going?”
All I knew was if they fizzled out, it wasn’t going to be because of me.
Not this time.
Brooke was a veritable bundle of excitement and sparkles the next day. She laughed—too loudly—at everything, floated around the halls, and grinned at everyone who walked past.
My own feet had never felt quite so heavy.
“She was really nice to my mom, and Mom loves that she does so many extracurricular things,” Brooke had gushed to me in homeroom.
“Did you know how smart Ray is? I mean, obviously she’s smart, but her grasp on language is just mind-blowing,” Brooke had whispered while I tried to take notes in math.
“I thought we were going to kiss when she said good-bye, but then we chickened out,” Brooke had recounted for the fourth time as we walked to history.
Every time I’d put on a tight smile, and “hmm”ed and “wow”ed when appropriate, all while hoping my agony wasn’t written on my face. It was getting to be such torture to be around her, and to know her lit-up face, and giggles, and swinging feet were caused by Ray, and not me, I was grateful to get a text from Brougham to meet me in the halls halfway through history class. I’d rather be around his drizzle and storm clouds than Brooke’s rainbow right now.
I got a pass for the bathroom and headed in the direction of the science labs, where I found Brougham hovering, keeping an eye out for teachers or other potential eavesdroppers. He’d paired his blazer with tan, skinny chinos and a dark maroon tie. Though his outfit was coordinated and neat, his posture was stiff and he was bouncing on his heels, frazzled.
“Hey, walk with me,” he said as soon as I got close enough, heading down the hall.
“Yes, sir.”
He ignored my tone. “I did what you said, and she was the one who brought up taking a day trip there as friends, so right now I’m convinced you’re either a witch or a genius.”
“And I’ll never let you know which one it is. That’s great, when are you going?”
“Saturday.”
“Did you wanna catch up beforehand so we can make a plan?”
“Definitely. Also, I really need you with me on the day.”
I stopped in my tracks. “At Disneyland?” He wanted me to drive an hour each way to Anaheim for him, just casually?
“I can’t do it without you, I’m pretty much stuffed if things start going wrong, and if you can’t see her body language how are you supposed to know what happened and help me fix it?”
“She’d notice me.”
“I trust you. You’re not an idiot.”
“Glad to know you trust my stalking skills, I guess?”
“Bring Ainsley with you if you want. I’ll give you gas money, I’ll get your tickets, pay for your food, whatever you need. I just … I need you. I can’t do this alone.”
We were walking again now. Conveniently, we were at least heading in the direction of the girls’ bathroom, where I was supposed to be. I thought about his proposal for a moment, then shook my head. “No. Definitely not. Sorry.”
Brougham slowed his pace, crestfallen. “Is there anything I can do that’d make you change your mind?”
“No.”
He took a deep breath, then set his jaw and nodded. “Okay. Fair enough.”
I waited, but he didn’t follow up with sly blackmail references or a reminder of the bonus waiting for me. Nothing. “That’s it?”
“Um, I guess?”
Okay, well, that was a bit better. “You’d pay for all our food and drinks?”
“Yeah, within reason.”
I didn’t press the issue. Brougham hadn’t historically shown himself to be particularly bothered about the cost of things, so I had a feeling his “within reason” was more generous than my “within reason.”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“I’ll do it.”
Brougham rested a fist on the back of his neck and tipped his head back. “Fuck, you’re confusing.”
“I just wanted to know you were asking me to help out and not telling me I had to.”
He rolled his eyes. “Obviously you don’t have to.”
“Then, once again, might I remind you favors are usually accompanied by a ‘would you please?’”
He barreled past the lecture. “So, Saturday’s okay? Any particular time?”
I sighed, resigned. “I’m free all day.”
“Okay. Good. You can go back to class now.”
“Thank you, sir.” I curtseyed.
“What’d I say this time?” he asked indignantly.
There was simply no point with him. “Message me,” I said with a grudging smile, before heading into the bathroom.
I checked myself in the mirror, fluffed then redid my messy bun, and rubbed some smudging eyeliner from under my eye. Then, given the stalls were empty, I called Ainsley, leaning against the sink. If I was going to stalk Brougham and his girlfriend for the day, I at least wanted some company. And Ainsley could almost certainly be persuaded by the offer of free food.