Thread: You Again? (rpfiend_123 & AnnaBeth Belle)

As Brooke had expected the sun fever hit her hard and quick and she really wasn't aware of anything except the sudden wonderfully cool washcloth on her forehead. Floating in the foggy, hot not quite slumber of her fever, Brooke didn't know what Mike had done for her or even where she was. As a drop of water oozed out of the cloth and slid from her brow down towards her eyelid, it roused her just enough. ..nks, Daddy, she murmured, almost inaudible, just before Mike left the room, obviously confusing him with her father. Only, she called him Dad, didn't she? Brooke whimpered and her head turned to the side, red hair falling across the pillow in a spray of smooth strands. Awful, Brooke said and reached out for where she felt Samantha's hand on her hair. The two girls laced fingers and squeezed gently, then Samantha pulled hers loose. Samantha never been super touchy in a comforting way to anyone, family or friends, and it was a show of concern that she'd even briefly held her friend's hand. In concession the bed dimpled as Samantha sat on the edge of it near Brooke. Jesus, you look like cinnamon gum. Why'd you let yourself get burned so bad? I just forgot, Brooke said, an embarrassed tone in her voice. I wasn't planning on being outside long, and I was standing under the tree. So how'd you get burned, lobster girl? It's your dad's fault, Brooke said and scooted back on the bed, wincing slightly, so she could sit up against the headboard. The once cold rag was now hot and cloying so she sat it aside, noticing the heavily beaded glass of what had been ice water on the table. How long had she been asleep? Brooke still felt logy but the water, not quite tepid, tasted amazing. Dad made you get sunburned, Samantha said flatly. Right. My Dad who double checks seat belts before we leave the driveway made you get sunburned. Hush, Brooke said then laughed a little bit. It was true. Mr. Stevenson was very protective of his daughter and her friends. No, I was just watching him work and then came over to ask what all the stuff was he pulled out of the shed and lost track of time and poof, pink. That's dumb. Why'd you spend time watching him work when you could have been inside watching TV or Skyping that boy you met at your cousin Eddie's barred hisbah. Bar mitzva, Brooke corrected then caught Sam's grin. Bitch. And I don't Skype him, he Skypes me and I'm too nice to end it. Besides, it was, I don't know, kind of neat watching your dad work. We hire everything out because Dad's a klutz and he's always reading briefs or writing opinions. Brooke's father was an appelate court judge and not at all the outdoors type. Sanford Srednicki was short, balding and always joking he'd just buy a bigger yarmulke to cover it. Nothing like the tall, thick haired and strong bodied Mr. Stevenson. Like, did you know he knows the names of all those tools and how to use them? Big deal, Samantha said. That's just, like, dad stuff. Booooring. She stood up and went to her desk to get her iPad. Hey, this is yours, Samantha said, holding up Brooke's bra. Give me that, Brooke said quickly, and only the sunburned skin of her face kept her friend from seeing she was emberassed. But why? It was just a bra. Just a bra that Mr. Stevenson had seen, had seen her in... Fine, geez. It's not like I could wear it anyway, Samantha said and tossed it onto the bed. It was true. Samantha was way more developed than Brooke, easily a C cup where Brooke was barely an A. It landed in Brooke's lap and she picked it up. Had Mr. Stevenson liked it, she suddenly wondered and then felt dizzy. Probably the sun, she thought and laid back more on the pillows. Please tell your Dad I'm okay but I'm not hungry. I'll skip dinner. I just want to sleep. Okay. Look, I'm sorry you got sunburned. Want me to bring you anything? No, thank you. I am just going to nap a little bit more, Brooke said and closed her eyes. The straps of her bra were still in her hand and her fingers twitched on them as she fell asleep, thinking about it and Mr. Stevenson. The house was dark and it was at least an hour earlier than Brooke normally woke up. Outside she heard the faint, faraway horn of a freight train miles outside of town, the sound carried by a freak of fog and the absence of other noise. Everyone was asleep but the enforced nap of the prior day threw off her schedule. She went into the kitchen, still in her sleep shirt, and opened the refrigerator. Bending over, the sleep shirt pulled up across her butt, just showing the bottom of her panties, still the same ones that matched the bra Mr. Stevenson had seen. Light outlined her from inside the fridget and she looked in the bottom drawer, hoping to find some yogurt or one of those grapefruit cups.