three ;
b r o o k s

"OKAY," CALLA SAID, TWIRLING on the spot with elaborate flourish. "How do I look?"

Brooks glanced away from the bookshelf he was perusing for something interesting to see Calla looking at him expectantly. She was wearing a black miniskirt that zipped up at the front, and a pretty white top with lacy bits that set off the deep brown of her skin. She'd tamed her usual masses of curls by straightening her hair, which had taken at least two hours of getting ready.

"Getting ready" involved Hassan and Brooks lounging about Calla's room while she flitted back and forth, wielding scary looking make up items that didn't look safe to put anywhere near her face. They'd come straight to Calla's after school, and even though she'd had four hours now, she still wasn't ready for the party. She'd changed outfits and hairstyles more times than Brooks could count.

"You look great, Calla," Brooks assured her. "It suits you. Right, Has?"

Hassan glanced up from his phone and scanned Calla with a bored expression. It was a step up from his usual disdainful expression that he surveyed the world with, and Brooks knew you had to appreciate the small things in life when it came to Hassan. "Sure," he agreed, with a bland shrug. "Just like the ten million other or so clothes you've tried on. Also, I think you've put that skirt on backwards."

"Excuse me, smartass." Calla smoothed down the velvety black material indignantly. "This is how you're supposed to wear it. It's all part of the design."

Hassan raised a single eyebrow. "Let me guess, easier access for sex?"

Brooks made a spluttering sound of protest and turned bright red, but Calla just laughed. "I'm not as sex-crazed as you seem to think, Has," she grinned, and reached up on her tiptoes to cover Brooks ears. "And shhh, you can't talk about big boy stuff in front of Brooksie, remember? He's too innocent and naive. We still have to have the birds and the bees talk with him."

"Hey," Brooks protested, swatting her hands away. "I'm not that innocent or naive. And I'm older than Hassan, aren't I?"

Hassan snorted. "Maturity isn't decided by age."

"And you are about as innocent as a seventeen year old teenage male can get," Calla said matter-of-factly, grinning at Brooks when he pulled a face at her. "Just the slightest mention of sex makes you blush, Brooks."

"It does not," Brooks said indignantly. Okay, so he wasn't entirely 100% comfortable discussing such matters openly, but he failed to see how that was a bad thing. "See, you just mentioned sex and I'm fine. Nope, not even remotely red-faced."

"Fucking and cocks and wild passionate buttsex," Hassan said, as calmly as if he was reading off a shopping list. "Oh, and orgies. Lots of them."

"Aha!" Calla exclaimed triumphantly when Brooks own face betrayed him, blood flooding to his cheeks in some kind of strange reflex that had apparently been hardwired into his genes from not knowing how to react. She pinched his cheek and cooed, "little ickle Brooksie is blushing all over again!"

Brooks shoved her hand away. "You're both bullies," he grumbled, rubbing his cheek ruefully. For such a small person, she had a surprisingly strong grip. "Calla, aren't you supposed to be getting ready to impress Hale? The party's starting in half an hour."

It was a pitiful attempt at diverting the subject, but Calla fell for it hook, line and sinker. "Oh, you're right!" She brushed past Brooks with a spritz of perfume, and grabbed a terrifying looking metal contraption that must have been used in medieval times to chop off toes. "Let me just curl my eyelashes, and we can set off."

That thing was used to curl eyelashes? Hassan and Brooks exchanged an equally puzzled look of wariness. When it came to anything even remotely fashion related, the two of them could relate in their absolute lack of understanding about anything Calla talked about. Brooks watched with fascination as she applied the contraption to her eyes, while Hassan just turned back to his phone.

Calla was the only one of the three of them who had a car, so they all piled in after Mr and Mrs Brodeur sent them off with the usual kind words. Calla's parents were hands down two of the nicest, most hospitable people Brooks had ever met. They were always happy for Hassan and Brooks to come round whenever they wanted, even if it was to pop in unannounced for dinner, and Mr Brodeur made the best batch of homemade cookies.

Will's driveway was already packed with cars when they arrived, so Calla had to park a little way down the road. It was cold outside, and Brooks was glad he'd opted for his jacket. Calla, on the other hand, had abandoned hers because it apparently didn't go with her outfit. "Jesus, Calla, you must be freezing," Brooks said, as they walked up the driveway.

"I am," she agreed, bouncing up and down in an attempt to keep warm. "Why is England so fucking co-o-old?"

"No one told you to wear a skirt," Hassan pointed out.

"It's a party, one which Hale Ryves is attending," she reminded him, jabbing the doorbell a couple of insistent times. How anyone would hear it over the music pounding through the building, Brooks didn't have a clue. "Did I mention I kind of have a huge crush on him?"

Hassan rolled his eyes. "Only fifteen billion times."

"Exactly," Calla said brightly. "Which is why I need to look - "

The door swung open, and Will Chen stood in the doorway with a beer in each hand. "You made it!" he exclaimed, although Brooks was positive they'd exchanged little more than a couple of words to each other during the extent of high school. "Welcome, welcome. Enter my humble abode."

Brooks followed Hassan and Calla into the house, which was already stuffed to the brim with people despite the fact they were only fifteen minutes late. The thing about Will's parties was that rather than having a select invite list, and excluding any crashers, he left his house open to anyone who wanted to come in the year. Why he would do that was beyond Brooks. Larger numbers meant the place was going to get more trashed.

Will was pretty short, and they'd lost him in the crowd by the time they found their way to the kitchen. The counter was stocked up with numerous bottles of alcohol that ranged from sangria to six packs of beer to bottles of pure vodka. There were a bunch of other brands and drinks Brooks didn't recognise, seeing as he was hardly an alcohol connoisseur. There were bowls of snacks too, which had mostly been attacked and emptied out, with red solo cups littered among the mess.

Calla poured herself a cocktail of coke and vodka, and handed Brooks a beer. He didn't really drink, didn't see the appeal in losing control of his body and mind to do reckless shit, but he could hold onto this one to fit in with his peers. "Hassan?" Calla asked, even though it was a lost cause. "Want anything?"

"I'm a Muslim. You know I'm not touching any of this." Hassan's lip curled with disdain as he surveyed the array of drinks on offer. "And why would I? I bet it all tastes terrible."

"Oh boy, does it taste like shit," Calla agreed, sipping her concoction with something of a grimace. She shook her head as if to clear it and grinned. "But no one drinks for the taste. You do it to get drunk, y'know?"

"Not a problem, Has," Brooks said, manoeuvring around a group of girls to pull open the fridge. "Coke? Sprite?"

"A coke will do."

Brooks tossed him a can just as Calla straightened up, her attention honing in on something; or more specifically, someone. Brooks followed her gaze and easily sought out Hale, moving among the partygoers with a dazzling grin and easy charm that Brooks scorned and secretly envied. How did he so easily win over anyone he came into contact with? He was nothing more than a pretty face who was never at loss of a joke.

"Okay, wow, I'm shitting a brick right now," Calla admitted, clearly already a little more open with her thoughts after just a bit of vodka. Brooks failed to see how that could go well, seeing as Calla was already one of the most expressive and open people he knew while sober. "How am I supposed to talk to him? I'm way too nervous. Look at him!"

Brooks looked at him. Really, he would take any excuse he could. His dark hair was the usual messy, swept style and his deep tan looked as good as always and - shit, he was looking this way, right at Brooks. Panicking, Brooks spun around towards the drawer and started fumbling for a bottle opener, anything to act as a distraction. Also, he did genuinely need a bottle opener - he didn't understand how people opened their beer bottles without one.

"Get a grip, Calla," Hassan said, rolling his eyes. "You came here just to chat this guy up. You might as well just get it over with."

"What am I supposed to say to him? What if I do something stupid?"

"Who cares?" Hassan drank his coke with a contemplative sip that suggested he didn't. "You either do it or you don't. If you don't do something stupid, then you do the nasty business I'm not getting into. If you do do something stupid, well...isn't that why these idiots have so much alcohol?"

"Drown your shame in alcohol," Brooks added, finally locating the bottle opener in the drawer. He'd been clutching this damn beer for too long without actually drinking any.

"You know what, you guys are right," Calla said, which Brooks thought was a bad idea. Clearly neither of them knew anything about dating and their advice was questionable at best, downright disastrous at worst. Calla downed the rest of her drink in one gulp and nodded determinedly. "I'm going to call him over."

Brooks dropped the bottle opener. "What?"

"Hale! Hey, over here, Hale!"

Brooks turned around with every intention of slipping out of the kitchen before he had to deal with Hale up close, but he was already there, that infuriatingly charming smile fixed in place. He picked up the bottle opener Brooks had dropped and offered it up to him. He raised an eyebrow when Brooks just stared at him, wishing he wasn't having these very inappropriate thoughts about his best friend's crush.

"Want it or not?" Hale prompted. "I didn't peg you as one of those people who opens bottles by smashing them against tabletops."

"Uh, yeah, not my kind of thing," Brooks murmured, taking up the bottle opener with numb fingers. Their skin brushed briefly and Brooks wished it didn't send jolts through his hand. "Thanks."

Calla took her opportunity at the lull in the conversation. "It must be pretty cool, always having a friend available to throw a party," she said, leaning slightly closer to Hale. "I hear Will has a pool, too. Is that true?"

"Are you kidding?" Hale laughed, and Brooks' stomach squirmed with unhelpful butterflies at the sound. Shit, he was supposed to be a heartless jackass. Why did he have such a nice laugh? "The only reason no one's trashed the pool is because Wendy's guarding it like a hawk."

Of course, how could Brooks forget about Wendy Chen? Will's often sidelined and forgotten twin sister. Apparently, she was strongly against the parties her brother so frequently enjoyed to throw, and spent the entire evening running around making sure intoxicated teenagers weren't vandalising her house or puking on the carpets. The poor thing would probably have grey hairs by her twenties from cleaning up messes after her brother.

"Wow, I need to see that," Calla chuckled, and just like that, the perfect chance presented itself. "Why don't you show it to me? I'm sure you know this place inside out."

Calls slipped her arm through his before he could reply, tugging him back towards the door. Hale glanced back in bemusement as if wondering what happened and Brooks couldn't help smiling, because that was just like Calla, to move through flirting at such a fast pace the guy didn't even realise it had happened. They disappeared into the roiling masses of people and Brooks tried very hard to pretend he didn't wish it was him checking out the pool with Hale.

"Great," Hassan said, leaning against the counter with a grimace. "This party sucks as badly as I expected it to."

Brooks regarded Hassan thoughtfully over his still unopened beer, which he was having difficulty popping the lid off. He didn't want to admit he didn't really know how to use the bottle opener, seeing as all his bottles had been opened for him before being handed over, usually by Inkeri. "By the way, I was meaning to ask," Brooks said curiously, "how come you came?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's no secret that you're not really a party kind of guy," Brooks pointed out. On the rare occasion Calla convinced him to come, he usually just stood in the corner with silent judgement and didn't seem to enjoy himself in the slightest. "I mean, it's not that hard to believe Calla managed to convince me but you're not usually so easily influenced."

Hassan swirled his coke can as if considering the question. He was silent for so long Brooks didn't think he would answer when he said, "My cousins have come round."

"Ah," Brooks said awkwardly. "The ones who are, um..."

"Yeah," Hassan said flatly. "The extremist ones."

The Khan family that Brooks had met were lovely. His parents were friendly and willing to make all kinds of new Indian dishes for Brooks to try out, and his siblings were loud enough that there was never a moment of silence in the entire neighbourhood. But he knew Hassan's wider family, who visited from India occasionally, were strict Muslims who disapproved of many of the beliefs and opinions people had in England.

That included Hassan himself, who was apparently too westernised and brainwashed for their liking.

"I'm sure the dinner conversation at home will be wonderful," Hassan said, his sardonic tone at odds with the couple kissing only a few feet away from them. "Nasreen will almost certainly bring up the topic of homosexuals, and how the sin of their existence has condemned them to an eternity of burning in hell."

Brooks winced, clutching his beer a little too tightly, but Hassan didn't seem to notice. "And then things will turn towards how my own values have been compromised," he continued, rolling his eyes as if he couldn't care less, but Brooks knew it bothered him more than he let on. "The night won't finish until everything I've done had been scrutinised and criticised by Aman. These parties might be a breeding ground for STDs, but I'd rather that than take my chances with those idiots."

"That sucks," Brooks sighed. "At least they'll be gone soon."

He would have offered his own house as a place of refuge, but he knew his own home situation wasn't much better. If anything, it was worse. At least Hassan's cousins only visited every so often and it was a matter of waiting them out. Brooks could never escape from the narrowed minded opinions of his parents or their absolute intolerance for anything they couldn't understand.

"And my presence here isn't completely wasted," Hassan said, his mouth curling up in an amused smirk as he took Brooks beer and unused opener from him. He popped the lid off in one fluid, easy motion. "I can teach you how to open a bottle so you don't stand there looking like a complete idiot."

Brooks flushed and shoved Hassan lightly. "For your information, I was perfectly capable of opening that bottle and I was just, uh...testing you. To make sure you knew how to."

"Mhm." Hassan took a long sip of his coke, which he managed to make look smug and patronising. "Sure you were."

"Shut up. And thank you," he added grudgingly, taking the beer from him.

Brooks would have been fine staying (Calla would have called it hiding, but whatever) in the kitchen with Hassan, rather than venturing onto the makeshift "dance floor" filled with drunken teenagers, but fate wasn't having it that way. "Oh, look," Hassan said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Everyone's favourite blonde bimbo."

Brooks looked up and felt his insides squirm into wriggling snakes. Bellamy was elbowing her way through the crowd, inconsiderately shoving people aside in her path to the kitchen, snapping rude remarks at anyone who dared challenge her. The scowl on her face gave way to a wide smile that lit up her eyes when they landed on Brooks, which didn't particularly make him feel any better.

Brooks looked around desperately. The kitchen window was looking like a particularly enticing escape route.

"Hi, Brooks," she beamed, completely ignoring Hassan, who looked like he was attempting to burn holes into her head from the way he was glaring. "I'm going to be honest, I wasn't expecting you to turn up today. But I'm glad I could catch up with you."

"Oh, catch up?" Hassan scoffed with scathing contempt. "I'm assuming you mean catch up with his chemistry notes, seeing as that's clearly all you care about. What, realised you were too stupid to study alone and had to come back begging?"

Bellamy's smile was replaced with an icy scowl in a heartbeat. "Who the fuck asked you, loser?" she demanded. "This conversation doesn't concern you. Go back to praying in your mosque or whatever."

Hassan's gaze could have frozen hell over. "I'm not sticking around to listen to your pathetic attempt at getting Brooks to take you back. I'd rather drown myself in the pool than breathe the same air as you," he informed Bellamy, flicking her one last withering look walking out of the kitchen without a backwards glance.

Bellamy yelled after him, "That's right, go hate yourself somewhere else!"

"Bite me," Hassan called over his shoulder.

Brooks had spent the entirety of that conversation shifting uncomfortably on his feet and wondering how to interject on the fast-paced insults. Granted, Bellamy and Hassan hadn't been all that fond of each other while they were dating, but when the truth came out that Bellamy had only got with him for his brain, Hassan took an exceptional hating to her. They couldn't even tolerate the other's presence now without snapping at each other's throats.

That wasn't to say Calla liked her anymore, but even when Hassan liked someone he rarely showed anything more than mild indifference. When he hated someone, it was so obvious that it was impossible to ignore.

"What an asshole," Bellamy complained to Brooks, as if Hassan wasn't his best friend. "Why do you even hang out with that guy?"

Brooks felt a rush of irritation. "Because he's my friend," he said, barely keeping the defensive edge out of his voice. He quickly set his nearly empty bottle aside when Bellamy took a step closer to him, not wanting to knock it over. "And no offence, but I'd much rather talk to him than you. We're not dating anymore, remember? If you want help with school, I'm out of hours right now."

Damn, one bottle of beer later and he was already feeling bolder. He didn't think he would have been able to say that to her face without the alcohol.

Bellamy blinked and her face fell. "I don't want to talk to you about school," she said, looking hurt at his implicit accusation. "I've already apologised and I am sorry, Brooks. That was a bitchy thing to do. But I really think you should give me a second chance."

"Why?" Brooks was genuinely confused. "It never made sense, me and you. You're popular and sociable, while I'm..." I'm gay, "...not so much. I'm not getting back together with you so I can do your homework for you, Bellamy."

"Jesus, Brooks, how can I prove to you that I actually really like you?" She brushed a hand across his chest and the nerves twisting in his stomach were very, very different from the ones Hale had given him. They were more the type that made him anxious in the shit-this-can't-be-happening kind of way. "You're so sweet and nice, and you were understanding in a way no other guy would have been when he found out the truth."

"Oh, uh, that's no problem," Brooks said hastily. "Really. Forget it ever happened."

She closed the distance between them, and Brooks had only taken one step back before his back hit the counter, stopping him in his place. "I know just how I can prove myself," she whispered, her breath hot and overpowering against his face. Tell her, his mind yelled at him, tell her you don't like her! "Like this."

She tilted her face up and Brooks twisted his head away at the last minute. "Sorry," he muttered, at the definite wounded look on her face. He felt bad knowing he was the cause for that and floundered for an excuse that wouldn't hurt her feelings anymore. "I just, uh...I couldn't...I needed a drink first!"

He grabbed the bottle closest to him. Vodka. He loathed the taste of the stuff, but Bellamy was watching him expectantly, clearly waiting for a proper explanation. "Yep," he blustered on, pouring the alcohol out into a red solo cup, "you know me, never able to lock lips without some good ol' alcohol in my system."

God, he was such an embarrassment.

"Seriously? You don't even drink, Brooks," Bellamy said skeptically.

"Well...I do now."

And to be honest, the idea of getting absolutely smashed and not having to worry about the fact the only lips he wanted to kiss tonight were a boy's, was sounding more and more enticing. He could forget his problems. He could force himself to kiss Bellamy. And he'd told her he needed a drink, so he might as well get it over with. So he brought the cup up to his lips and swallowed it all in one gulp, barely tasting the bitterness as it left a trail of heat down his throat.