Tightropes
Talking to Kate, now, was like walking along a tightrope.
One one end, there was the distance she had to keep - the distance she had come far too close to closing just yesterday. She had to keep away, to a certain extent. She had to make sure she didn’t crack open like an egg - because the thoughts in her head weren’t for Kate to see. She had to keep away.
But, on the other end, there was the closeness she had to keep. Because, if she didn’t, she risked losing Kate. Or of alerting her about just how difficult it was, to keep interacting with her. On the other end, there was the risk of keeping too far away, and closing up entirely. It was a safe option - a better option - but, somehow, it felt so much worse to lean into that side. It was safer, but… it was so much more sickening.
And there was a very, very thin line between the two - that Brooke was just barely managing to walk along.
She’d already tipped too far one way. She’d already opened up too much - before she’d even realized what she was doing. And she couldn’t escape that fact.
Because Kate was still wearing the watch Brooke had given her.
She’d cracked open. Like an egg. And she’d managed ot start cleaning up the mess - but she only kept this delicate balance because Kate had yet to ask about her scars.
Brooke had no idea what she’d do when Kate, inevitably, demanded answers.
She was walking along a tightrope.
She stepped into her World History class, already too aware of the balance she had to keep the moment she saw Kate, and Kate saw her.
(She shouldn’t’ve told Kate about being able to vomit on command. Now her only method of escape would tip her too far - would make it too clear that she was keeping a distance. And then Kate would question her. And it would all fall apart.)
Her eyes found Kate only after Kate had spotted her.
Kate - who had her hair down.
(Well, that was good, at least.)
Tightrope, Scott. Tightrope.
Brooke shifted the bag slung over her shoulder, walking along the aisle and sliding into the seat next to Kate. Without glancing at her.
She set her bag aside, and rolled her nails against the table once.
“Kate.” She said, finally - turning to the blonde in question.
“Brooke!” Kate said, giving her a wide smile. “You didn’t skip class! Or throw up!”
“Of course not.” Brooke said. She kept her voice very flat.
(Tightrope.)
“Why would I?”
“Because you’re weird?” Kate offered.
“I am not. You people are the weird ones.” She said, reaching into her bag and pulling out her history textbook. And laptop. “Now - project. Has the teacher talked yet?”
“She just said to get to work. That’s why I like her, actually.” Kate said, giving Brooke yet another smile. She was odd like that. “So - to work!”
“To work indeed.” Brooke said flatly, logging into her laptop with a few dismissive clacks of her keyboard. “I was thinking we should talk about the Ptolemies.”
Kate blinked.
“The who?”
“I have a family tree here. Drew it up last night, while working out some of the plans for your dorm. They’re the family that eventually birthed Cleopatra - the famous one.”
Brooke dug around - and made a tiny noise in the back of her throat when she found the family tree in question. She laid it on the desk - and waited for the inevitable.
Kate looked at it.
Blinked.
Did a small double-take.
Looked again.
“...Are you sure you drew this right?”
“Yes.” Brooke said - repressing a grin.
Kate stared.
“...You’re one-hundred percent sure?”
“Yes.”
“How… how are there so many Cleopatras in one family?”
Brooke blinked.
The laugh that left her bubbled up from somewhere deep in her ribcage. It tasted foreign in her mouth.
Kate sent her a very startled glance.
“That’s your first question?” Brooke said - and she bit her bottom lip for the first time in years, to stamp down on the grin on her face.
“There are like, seven!” Kate said, a little defensively - though she was smiling too, now.
“And there’s fourteen Ptolemies! There’s more incest there then in the Targaryen family. You’re first question is about the seven Cleopatras?”
“Well, I mean - weren’t there other female names by that time? Geez - they named, like, all of the women Cleopatra!”
“At least none of them had to worry about calling out the name of their ex-wife slash -sibling in bed.”
Kate made a noise that was either very disgusted or very amused. Or both.
“Eurgh.”
Brooke snorted.
“Blegh?”
“Blargh.” Kate said - and the smile on her face was very, very wide.
“Alright - but really now. Work. It must be done.” Brooke said, reaching for the textbook and glancing again at the family tree. “I chose the Ptolemies because they are both fascinating and disgusting. And important. It should make for a very easy, very effective presentation. With any luck.”
Kate seemed to consider it.
“But, I mean… yuck.”
Brooke let out a reluctant huff of amusement.
“Sacrifices must be made, Beverly.”
Kate blinked.
“...Did you just call me Beverly?”
And, just like that - the tension that had started to drip out of her spine came sliding back.
“Oh. Did I?” Brooke said - mostly to stall.
(She hadn’t been paying proper attention. Tightrope, Scott. And you’re slipping.)
“Yeah.” Kate said.
“Sorry.” Brooke refused to glance at her. “Must’ve been a slip of the tongue. Won’t happen again.”
“...I… didn’t say I don’t like it.”
Brooke blinked.
Her hands, which had been finding the keyboard of her laptop, faltered.
“...Oh. Uhm. I - uh. Can I call you Beverly, then?”
“If you want to.” Kate said - and Brooke saw a hand come up to pick at the cuff of her sleeve.
“...Alright then.”
Beverly.
It was a much better name then Kate. Less clandestine. Longer. Rolled off the tongue better.
More befitting someone so-
...
...It fit better.
“Well?” Brooke said, to distract herself from her dangerously wandering thoughts. “To work, Beverly. Research to do, writing to finish. Projects to get started on.”
“Uhm. Right.” Ka- Beverly said, reaching into her bookbag.
(It was easier walking along a tightrope then she’d thought.)