College is coming soon, and Blake Warner is sure that his life is embedded into the dead-end that is Merritt Hills, Georgia. His mother has assured him millions of times, that money has nothing to do with where his future leads.
But whenever he lie...
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The next morning was slow, slower than usual. Until, Helena made her way into Brooks' room, a carefully tailored suit in one hand, a small, black pair of dress shoes in the other. A small smile was placed on her lips, as she sat beside Brooks on his bedspread.
He tried his best to ignore her, simply turning his back to her, as she set the items down carefully before him.
"Now, now, Brooks. Don't be impulsive. Your father has spent over two weeks trying to get Mr. Alfred Maceio get to design your suit. You know how he gets whenever you act ungrateful. Lucy will be in here shortly to help with your hair."
Brooks groaned, sitting up fully at his bedside, while Helena raised an awaiting brow. "I'm not being ungrateful, mother. You know how I feel about these things. Everyone in town has been looking at me as though they're waiting for to win or lose. It's too much pressure, mother. And I do not need Lucy's help doing my own hair."
Helena simply took a deep breath, her eyes showing just how annoyed she truly was with Brooks. "This will be good for you, good for your reputation. And once you win, people will stop asking those nonsense questions about whether or not you're not a homosexual."
Brooks stood from his bedding, crossing both arms across his chest, as he tried to plead his mother with his eyes. "Mother, please. I've only got a three months left before I'm off to UCLA—"
"Oh, please, you're lucky your father and I are even allowing you to go to that school. I'm sure you were just delighted at the fact that you'd be going all across the country—getting away from the only two people who actually care about you.
"Now, shower, and get dressed. Before I send your father in here to do the rest of the talking." She slammed his bedroom door behind her, as Brooks slumped back down into his bed, hiding his face in both hands.
Blake groaned aloud, his eyes narrowing in at the immense light that protruded into his bedroom, through the translucent curtains that his mother had hung over his windows.
He knew by the silence overriding his noisy neighborhood, that his mother had gone into work at the diner early, and that he'd find another twenty dollar bill on his kitchen table.
He made his way into the restroom, his morning routine only a tad bit slower than any other day. Due to his pounding headache, and swarming thoughts of Brooks.
His cellphone began ringing on his nightstand, and he almost groaned at the familiar name that popped onto the screen.
"Hey, Blake, get dressed. We've got a special task for today." Mitchell Haling's voice rang excitedly.
"Meaning," Blake questioned, scooping a spoonful of peanut butter, and dipping it onto his tongue, as he waited impatiently for Mitchel's answer.
"Well," Mitchell began, "I heard from a little birdie and his annoying ass girlfriend, that the town's stupid annual ball committee would be hosting a charity event for donations and shit. Not that even need them—but anyway, I say you, me, Jeff, and Meg, crash this thing."
Blake took a moment, slipping another spoonful into between his lips, as he though of Brooks. What would Brooks think about Blake doing such a thing? Would he be angry? Would he scream? Would he cry?
Blake knew he wouldn't be able to handle it if he cried.
