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Part 18A. She'll Say She's Just Not The Same

“Ladies and Gentlemen, in just a few minutes, we will begin our descent into Chicago-O’Hare airport. It’s approximately 5:33 AM Central time. We’d like to thank you for flying with us here at American Airlines, and hope you’ve enjoyed your trip.”

Her face was hot, but her fingers were ice cold. Brooke, who rarely touched her face for fear of clogging her pores with oils and microscopic dirt, found a happy medium as she pressed her palms against her cheeks, feeling the chill cool her seared skin.

The passenger beside her in the wrinkled business suit stirred briefly, eyes flickering open blearily before burying his head against the tiny blue pillow they had been given and burrowing as much as he could underneath the blue blanket.

He snored.

Brooke found herself slightly amused that she was so bothered by it.

Still, thanks to her freshman psych and being locked into a tiny coach seat for hours on end, she understood her reaction. It was late. She was twitchy. She had argued with cab drivers and ticket agents and Stephanie, when the other girl paled at the sight of Brooke shrugging on her puffy jacket filled with goose feathers. An hour of running through the airport with a dead cell phone battery and a credit card stretched to it’s limit had left her with a burst of adrenaline that intensified every emotion.

Brooke was obsessive to a fault. She knew that.

At this moment, every impulse was honed in on getting to Sam.

She was desperate, and scared, and… exhilarated.

A stewardess leaned across her, gently poking the man beside her and forcing his chair upright.

“Flight attendants, please prepare for descent.”

Her chest tightened, her breath constricted, and head falling back against the cushion, Brooke willed herself not to imagine the scenario that awaited her. Sitting in a darkened plane with nothing but business travelers who stared at her oddly and nervous flight attendants who kept asking her if she was okay, gave her mind full permission to run wild, and Brooke was driving herself crazy.

She imagined showing up on some phantom doorstep, shivering and scared and full of apologies, and then watching, helpless as Sam slammed the door in her face. Too little. Too late.

The plane jerked into it’s descent, and Brooke’s insides plummeted with it.

“Are you afraid of flying?”

The man beside her now had his eyes open, blinking blearily. It was then that Brooke realized her fingers were digging into the armrests on either side of her, knuckles white with exertion.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he told her, grimacing, as he straightened out, long legs pushing out as well as they could in the cramped area.

“Thanks." Suddenly self conscious, Brooke drew her hands into her lap. “I’m not afraid of flying.”

He arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “Well, you’re incredibly flushed and twitchy. You’re afraid of something. I’m a psychologist,” he added, registering her perplexed confusion. “Forgive me. I can’t turn it off.” He looked almost embarrassed about it.

For some reason, that made her feel better.

Letting out a shallow breath, Brooke flashed a quick reassuring smile. “No… I … it’s okay. I’m just… anxious.”

“Not about flying.”

“No, not about flying.” Keeping quiet, he waited, hands crossed, for an explanation. “I nearly died a couple years ago. In a car accident. I was in a coma for a really long time.”

If he was surprised, he had the decency not to mention it. “That’s rough.”

“Well, yeah,” she breathed. The plane jerked, as the wheels hit the runway, and Brooke’s heart lodged suddenly into her throat, making her choke a little. She gulped, trying to squeak her way around it. “I realized after that I had spent I spent my whole life being afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“My mother left when I was really young. I blamed myself. I thought if I had been perfect she wouldn’t have left so I tried to be. Perfect.”

“You have to know you’re a very attractive young lady.”

She grimaced at the very idea.

“Thank you,” she said, managing not to be sarcastic at the sincere comment. “But I didn’t think so. I thought I looked fat.” His eyes widened, and Brooke’s mouth twitched knowingly.

“You had an eating disorder.”

“Yeah. And I was the most popular girl in school and I was gay and didn’t know it. So I was ashamed of that.” She was rambling, she knew that. All of this emotion had built up inside of her, and like a flooded damn, she was spilling over.

But he asked. Sort of.

He crossed his arms. “I see.”

“Also, I’m in love with my step-sister.”

She supposed that was the moment she tripped him. His carefully closed expression suddenly broke open, eyes widening into surprise. His mouth opened, then closed, and finally his shoulders just dropped. “I see.”

“She loves me too. But our parents don’t know and we have a sister and it’s NOT incestuous but it seems that way and well, up until a couple years ago we hated each other. So it’s a switch and between the coma and the eating disorder and the being afraid of everything I think I’ve hurt her so much that she’s run away. Back to school. To Northwestern. I mean, I was so scared that now I made HER scared. The thing is, I don’t want to be scared anymore. So now I have to convince her… Not to be afraid. And I’m the most frightened person on earth.” She stopped, and cast him an uneasy glance. “Is this insane?”

He studied her carefully. “You’re on a red-eye flight to Chicago to go tell your step-sister you love her.”

She nodded mutely.

“I can see why you’d be anxious,” he conceded, wiping methodically at his glasses. “But… I’m sorry…” he gestured at her with chubby fingers.

“Oh.” She flushed. “Brooke. McQueen.”

He smiled gently. “Dr. Morgenstern.” He extended his hand for a polite shake. “I think that this is insanely courageous for a girl who has spent her life being afraid.”

It was then she realized they had not only come to a full and complete stop at their gate, but seatbelt sign had been turned off with a cheerful ding, and still the flight attendants and the passengers in her cabin were not moving.

They were all staring at her. Brooke’s throat closed in on her, forcing her to nearly choke.

Dr. Morgenstern rose, and gave her a smile. “I teach at Northwestern and have a car waiting for me. You wouldn’t happen to be going in that direction?”

In retrospect, Brooke understood that it wasn’t the SMARTEST idea to get into a cab with a strange guy she had just met on an airplane. But the card he had given her looked pretty official and the sleepy snappy dressed guy standing at the terminal gate holding the sign with his name printed on it seemed legit.

Brooke had told herself she had to stop being afraid.

And still… Standing outside on the curb, waiting as the driver put Dr. Morgenstern’s luggage in the trunk, it occurred to her that she had absolutely no idea where Sam even LIVED.

“What’s the name of your sister?” he asked, as the driver opened the door.

She hesitated, suddenly nervous, shifting her weight on her feet. “Sam. McPherson.”

His eyes darkened a bit thoughtfully. “I see. Coming?”

“Stop being afraid, Brooke,” she heard, in her head, almost as if Sam was standing right beside her. “Not STUPID.”

“Shut up,” she whispered to the ghost. “I’m coming to get you, Sammy. Whether you like it or not.”

Casting the man a smile, she ducked into the waiting car.

Stephanie’s designer goose down jacket was a little puffier than Brooke normally liked, but at least when she shivered in the backseat next to Dr. Morgenstern, it wasn’t from cold.

Dr. Morgenstern yawned, trying to blink at the sleep from his eyes as he carefully tapped at the keyboard. “Wireless is sketchy,” he explained, but appeared to concentrate.

Brooke tried to contain her impatience. She knew it was rude to stare, as the good doctor tried to bring up the school directory, and he had been so insanely NICE already.

“Can I ask why you’re helping me?”

He frowned at his monitor, and peered closer at it. “Because the idea of a young woman wandering the streets of Chicago trying to get to Northwestern to surprise her step-sister when she has no idea where she lives is unappealing.” He shot her a glance from behind his glasses. “I’m not a big believer in fate, Ms. Brooke, but I am a believer in being in the right place at the right time. There was a reason my flight was delayed two hours and you happened to have your seat right beside mine, in an otherwise nearly empty cabin.”

Biting her lower lip, Brooke huddled further into her coat, and glanced outside the window at the ever changing scenery of the strange city, growing ever brighter with the breaking of morning.

“You think this is karma, or something?”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed he smiled thinly. “I think that there has been many things leading you to this moment, and before today, you simply weren’t ready. Now, you are.”

“And the universe wants to make sure I have that chance?” It sounded oddly romantic, coming from the older professor.

“The universe?” he repeated, and actually thought about that. “Maybe that’s a little broad. Every journey has a beginning, a middle and an end. On that road there are no accidents, simply occurrences. How they shape you decides what path you take. However long it takes you to get there, you do reach your destination. You choose where you end up. In this case, you ended up in Chicago. You begin one journey and you end it, only to start another. Something tells me you’re nearing the end of a journey.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “Oh,” she managed, tangling her hands together, before turning to face him again, suddenly weirded out. “Just so you know, it would really suck if you turned out to be a serial killer. I mean, I appreciate all this talk about journeys and all, but I would really hate to have it end like… killed or stranded or something instead of… you know… with Sam.”

Dr. Morgenstern went oddly still, and in his shock, the laptop nearly tumbled from his fingertips.

“Sorry,” she said.

“No,” he said, recovering, sighing as he slumped in his chair. “I get that a lot.” Shaking his head morosely. “It’s the glasses, right? No. The hair.”

“You don’t have serial killer hair. More the creepy journey talk,” Brooke noted carefully, more relieved than she cared to admit. “I would recommend a good leave-in conditioner.”

At 7:15AM, Brooke found herself staring up at one of Northwestern’s more popular residence halls. As the sun rose, the chill of the morning began to dissipate. Brooke shrugged off Stephanie’s jacket, feeling suddenly sweaty.

She didn’t have much money. Stephanie and Maria, rich beyond belief, had handed her a wad of bills but Brooke told herself she wouldn’t use them, and her credit card limit had enough left on it for a cab ride and that was about it. At some point she would have to call her parents and give them a bigger explanation than the hurried one she left on their answering machine. And she would probably be grounded for eternity.

She was alone and out of her element, and none of it seemed to matter. This was where Sam lived.

Maybe it was nerves or exhaustion but Brooke felt so fragile, like she was made of spun glass, as she drank in the sight.

Allison Hall had a sprawling lawn and on this early summer morning there were only a couple students up; early risers, slinging backpacks and riding bikes.

It wasn't hard to imagine Sam lounging against a gnarled tree, dark brown hair falling into her face as she crossed her Ked shod feet, a bright grin flashing across her face when a fellow student engaged her in some sort of scholarly conversation.

She never asked Sam why she had decided on Northwestern of all places. She knew it had something to do with their journalism program, but at the time Brooke had been too consumed with forgetting herself to delve much deeper into Sam’s decision.

She remembered a sharp flash of devastation that night when Sam discussed the decision openly with her parents, at one of those fairly quiet and awkward dinners. She remembered covering it up perfectly with a polite smile and a nod.

Now, it devastated Brooke again because she didn’t know why Sam had decided on here of all places, but she had the suspicion that in at least some small part it had to do with getting away from her.

And now, a year later, she was in a part of Sam's world that she didn't know, and couldn't understand. She didn't know what went on here, what experiences shaped Sam's ideals, her focus.

It had been her choice, her actions, she knew that.

Was she sitting out here on this lawn when she told Brooke that loving her made her a bad person?

There was a painful knot permanently lodged in her throat, and as much as she tried to swallow it away, it remained, a reminder of her fear.

"God, Brooke," she admonished herself, shaking her head angrily, bouncing up and down lightly, forcing the blood back into her legs before beginning to trudge across the lawn.

“Sam,” she whispered under her breath, trying to gain her strength. “I know you’re surprised to see me, but I couldn’t let you go, and I know it’s a little bit stalker of me, but you came after me once and I wasn’t ready and this crazy old guy said something about a journey…”

No. Nothing like that. Sam would stare at her with her big brown eyes and lush full mouth and pronounce her insane, call her parents, and have her committed.

She slowed when she reached the door to the residence hall. Bundling the ski jacket tighter, she hugged it with both arms as she inspected the electronic lock that guarded the front entrance.

"Key cards," she muttered. "Of course." On campus security here was apparently no different from USC.

Brooke always worked best when she had a plan. She knew how to approach things rationally and with control. The moments when she did not have control forced her to do very stupid and morally unethical things: like cheating on a chest, like breaking up Carmen and Josh, like sleeping with Abby and pushing Sam away-

What was it about Sam that pushed rationality and control completely out of her head?

Her heart beat quickened, pounding in her chest, and Brooke battled against her rising adrenaline.

She didn't know what room Sam was in. She didn't even know what floor. Hell, the only thing she DID know was this was her summer housing assignment, and that was because the scary but well-intentioned Professor that looked like a serial killer had looked it up for her.

"I could so easily freak out right now," she breathed.

What was her plan, really? To somehow con her way inside and knock on every door until she found Sam or got arrested?

Her hands balled into fists around the ski jacket. Well… If it got the job done…

Brooke stayed in front of the door, peering inside in hopes of finding anyone who could open the door for her, ask them if they had seen a gorgeous brunette with dark brown eyes and an insanely lush mouth.

Behind her, someone coughed. “Excuse me.”

Startled, Brooke whirled, immediately stepping aside. "Sorry, I didn’t…” The sentence died in her throat when she got a good look at the girl waiting to go in. Her hair was messy. Her jeans were tight and slung low on her hips, and the way she slouched she looked like some sort of androgynous Calvin Klein model.

The girl stepped by her, keycard in hand. Aviator glasses masked most of her face, but the features were instantly recognizable. The name burst from her lips like a bullet. "Christelle?"

Christelle, Sam's Casanova companion, immediately whirled, thin lips parting. Clearly struggling to place her, Christelle's brow furrowed, pulling her large sunglasses lower on the bridge of her nose to get a better look.

Dark eyes met crystal.

"It's Brooke," she added, words nearly running together in her excitement, smiling nervously for her benefit. "Sam's ..."

"Oh... shit..." Christelle breathed, looking relieved of all things. Pushing her lenses back into place, she fell back against the entrance. "I thought for a second that you were this girl I had... Brooke?!" The glasses were once again yanked off. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Ah, yes. That.

Fingers squishing the jacket in her arms almost obsessively, Brooke opted for what she hoped for was a friendly, innocent smile. Considering her heart was doing a gymnastic floor routine inside her chest, it may have not been very successful.

"I'm looking for Sam.”

Christelle was clearly not a morning person. She had dark circles under her eyes and looked extremely hung over. Visibly struggling to understand, she blinked at her. "But... Sam's not here."

"No, I know," Brooke said, glancing away self-consciously. "She came in last night on a plane."

Christelle scratched furiously at her ear, trying to make sense of this. "No... I mean... wait... Why are you here?" Christelle fumbled for her cellphone, digging into her pocket like she was suddenly hopped on speed.

"Umm... I honestly would rather talk to Sam about that.” Sucking in a lungful of air, she tried to stand her ground. She could understand Sam’s friends trying to protect her, but this wasn’t the time for intimidation. Brooke didn’t have room for it. "If you can just tell me where she is-"

"No... Brooke..." Dark eyes flickered up and down, darting back and forth from Brooke to her phone. Her smile pulled into a tense frown. "You don't get it. Sam ISN'T HERE."

"I know!” she snapped, losing patience. “She was coming in last night-"

"No, Brooke. You REALLY don't get it. She called me. I was supposed to pick her up. Last night she left me a message. She never got on the plane. Sam's not here."

Brooke heard the words. They didn’t compute. She stared dumbly, as she literally felt the sentence work it’s way into her mind, take shape, sink into a focused realization.

And she nearly died.

"What?!" she managed, a hysterical squeak.

"She didn't get on the plane!" Christelle repeated, eyes rounder than before. Her fingers closed over her phone like she was clutching into a safety net. "And now you're here and she's in LA-"

"OH FUCK!" Sam didn't get on the plane. Sam was in Los Angeles, and Brooke had just flown halfway across the country to a cold, stupid FRIGID STATE and Sam was thousands of miles away-

"Oh, God," Christelle said, "Don't start crying, okay?"

"I'm not crying!" But she was, she realized, when her fingers went automatically to her stinging eyes, and they came away wet. "I just... I just can't believe I came all the way out here to tell her that... that... Oh, God-DAMMIT, SAM!"

Fingers wrapped around her forearm and suddenly Brooke was yanked back into a skinny body. "Okay, now you're waking people up," Christelle snapped. Holding her against her, trying to keep her quiet, Christelle dialed as quickly as she could with her free hand.

"What are you doing?" Brooke wheezed. "I need to... I need to get a cab-"

"What you need to do is calm the fuck down."

"I am calm-"

"I'm talking to myself," Christelle interrupted, phone to her ear, eyes rolling up to the back of her head. "It's ringing - OH thank God. It's me. I'm coming over. I don't CARE if it's not even fucking eight in the morning, we're coming over!"

Shivering, Sam's friend stuffed the phone back into her tight jeans and without a word began to drag her away from the building.

"Hey, it's Sammy. I'm not answering, so leave a message, or whatever. See ya."

Of course the phone went straight to voicemail.

After all, if the day was going to keep up the trend of having EVERYTHING go wrong, this would have been the way to do it.

Eyes fluttering closed in frustrated apathy, Brooke McQueen lowered the borrowed cell phone and pulled her knees into her chest.

She felt small and alone. Her insides were quivering with nerves, and she felt utterly nauseous, unable to properly breathe.

Her decision to go after Sam had been romantic and desperate. She had told herself to give herself no expectations, but a simple resolution: fight for Sam. Whatever that meant.

And still, she had never expected to end up like this, on the floor of Rebecca and Abby’s apartment. Sam’s ex-girlfriend Rebecca sat beside Brooke’s one-night stand Abby, with longer hair. Standing nervously was Christelle, who had taken to biting her cuticles. All of them stared at her like she was some sort of orphan they didn't know what to do with.

Abby, unsure what to do, reached forward and awkwardly patted Brooke on the shoulder. She was too shocked to be completely callous. In fact, the girl seemed to be knocked completely speechless.

"What do we do?" Christelle asked, fingers in her teeth, looking twitchy and nervous.

She let out a breath of impatient irritation. “You don’t need to do anything,” she managed. “I just need to call a cab, because I need to get to an airport…”

“And you already said you don’t have enough money left for a flight.” Abby’s brow arched. “So what, are we just supposed to drop you off and leave you to beg for cash?”

Brooke’s throat was dry. She swallowed, trying to bring moisture back into her mouth. “I don’t know,” she managed. “I’ll figure out something.”

Abby’s mouth quirked into a bitter smile. “You know I’d give you the money if you just asked.”

Eyes locking with her former lover, Brooke’s teeth scraped against her bottom lip in contemplation. “Somehow I don’t know if that’s entirely fair to you, Abby. Besides, my friends in LA did give me some money. I told myself I wouldn't use it, but...”

Rebecca, with her perfectly cascading mane of red hair, dressed in a perfectly adorable frumpy boxers and a too large t-shirt that slipped seductively and innocently off one shoulder, had kept quiet, until now.

"You hopped on a plane... to follow Sam here?" she repeated, like she couldn't quite believe it.

Brooke didn't understand how she could be so threatened by the girl when Sam wasn't even in the room to ogle her.

Sam was in Los Angeles.

And Brooke was stuck in hell.

"Yes," she answered, as steadily as she was capable. "Sam was leaving because of me. Because she... she thought ... she was leaving... and I didn't want her to go."

Rebecca's green eyes glittered with an unreadable emotion.

"Fuck," Christelle’s head shook, features masked by her stringy black hair. "This is some seriously twisted Sleepless in Seattle bullshit."

"How the hell did you even find Christelle?" Abby asked, rising to her knees, running her fingers through her long hair to tie the darker strands into a ponytail, pulling them from her face.

Brooke raised her fingers, and deliberately pushed her hair behind her ears. "I got a ride from a professor I met on my plane. Um... Dr. Morgenstern."

"Creepy Morgenstern?" Christelle’s expression was dubious.

"He's a nice guy," Brooke said tacitly, oddly affronted on his behalf, which was not exactly fair, since she had accused him of being a serial killer an hour before.

Oh, God. Had it already been an hour?

"You guys... I really... really need a cab.” It was strange that her voice was so calm and firm when she could have panicked so easily. Still, Brooke had a plan and a focus.

Sam was in Los Angeles, and Brooke needed to go home.

It was that simple.

Rebecca's brow came together, and her former rival formed a suddenly steely expression. "Are you really worth it, Brooke?"

Brooke had never thought she was.

"Sam thinks I’m worth it," she managed gruffly.

"Then why was she running thousands of miles away from you?"

"Because it's not EASY," Brooke snapped, voice clear. "Because we're too different and we're too the same. Because you're not supposed to meet the love of your life at sixteen and you're not supposed to be step-sisters and you're sure as hell not supposed to start off hating each other." Her eyes shut, for the moment suddenly overwhelmed. Taking in a deep breath, she opened them again, faced them all. "Because what we have is so intense it's SCARY and I'm tired of being scared. I'm worth it because Sam thinks I'm worth it. I know she does. And I'm not going to stop fighting for her until I prove to her we can do this. Because I know we can. Because it's EASY to love her."

It was a sincere speech, said out of anger and honesty, but the effect it had on Rebecca was peculiar.

From the beautiful girl, came a small, tentative smile. "Yeah it is," she agreed. Those green eyes lingered on her own, and suddenly snapped away. "Get your keys," she snapped to Abby, slapping her on the shoulder.

"What? Why?"

"Because we need to get to the airport, that's why," Rebecca told her sharply. "Brooke has to go home."

Abby hesitated, as she jerked her head from Brooke to Rebecca, then back again. Grudgingly, she rose to her feet. "I swear, I will never understand what you two see in her."

Dizzily, Brooke closed her eyes. She wasn't aware she had stopped breathing until she sucked in a lungful of air.

END CHAPTER EIGHTEEN A

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