Bowie wanted to shake Austin. More so, he wanted Austin to wake up and realize what he was doing to Brooklyn. Brooklyn was, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl in school. Strike that—she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he felt the only reason she was with Austin was because he happened to see her first. If the roles were reversed, Bowie wouldn’t drag her to any parties. He’d take her out to a nice restaurant for dinner or on one of the boat cruises. They’d go whale watching or drive along the coast. He’d take her out on his boat and hold her while the sun set over the Pacific. He’d cherish her. But instead, he was forced to watch from afar. He watched as his best friend treated the woman of Bowie’s dreams like a toy. It wasn’t that Bowie wanted Austin to share. No, he wanted Brooklyn for himself.
He found her sitting on the back stoop, looking out over the fenced yard where couples lay together, making out under the stars. It wasn’t the best place, but when you were a teenager, you took what you could get. Bowie handed her a beer, popping the top for her so she knew it was fresh. He loved that she held tight to her “I’ll get my own drinks” rule, out of fear someone might slip her a mickey or something. Bowie would kill them if that ever happened.
“Do you want to go sit on the swing?” He nodded toward the large oak tree where a bench swing hung. If anything, sitting there would give them a bit of privacy, and she wouldn’t have to listen to anyone from inside the house going gaga over Austin. Brooklyn led the way, and Bowie waited until she sat before he took the spot next to her. The swing was old and worn out, but the chains were brand new. His father was a general contractor, and Bowie often accompanied him to jobs. The expectation was that Bowie would follow in his father’s footsteps, take over the family business, but Bowie wasn’t sure he wanted to. Bowie had ideas of grandeur. He wanted to go to school to be an architect. He wanted to build skyscrapers in cities like Los Angeles, New York, and Chicago. He wanted an apartment overlooking a metropolis and a home along the beach—neither of which he’d be able to afford working at his father’s company. Mostly, he thought about following Brooklyn to college. He knew it was stupid to think about his best friend’s girl like that, but he couldn’t help it.
Bowie’s foot pushed the swing back and forth, keeping them at a slow pace. Brooklyn held her can of beer in her hands, never taking a sip. She wasn’t much of a drinker, at least not at these parties. When it was just their group of friends, she’d let loose and drink. He hated it, though, because when she did, she and Austin were like these other couples, making out in front of everyone without a care in the world. As much as he hated to admit it, he liked these parties because they gave him private time with Brooklyn. Eventually, he hoped he would get over this crush. She was new in town, a rarity, and in time he expected his feelings to subside.
“Do you have plans for Christmas?” he asked her. She had only been in town for a few months. He knew she missed Seattle. She talked about it a lot. Her friends, the school she went to, and how their homecoming dance was at the convention center in one of the conference rooms, and how she had the ability to go to the mall without having to plan a day trip.
“My dad gave the staff the day before and day after off, so I’ll probably have to work.”
“Does he let you give shots or do stitches?”
Brooklyn laughed. He loved the way she sounded. He also loved her smile. It could change his outlook on a crappy day, anytime. “I’ve given a couple of flu shots, but I’m really nervous that I’m going to hurt someone. I’ll learn a better technique once I’m in nursing school.”
“You can always practice on me,” he told her as he bumped his shoulder with hers.
“Thanks. I might take you up on that. What about your plans?”
Bowie shook his head. “My entire family lives within twenty miles of here. We all meet at my grandparents’. The women cook, the men do macho things like repair parts of the house that don’t need it, and the grandkids play video games, get in the way, and play football outside, ruining our church clothes.”
“Sounds like a lot of fun, actually.”
“You should come. One more mouth to feed won’t make a difference.”