sparkle | shine brightly with flashes of light

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5/6/17

"YOU DON'T HAVE to come," Brooklyn tells me for the hundredth time as I sit in his garage on a random upside down crate. "It's a small show and you still haven't talked to your mom," he points out much to my dismay.

I drop my head and play with the hem of my shirt as he packs up his drum set for his show tonight. After I got my haircut I told him everything. How Asher and I started, the falling out between Francesca and me, and even the moment I witnessed my mother kissing Asher's father.

Brooklyn knows how more about the last four months of my life than anyone else. Over a cheap bottle of rum I spilled all my secrets and he listened to every little piece and never once made me feel cheap or judged or like the slut so many people claim me as.

So he is completely aware of how I'm still avoiding my mother.

I keep my eyes on the cement ground as Brooklyn continues to pack his set up. "I want to see you play," I tell him quietly, and it's the truth. The last show of his I only saw a few songs because I let myself fall once again into Asher's trap. I let him kiss me and touch me and tease me into oblivion, and until I didn't care about anything else around me besides my next taste of him.

He was an addiction, and one I had to learn a hard lesson on. Guilt spirals in me still to this day when I remember walking out of Brooklyn's show, when I remember the look on his face as I walked out hand in hand with Asher. My heart becomes heavy with shame even at the memory of it.

"And?" he pushes knowing there is more behind my words. Brooklyn has always been able to read me. I've never been a puzzle for him to figure out or some game to win because we are one in the same. Cut from the same cloth. Grown from the same seed. And I love how much he knows about me. How I don't have to change myself for him or become someone I'm not or feel insecure about myself.

I'm not Francesca. I've always known that, and I've never tried to be her. But over the past few months something shifted slowly within me and I started to compare myself to her and with Asher on my arm I tried to become someone I'm not.

I'm not witty, or popular, or outspoken. But that also doesn't mean I have to go back to being quiet, mousy Maeleigh. From this I can grow and become an even better version of myself. I can speak up more, stand taller, and not always hide.

And Brooklyn makes me want to be that better person.

A sad smile touches my lips. "And maybe I want to avoid my mom also," I concede telling the truth but also trying to brush it off. I don't want to talk about my mother right now. I want to have fun with my friend today.

We graduate in a week and after that I've decided to move to college early and start a few summer classes. It's time I move on from Easton and from my past, and I can't do that if I stick around for three more months. It's time for a fresh start. I desperately need one.

Brooklyn slams his trunk shut. "Mae..." he trails with a heavy sigh. I know he wants what's best for me, and he knows how close my mother and I were before all of this. He knows our relationship better than most. But he can never know how it feels to witness her kissing a married man. Witness her make a mistake so huge and how hard it is to pretend I don't know. Pretend I'm not disappointed in her and angry at her.

"I know," I sigh. "I'm just not ready yet," I admit openly, finally lifting my head up and dropping my hands from my shirt.

My eyes meet Brooklyn's brown ones as he walks towards me and reaches out his hand. I don't even hesitate, I immediately reach out and let my hand fall into his large calloused one. I love the feeling of his hand in mine. I can't lie. It's rough from all his songwriting and his years of playing the drums. He squeezes my hand and warmth spreads through every inch of my body at the small action. "Okay," he shrugs simply.

He tugs me up until I'm standing in front of him and at almost the same height it's perfect. My eyes flicker across his perfect face taking in every single piece of him I can't help but love. "Okay," I breathe with a smile lifting the edges of my lips.

We stand there for just a moment. Our eyes locked, holding onto one another, smiling, taking each other in. I've always seen Brooklyn, but it's as if I'm truly seeing him for the first time. The smoke has cleared and like the sun after a rainstorm he's come into my life bright and full of warmth.

"Are you going to play that new song?" I ask using my free hand to push a stray hair out of my face. I'm still getting used to my new shoulder length hair, but I absolutely love my new look. I know it's just hair, but it makes me feel like I can take on the world. It makes me feel strong every time I catch my reflection.

Brooklyn shrugs casually. "I don't know if it's ready yet," he murmurs unsure of himself. His music is amazing and I wish he could see how talented he is, how amazing he is in my eyes.

"It's ready," I assure him. "It's amazing...you're amazing," I voice my inner thoughts hating how vulnerable I feel in this moment. But I've come to realize that showing my heart and being open doesn't equate to being weak.

Because I don't feel weak around Brooklyn like I did with Asher.

His neck flushes with my compliment and he pulls out of my grasp and backs up towards his packed car.

"We should go," he drawls while lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck.

I nod eagerly. "Can I help set up?" I ask with a bright smile.

"You want to be a roadie?" he asks with a laugh at my enthusiasm to help set up a high school band at a small bar.

I shrug. "I'm exploring my options," I tease before I grab his car keys off the side table and toss them at him.

Brooklyn catches them easily and shakes his head at me before I follow him towards his car. He once again opens the car door for me and the simple action makes my heart jump. I settle in the car letting the smell of pine from the car freshener hanging from the rearview mirror calm me as I relax into my seat.

He slides into the driver's side and starts the car as music starts playing faintly in the background.

"Are you nervous for college?" I ask, letting my teeth worry my bottom lip. I'm beyond nervous to start a new school, in a new state, knowing no one. Of course I'm excited to meet new people and start fresh, but that doesn't stop the anxiety from rising to the surface and filling my bones.

Brooklyn runs his thumbs over the steering wheel as if he isn't sure how to respond. He's going to college for music, but staying in-state to go to Miami. It isn't far from Easton, just a couple hours on the other side of Florida. "Yeah," he finally responds. "I can't lie, scares the shit out of me."

A deep sigh escapes my chest and flutters from between my lips. "Glad I'm not alone," I chuckle as I run my clammy palms over my top.

"You're going to do amazing in college," he tells me without pause. He has always had this belief in me, in us, that we could do better than this town and once we escape it we would thrive.

And maybe we will, or maybe we'll fail. But either way we are both getting out to experience something new and exciting and nerve-wracking, and I'm proud of us for that.

"I wish we were going to be closer," I express to him honestly. "I'll miss you."

"Even hundreds of miles apart you won't be able to get rid of me Mae," he says with a playful smile. "We're friends. I refuse a life without you in it." His words flip my stomach and once again warmth spreads and butterflies erupt without warning.

I fix my gaze on the window. "You might find someone to replace me," I say quietly, showing him my fear. I know we will both make friends, maybe even date people, but even through all of that I can't lose him. His friendship, his smile, and the way he's stood by my side through my darkest moments.

It's not that I don't want to go through life without him, I know I can't.

Suddenly I feel his hand on my thigh. It causes me to freeze in shock at the simple gesture. I know he means it to reassure me, but it instantly warms me from within. I'm wearing old jean shorts today so he's touching bare skin, and his heated palm steals my breath.

"No one could ever replace you in my life," he states his words coming out thick and full of emotion. His hand remains on my thigh and I pull my gaze from the window to his hand and my entire body feels as if I've been engulfed in the sun.

I feel like I'm glowing, buzzing with energy, and I can't contain the faint shiver that wrecks my body at his touch.

"Well if that's true we should set up weekly FaceTime sessions so I don't completely lose my mind without you," I say with a smile trying to play off a calmness I don't quite feel. I'm on edge and trembling with a need I don't quite understand. "Plus I'll need to hear all the songs you've written. Remember you can't forget me once you're famous. Don't forget our deal," I tell him in mock seriousness as memories of our childhood together float through my head making me grin.

He snorts out a dry chuckle. "We made that pact when we were like ten Mae," he comments with a shake of his head.

"Eleven," I specify. "And it still holds true," I say with confidence.

"Fine," he relents. "If I make it big, which I won't," he tells me pointedly. "I will buy you a bakery," he says with a roll of his eyes.

Years ago I made him promise me he would buy me a bakery. I loved to bake even as a child, and after watching the cooking channel for one whole weekend I was convinced I was going to be a baker when I grew up. I was also convinced Brooklyn was going to become a rock star as he had just received a new drum set and he was amazing.

I made him promise me right then and there whenever he became famous all I expected was a bakery for being his friend and listening to him practice for hours on end until I was almost deaf.

As I'm going to college for chemistry, baking is obviously not something I'm actively pursuing. But even after all these years that small dream has sat in the back of my mind always reminding me of my childhood aspirations.

"Well you better make it. Why do you think I've been friends with you all these years?" I tease him with a giggle.

Brooklyn sticks his tongue out at me, and I playfully slap his chest before relaxing back into my seat.

"Why aren't you going to culinary school?" he questions with furrowed eyebrows.

I shrug. "It's hard to own your own business, and I want to make my mom proud," I reply with a slight crack in my voice. My mother would never shoot down my dreams. If I came to her tomorrow saying I had to go to culinary school and become a pastry chef she would find a way to help me achieve that dream.

But I also know she has saved every single penny to put me through college and make sure I have a steady career when I'm older so I don't have to go through the same struggles she's had. She wants secure and stable for me, and even with us not talking and my anger towards her, I want to give her that. I want to give her what she's always dreamed of for me.

Brooklyn doesn't tell me that no matter what I do I would make her proud. He doesn't tell me to shoot for the stars and chase my dream, because he also knows my reality. He knows where I come from, and he understands my need to make my mother proud. To show her all these years of saving and giving me the life she couldn't have when she was younger is all worth it.

"Well I better work my ass off to get you that bakery then," he jokes with a smile.

"I think it's a small price to pay for my friendship," I play right back.

The rest of the drive is filled with more talk of college, singing to the radio off key, and so much laughter my stomach hurts.

And through it all he never takes his hand off of my thigh and my smile never leaves my lips.

* * * * *

The bar we are at is smaller than the last one they played, but has a better stage setup for the band.

I help Brooklyn and the rest of his band mates unpack their instruments and gear. I like helping them. His band is extremely funny and not bad company to keep even while doing manual labor.

Time passes by quickly and the bar starts to fill up with our senior class and locals looking for a drink and some good live music.

I'm down in front of the stage when Brooklyn hops down to talk to me before they do their sound check. His forehead is damp from all the heavy lifting and he quickly lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe at beads of sweat.

My eyes catch sight of his tan skin and I can't help but let my gaze linger on his lean body. He's more tone than I imagined and before I get caught staring I flicker my eyes away from his exposed flesh. But then my eyes catch on his arms and how long yet muscular they are from years of playing the drums.

My cheeks flush from ogling his body and I try to get my mind out of the gutter and focus on the bar around us instead of Brooklyn's body, and the many thoughts of what it would feel like against my own.

"Sorry, I'm always a mess," he tells me, running a hand through his curly brown locks.

"All good," I say, casting my gaze to my feet still feeling flush. "Glad I could help."

"You didn't have to," he tells me.

"You already said that," I note rolling my eyes playfully.

His band begins messing with their instruments and I know they have a quick sound check left before they start. "We go on in around twenty minutes," he informs me.

"Okay," I acknowledge with a nod. "I'll go grab a lemonade and then I'll be back. Got to make sure I'm front row," I say with a wiggle of my eyebrows.

Brooklyn smiles at me with his signature heart stopping grin before stepping back up to the stage to start tuning his drum set. I can't help but watch him for a moment. He's so content when he's sitting up there as if it's where he belongs, and I can't lie he looks damn good up there.

I head over to the bar when I spot the last two people I want to see. My body tenses and my blood runs cold at the sight before me. My eyes stop on Asher and the way his arm is wrapped around the waist of Francesca. He's whispering in her ear and she's giggling and fawning all over him.

Nausea rises within me and I desperately want to take a step backwards towards the stage. To be back around Brooklyn, and the safety of his warmth and kindness.

But I pause with realization spreading through my bones because I know I can't spend my last couple weeks here being afraid and attempting to avoid them. It's a small town. I'm bound to run into them even after graduation. So with a deep breath I push my shoulder back and walk up the bar without wasting another thought on them.

"Well look who it is," Francesca sneers and as I turn my gaze to meet hers I see her eyes narrow in on me like she's been waiting for this moment.

I don't say anything but return my attention back to the bartender who is at the other end taking an order from an older couple.

"What cats got your tongue?" Francesca pushes. Her voice breathy and harsh all at once, and I know she's drunk instantly. A piece of me aches to ask if she's alright. If her parents are okay. But I know I lost that right the moment I kissed Asher behind her back.

Slowly I turn and meet two sets of darkened eyes. "Hi," I say simply not really wanting to engage with either of them in public. I'm here for Brooklyn. Not them.

"Hey," Asher responds as his jaw clenches. His eyes are bloodshot and I know he's stoned out of his mind, and it makes me worry even more about Francesca. He isn't good for her; he isn't good for anyone I realize. "You cut your hair," he comments as if he hadn't noticed at school. His eyes flash with confusion as they rake over me. As if he doesn't know me anymore.

And he's right, he doesn't.

"Yeah," I confirm not knowing what else to say at this moment.

But Francesca quickly jumps into the conversation. "Hope you don't mind that we're here," Francesca says with a tilt of her head as if to watch my every move.

I shrug lamely. "It's a bar, it's open to anyone," I state once again turning my attention back to the bar. I just want lemonade. How hard is that?

Finally the bartender comes up to me and I order my drink and a bottle of water just in case as a backup so I don't have to come back up here and relive this conversation.

"Babe, can you get me a drink?" I hear Francesca ask Asher.

I twiddle my thumbs waiting for my drinks trying to ignore them next to me. I don't want to engage anymore than I already have. But I can't help but lift my gaze to look at them once more.

Asher is behind her sliding the other bartender working a couple twenties for their drinks. Most likely paying double since they are underage and they are most definitely not ordering water or lemonade like me.

"Did you need something?" Francesca snaps at me.

I drop my gaze and shake my head as embarrassment flashes through my chest. "No," I murmur under my breath.

With a few steps Francesca is only a few inches away. She leans her hip against the bar while crossing her arms over her chest. Her hair is curled, and she looks gorgeous in her sundress. Her gold eyes watch me for a moment before she finally speaks.

"Not that I owe you anything," she starts with disdain clear in her voice. "But we're together now, just so you know," she informs me, watching me closely obviously trying to gauge my reaction.

I want to be surprised that after everything Francesca would even touch him. But I also know Asher and his ways, and how much she always wanted him. I don't want to be so full of myself to assume they are only dating each other to piss me off and make me uncomfortable, but the thought does cross my mind.

But either way, it's none of my business anymore.

I ruined my relationship with Francesca. I ended things with Asher.

Neither of them are mine.

"Good for you," I tell her with a small smile that feels fake but is all I can muster in this situation.

I want to stop her from making this mistake. But I know it's one she needs to make for herself, and I lost all privileges to have a say in her life now. And for all I know they could end up happy. I always said they were end game.

But deep down I know she would never be happy with someone like him. She's using him as much as he's using her.

I pay for my drinks and grab them before casting her one last look. "Have a fun night," I tell her genuinely because even after everything I would never wish anything bad on Francesca. I turn straight towards the stage at the front of the bar and let my eyes land on Brooklyn.

I can see worry in his eyes and I know he just saw me speaking to Francesca. But I simply raise my drink and smile at him.

I'm not here for them.

I'm here for him.