A/N: This is my very first piece of fanfiction. I've watched most of the first season and now I'm just starting season two, so I haven't really been able to get into the characters' heads, especially Brooke's. Apologies if their voices are a bit off. Nonetheless, feedback is much appreciated!

"Our parents think we're on a field trip. I can't just relax and enjoy this."

"Define 'field trip'."

Sighing, I prop myself up on my elbows. We're on the most crowded beach in Southern California. The white sand is specked with umbrellas of every colour and the bodies are gleaming with the ocean. The air is potent with adolescent pheromones. And all I can think about is Lucas back at Tree Hill, being his usual sullen self.

"Come on, Goldilocks, lighten up. Look at the hotness on this beach. How can you even think about your dad when you've got this?"

"That sounds a little gross, Brooke."

Brooke rolls her eyes and pushes her sunglasses up onto her head. With the sun shining down like it is, I can see the patterns in her irises. She fixes me with a steady gaze and her telltale eyebrow slowly forms an arch. Suddenly, I feel a sharp smack on my arm.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Stop thinking about Lucas."

I don't even know how to respond, so I sputter out some nonsensical words and shift my attention to the shoreline. The froth on the glassy waves spills over and stains the sand a light brown colour. Moments later, the sand reverts back to its normal shade. I wish Lucas's hold on me would fade as easily as that.

"Look, Peyton, he's trampled over your heart way too many times. Both our hearts, actually. I know you dig the whole sombre, brooding thing, but the sooner you let him go, the sooner you can move on—to bigger, better things. Like, say, that guy with the amazing abs." Brooke's French-manicured nail dead ends at a guy in bright orange surf shorts. His hair is bleached blond and his arm hangs loosely around a surfboard stuck in the sand. I hate him already.

Sensing my irritation, Brooke withdraws her finger. "Okay, not your type. But look at the number of guys here. This beats shopping on Rodeo Drive. Speaking of which, even if we don't find you a summer fling, we're going home with the tiniest bikinis in SoCal and there's nothing you can do about that."

"Fine, you win," I respond flatly, sinking back down onto the sand. I know Brooke's just trying to give me a boost, but her usual plan of boy-hunting and shopping isn't really what I want now. What I want is a quiet evening with zero drama, except for the kind that comes on TV, but something tells me we're going to have three solid days of everything but that. Brooke had so better hope I'm wrong.

--

It's 8 PM. My feet are encased in a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers and a pint of Ben & Jerry's is dripping moisture onto my thigh. The tiny screen in front of me crackles every ten seconds and someone gets their body sliced in two with jagged lines. Brooke's cousin's apartment is no Beverly Hills hotel.

"So, Kendra told me earlier that there's a bonfire party in a while. We should totally—" Brooke's voice cuts off abruptly and I'm immediately conscious of how pathetic I look. I mean, I have my down-days but I've never really been one to break out the ice-cream therapy and bemoan my love life—or rather, the lack thereof—in front of the idiot box. Apparently Brooke notices this sudden transformation of behaviour too, because she's all concerned expressions and sympathetic noises.

"Sweetie, you're wearing bunny slippers."

"I know."

"Is it really that bad?" She sinks down next to me and places a hand on my back.

I blow out a breath and rest my head on her shoulder. Fresh from the shower, she smells like peaches and comfort.

"You know," she says, "there is an upside to this whole Lucas fiasco."

"Enlighten me, O Wise One."

"Us. Us being stronger than ever before. I know you're my best friend, I've always known that, but the Lucas thing was like a test. Well I think we've passed it and it's made us … more real, you know? We're not just best friends anymore—we're more than best friends. I don't know what's better than best, but we're it. They should put us in the dictionary."

I'm not even looking up at Brooke, but I can feel her smile. She gives me a squeeze and I feel my own smile stretching out across my face. Her hand is warm against my back, and for the first time in weeks, I feel my heart beat with something other than dejection. It feels good.

"Thank you," I murmur.

"So enough of this mope fest already. The sun is down and the party's about to start. P. Sawyer, you're going to shake that thang until morning comes."

"Did you just say 'thang'?"

"Bite me, Blondie."

"Only if you ask nicely."