Page 51 of Perfect on Paper

We’d been back and forth over this all night, starting the moment Brooke’s mom said good night (we’d stayed relatively silent as she drove us home: Brooke didn’t want her to know all the details just yet). Hashing and rehashing and badmouthing Ray and rationalizing her behavior and deciding that no, it wasdefinitelyunforgivable. There was nothing I could say that hadn’t already been said. And with every rehash, my stomach twisted more and more.

I hoped my cheeks weren’t as red as they felt.

Ray wanted to tell Brooke,I reminded myself. A fact I’d conveniently forgotten in the heat of things last night.

Right, but would she have set things straight at school?I thought back.The letter said nothing about that.

Well, anyway. It was done now, either way. Even though I hadn’t really expected Brooke to break up with Ray over it. Or… had I hoped?

I didn’t even know anymore. I’d gotten very skilled at lying to myself recently.

“And you know, if she’s the type of person to bethatthreatened by someone?” Brooke went on. “We wouldn’t have worked long term. I’d always have to make myself small to avoid making her jealous. I don’t want to be small.”

Now I nodded more vigorously. This was a much better train of thought, because it came free of the niggling voicethat saidyou still know something Brooke doesn’t.Maybe Raywasgoing to tell her, but it certainly didn’t change that she was the kind of person to sabotage someone else to get her own way. “You shouldn’t ever be small. You weren’t meant to be.”

Brooke gave me a watery smile. “I love you. You know that, right?”

I returned the smile, but it felt taut, like pants that refused to button. “Yeah, I know.”

“So,” she said in a purposefully perky voice. Subject changed, apparently. “When are you safe to drive?”

“I have to be under point-oh-one.” I took out my phone to do some calculations. “Technically I’ve probably been safe all day, but it’s scary. Like, girls metabolize so much slower, and it changes depending on your weight and your body, and I don’t know if my liver’s verygoodat this yet…”

“I know, I know,” said Brooke. “Like, you’re probably fine, but if a cop pulled you over, you’d still have an anxiety attack.”

“Yes,exactly! I got told once we shouldn’t drive at all the next day if we were drunk the night before.”

“But I don’t know if you weredrunkdrunk.”

“I felt drunk drunk for a half hour, though.”

“What does ‘drunk’ evenmean?” Brooke complained. “It’ssovague!”

“Sovague. It’s like theywantus to fail.”

“Just eat some bread.” She grinned mischievously. She knew perfectly well bread didn’t do shit to sober a person up. “Come on, you’ve had lunch, it’s almost three in the afternoon, you stopped drinking at, what, midnight? I think you’re fine.”

“I know, I probably am,” I grumbled. “I just wish carscame with Breathalyzers.” I started gathering my stuff, then paused to look over at Brooke.

“Hey… Are you gonna be okay?”

She burrowed even farther into her sweater. “Yeah. Thanks for checking. But I will one hundred percent harass you for the rest of the day with whining and mopey messages.”

“I look forward to them.”

So, over the limit or not—and I very much hoped it was anotby now—I climbed in Ainsley’s car, double-checked my vision and balance, and set off. A minute in and I was fairly sure my reflexes were up to their usual standards. That, plus the fact that the calculator predicted I should’ve been at zero somewhere around sunrise, made me relax a little. Although next time I felt I might just ask Ainsley or Mom to play pickup and drop-off to save me the headache.

It was pretty rare that I hung out at Brooke’s house—she usually drove over to visit me. Rare enough that I’d forgotten the route from hers to mine took me right past Brougham’s. It wasn’t until I was on his street, trying to figure out where I recognized all the fancy town houses and mansions from, that I realized where I was.

When I drove past Brougham’s house-mansion, I slowed down to admire it again instinctively. The first thing I noticed wasn’t the aesthetic, however. It was a figure sitting on the porch, leaning against one of the columns with their legs drawn up to their chest. Brougham.

Now, Brougham and I hadn’t exactly spent much time together lately, and you couldn’t count last night as a hangout sesh. Not to mention that the night on the Mickey Wheel was the first time we’d ever actually been around each other without bickering, and it was probably just afluke. All in all, me stopping to check in on him was probably super weird, and I should definitely not do it.

But honestly, I just… couldn’t justify driving past without at least slowing down to make sure everything was fine. When I was younger, I was the kind of kid who spent hours fishing ladybugs out of the pool so they didn’t drown, and who invited the kids sitting alone to play, and who went door-to-door knocking if I found a stray dog to reunite it with its owner. It just didn’t sit right with me to ignore someone who might need help.

So, like the creep I was, I pulled to the curb and rolled my window down. Luckily, the sheet of rain was falling on an angle against the passenger side so I stayed dry, but even still a gust of airmuchtoo cold for California entered the car.Nope, nope, nope. It was a sign I needed to leave, right?

I could still half-view the porch through the gaps in the iron gate, but as far as I could tell Brougham hadn’t noticed me yet. His attention seemed focused on the house. Just as I went to put my window back up, I made out a woman shouting at the top of her lungs from inside the house, followed by a retort from a man. There was a crashing sound, loud enough for me to hear it all the way over here, and Brougham winced.

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