RISKY BUSINESS

Chapter 8

MARCH,
LAVEROUNE STREET, THE COOPER RESIDENCE
b r o o k l y n l e s l i e c o o p e r
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I was currently sitting in my usual recording spot in front of my bed, my phone set up and my hands in my lap, shaking. I had a lot to say; a lot to explain— but I didn't know how to word it all. Would I be upfront and just recite everything that had happened to me these past few days, or should I keep the key parts on the down-low?

"Let's just wing it," I said to myself as I leant forward to press record on my phone. When the recording started, I took a deep breath before nodding my head as if to give myself a small sign of reassurance.

It's okay, Brooklyn. Do it for the grades.

I released my breath, and looked right into the eye of the camera. "So, coincidently enough— there's this boy. He's your typical known-by-all, bad reputation, flirtatious and cocky teenager. He's flirted with me more times than I can count— and he loves to make me blush. That's a constant; my body reacting to the words his hypnotic voice makes me believe. He's the type of boy that's girls fawn over, and he just loves attention," I paused to look away, thoughts rushing through my head; giving me more information.

"For reasons unknown, he keeps showing up. Whether he's embarrassing me and discarding any chances I could have with other boys, or flirting with me and making me feel special like no other person has before— he remains in my head for days. Now, I don't know how to act around boys, especially ones that show an interest in me. I don't flirt back, I don't give him the satisfaction of opening up like a book and letting him read me; though I don't have to say anything, or even look at him for him to know exactly what I want. He knows how I feel, how I act, and what I'm thinking like it's nothing. Whereas, I know little about him other than his street cred. I don't like him, but I don't dislike him either. I just . . . He makes me feel weird."

I sat frozen, lost in the thought of Calum. What exactly did I know about this boy other than what people had told me? Yes, I've had the privilege of him telling me he isn't as bad as people say he is, and in that moment I'll believe him, in that moment he'll deem himself worthy of being a normal human being like me— like everyone else. But then he'll go and ruin that by making some sexist comment or scaring off a cute boy that's asked me to dance. I didn't get him. I couldn't. He made it hard to read him.

He was a closed book. Bound by a lock thats key had gone missing ages ago. And I wanted to rip open that book, key or not.

I realised that the camera was still recording me as I stared emotionless at the wall behind my bed, and leant forward to end the recording. I then stood to put my phone on its charging station on my bedside table and walked over to my window to open it up and provide me with the cool breeze I needed.

As soon as the window was wide, a calm breeze flew in and I instantly felt better. There was a cream, medium sized stool covered in fluff below the window, and I sat down on it with my arms crossed over the window sill as I look up at the blue sky. I felt calm. Lonely, but calm. Bored, but at ease.

My mother had forced me to stay home this week so I could rest my concussion.

A few days ago, after signing me out, my parents took me to the hospital where I was checked by a few doctors and nurses, who came back with the results of me having a mild concussion. They told me to rest and keep away from any physical activity— not that it was something I yearned to do. So my mother took off work to keep a watchful eye on me. Or at least, that's what she claimed she was doing. I was left to watch movies, draw, and sit on my own every day, while she did paperwork in the study, only taking a break every hour to check on me and remind me to drink water.