A Boy Called Brook: Summer 1 by Clara Copyright© 2022, 2024 Clara Schuman   When a new family moves in next door, Brook makes new friends and finds out some things about himself that he'd only suspected before.

---

 
Author's Note: This is my first time posting on BigCloset TopShelf. I hope that you are all well as this variant of the pandemic begins to subside. I hope that we are headed into some better times. As always, I would love to hear from you as I enjoy comments from everyone, both pro and con, and I would always like to know that you're both healthy and safe. ~Clara.
 
 
Summer 1
 
"Hey, chef!" my dad shouted from our driveway. "Come on out here, buddy, and meet the new neighbors."

I sighed as I moved my sauce pans off of the hot burners. My dad had an uncanny knack for pulling me away from the stove at just the wrong moment. Asking for a few moments would do no good. Dad was the farthest thing in the world from 'a foodie,' so the sauce I was making for tonight's asparagus was of no concern to him. I moved everything and shut the burners down, pulled off my soiled, red apron, then went outside.

"There he is!" my father said as I descended the three stairs from our back deck. "Brook, these are our new neighbors, The Kerrs. This is Mrs Kerr... now let me see if I can get this right... it's Melissa and Elena, right?" He indicated two girls who were probably thirteen or fourteen.

The pretty girls smiled back and said, "That's right!" Delighted that my father had been able to remember only two names. Being only thirty five years old, I guess his senility hadn't set in just yet.

"Oh, my goodness," Mrs Kerr said, "I never would have guessed that you'd have a teenager. You look so young."

"Well, you see, Pat," my father, one of the most gregarious men to have ever lived, put his arm around my shoulder and said with great pride, "both Brook and I are 'whoops babies.' My parents were all done having children, you see, and my sisters were all growing up when all of a sudden... whoops... along I came. Then, seventeen years later, when I was in my junior year of high school," he looked at me and smiled as he told this story for the millionth time, "... whoops... along came Brook, here."

He told that story well, though, and Mrs Kerr laughed at it. "Oh, my. Well, you seem to have recovered well from such a big 'whoops.'"

Yeah, that's me - just a big whoops.

"Yeah, we do fine," my dad smiled. The truth was, we did ok - and only ok. Dad worked at a local lumber yard. Long hours and only ok pay. Since mom split about eight years earlier, things were pretty tight, financially. I was about to be a senior in high school and I was pretty sure that college was not something my dad could afford for me. That meant either a few years of working and saving every penny, or lots of student loans, and dad really hated the idea of me starting out in debt. I heard about that a lot.

My dad looked at me with a big smile. "Guess what, pal... Mrs Kerr has an older daughter, too, and she's going to be a senior at Tech this fall, too."

"Oh, cool," I replied, but as anyone who's been in a position like this knows, this could be great, or this could really suck. If the older Kerr girl was cool, then awesome. If she was quiet and nerdy, awesome. If she was needy and a pain in the butt... not so awesome. I was already quiet, unpopular and nerdy, not to mention small and uncool, so I didn't really need any extra baggage to carry into my senior year.

"And guess what her name is," dad smiled.

I let out a forced laugh. "Well, since you said it that way, I'm going to guess her name is Brooke."

"That's right!" my dad laughed. "What a coincidence, huh?"

"Yeah," I smiled. Dad always thought it was hilarious when we met a girl with the same name as me - well almost the same. My name is Brook, but that extra 'e' that the female version of my name carried didn't always translate into conversation.

"So, what are you studying at Tech?" Mrs Kerr asked.

"Culinary Arts," I said.

"A chef!?" She said, sounding impressed, apparently ignoring my dad having already calling me 'Chef' ashen he called me. "Well, I guess that explains the hairnet."

I looked up, of course I couldn't see my hair, then reached up and touched my hair. "Oh, yeah. I wear it when I'm working in the kitchen just to be careful."

"And to keep all of that hair out of my food," my dad laughed, playfully teasing me as he always did. "Believe me, you don't want one of those long hairs in your food." He laughed some more.

Mrs Kerr laughed along with him. "Well, I think that's wonderful. My Brooke is studying Cosmetology. She's done very well at the technical high school in our old town. Do you think you'll have classes together?"

I shrugged. "It's hard to tell. We'll be in different technical academies, so who knows, but we'll be taking the bus together."

"Oh, well, Brooke has her own car. Maybe you two could commute together. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Well, yeah, maybe," I said. I hadn't even met this girl. What if we hated each other? I wasn't going to commit to anything.

"Hey, I have a great idea," my dad said. "How about we all get to know each other over a nice meal tonight. I happen to have my own, personal chef and he's always eager to cook for a crowd. What do you say?"

"Well, that would be lovely," Mrs Kerr smiled. "I was going to feed my crew pizza tonight."

"Oh, that's not a good meal to end a day of unpacking boxes. Let's see, it's four thirty now... why don't we say five thirty? Sound good?" my father was making plans while I was wondering what exactly he planned to have me serve. All I had to make was some chicken thighs with rice and asparagus and certainly not enough for six people.

"Sounds great!" Mrs Kerr said. "Come on, girls. Let's get cleaned up and ready." She looked at my father and I'm pretty sure I saw a little flirtatiousness in her smile. "We'll see you in an hour."

They walked away and I waited until dad and I were in the kitchen before I asked the obvious question. "So, what exactly am I supposed to make for supper for six people in one hour?"

He smiled at me. Nothing like this ever bothered my dad. "What do we have, bud?"

"Not much. You haven't gone shopping at Costco in a month, so we're down to a few chicken thighs. There's nothing else in the fridge."

He nodded. "Alright, then. What can I run out and get for you to make?"

I thought for a moment. "Tell you what. I have some sliced ham and some good cheese in the deli drawer. If you run to the market in the center of town and get some chicken breasts, I can debone them and make some chicken cordon bleu. If I prep everything here and you rush, I can have that ready in about an hour."

"Ok. How many breasts?"

"There's six of us, so three or four full breasts. I'll cut them up into medallions after they're cooked so it looks like a lot. I'll make pilaf, we have plenty, and the asparagus in my special hollandaise sauce that you like. We should have plenty of that. Oh, and if they have any nice bread, like a French stick or something like that, grab that, too. Ok?"

"Yes, Chef!" my dad said with a salute and a laugh. He hurried out the door and in less than a minute, his car was headed down the street.

I put on my red apron, again, got out everything I would need and began prepping. Finely crushed breadcrumbs in a bowl, mixed in a few extra herbs to add some flavor, thinly cut Black Forest ham ready to go, oven preheated, three boxes of slightly doctored pilaf in the big rice cooker that I bought at a flea market a few weeks earlier, cheese sliced and ready, cookie sheets ready with parchment paper on them, tooth picks ready...

I was just getting my bamboo steamer down when I heard the back door open again. "That didn't take long," I said without turning.

"What didn't take long?" a girl's voice said.

I turned and saw a girl... well, a young woman in my kitchen. A really pretty, young woman. Kind of tall and kind of curvy - not in any way plump, mind you, but really nice curves. She laughed when she realized that she'd surprised me. "You must be Brook," she giggled.

"Yeah, I am," I mumbled, but I didn't say anything else. I was too awestruck by the fact that this really pretty young woman was in my kitchen. You know, I think I might be under selling her. She wasn't just pretty. She was probably the prettiest girl I'd ever seen and she was like six feet away from me and smiling at me... IN MY KITCHEN!

"Hi. I'm Brooke, too. You know? Brooke Kerr... from next door. You met my mom and sisters. I came to meet you and see if I could help."

"Oh," I said, just as stupidly as I'd sounded before. "I... I'm just waiting for my dad to come home with the chicken." Then I just stood there looking at her like I was a moron.

"Are you ok?" She asked, I think she giggled a little then, too.

That kind of woke me up, I guess. "Oh, yeah. I was just getting my steamer... umm... yeah..." Finally, my body started working again and I moved back into the kitchen proper to get back to work. "So... ummm... so, you're going to Tech in the fall?"

"Yeah. It kind of sucks to be doing my senior year in a new school. I knew everyone at my old school. The only one I'll know at this one is you." She smiled at me. "You'll have to introduce me around."

"Me!?" I laughed. "I don't know anyone."

She laughed a full laugh, now. "What do you mean you don't know anyone? You must know people."

I shrugged. "Not really. I just go to school and come home. That's about it."

"Well, who do you sit with at lunch?"

I thought for a moment. "Sometimes I have to sit with someone if there are no empty tables, but usually, I sit by myself."

"That's awful," Brooke said sincerely. "You really don't have any friends?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Not really."

All of a sudden, Brooke pulled herself up and sat on an open spot on the counter. "Well, you have a friend now, Brook."

"I do?" I asked as I set a pot of water on the stove.

"Yes. I am now officially your new best friend."

I laughed out loud.

"What's so funny?"

I turned to face her. "I mean... come on... look at you and look at me. Do we look like we'd ever be best friends?"

"Well, why not?"

I couldn't believe she was asking that. "Because you're gorgeous and I'm... me... that's why."

"And what's wrong with being you?"

"Well, nothing, I guess, but being me means that I don't have friends that look like you."

Then Brooke smiled in a really friendly way. "Well... maybe that's what it used to mean, but not any more. From now on, Brooke Kerr and Brook... what's your last name?"

"Chapin."

"... Chapin are best friends. Ok?" She smiled at me and I almost melted.

"Really?"

"I said it, didn't I?" God, she was so pretty.

"Yeah."

"Well, I don't lie." She looked very satisfied. "So... tell me... why did your parents name you Brook?"

"I don't know," I answered, going back to work. "If you ask my dad, he'll just say, 'Your mother picked the name,' and then go on to list as many famous men named Brook as he can come up with to prove it's a normal name for a boy to have."

"And are there a lot of boys named Brook?"

"Not really," I chuckled. "There was a basketball player and a minister in England and the one he likes the most is an old singer. He was named Brook Benton."

"I never heard of him," Brooke said.

"Yeah, well, don't tell my dad that or you'll be listening to 'Rainy Night In Georgia' before you finish your sentence. That was Brook Benton's biggest hit."

"Ahh," she laughed. "Thanks for the warning."

She hopped down from the counter and looked around the house. "You can tell it's just two guys living here."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "Lots of dark wood furniture and leather chairs. Low maintenance stuff."

"You don't like it?" I asked.

"It's fine. It just screams... 'guys,' I guess. Hey, I can set the table for you." She seemed excited to help.

I got out our dishes and flatware and showed her where to find the glasses. She was just starting to set everything when dad burst in through the door. "Alright, I got you ten, boned, half chicken breasts to save you time, three loaves of French stick and I got this wine for Pat and me. Do you think it'll be good with what you're making?"

It was a fairly inexpensive Chardonnay that I'd heard was pretty reliably tasty, but I'd never actually tasted, of course. I was, after all, only eighteen. "Yeah, that should be ok, I guess."

"Good," my father, smiled and put down the bottle. "I really want to make a good impression on her. She is a very..."

I made a big show of clearing my throat to get him to shut up. "Umm, dad. Have you met Brooke?"

He looked to where I was indicating and saw the beautiful girl setting the table. Of course, my dad being the opposite of me, tall, confident, handsome, he was unfazed by what should have been an embarrassing situation. "Oh, hi, Brooke. Nice to meet you."

"You too, Mr Chapin," Brooke said.

"Hey, two brooks," my father laughed. "That's almost a river!"

I know, worst dad joke ever, right? Well, that's my father for you. Brooke was polite enough to laugh. I just shook my head and smirked.

He clapped his hands and looked around. "Ok. What can I do to help?"

"You can get out of my kitchen and let me work," I said, with a smile. My father knew how territorial I was about my work area.

"Yes, Chef," he said, again, feigning kitchen etiquette. I just shook my head.

"Tell you what," my dad said, "you two seem to have things under control, so I'm going to go take a quick shower. Sound good?"

"Yeah, sounds good," I said. I would have teased him some more about smelling bad from having been doing yard work, but with Brooke in the room, that seemed inappropriate.

"Alrighty," he said, then he clapped his hands again and headed down the hallway towards bathroom, and we could hear him singing as he walked away, "A rainy night in Georgia. A rainy night in Georgia. Lord, I believe it's rainin' all over the world. I feel like it's rainin' all over the world..."

Brooke looked at me and giggled.

In a few minutes I had everything ready and in the oven. My dad had bought way too many boned breasts, but I made them all anyway. Once they were cooked, they'd be good for left overs. He could take them to work for lunch for a couple of days if he wanted.

Brooke chatted away while I worked. She told me about her old school and how she'd been sad to leave it. How her sisters were at the perfect age to move because they were both about to start high school, but it sucked to have to move for her senior year.

"Why did you move?" I asked.

"My mom and dad got divorced and my mom wanted to be near my grandparents. They live here, so... here we are. It's ok, I guess. It seems like a good place. I mean, I've already made a good friend, right?"

"That's great," I said, occupied with my work. "Whose that?"

"Well, you, silly," she laughed.

"Oh," I laughed, too.

I pulled out a covered casserole dish and filled it with pilaf, then covered it to keep it warm.

I warmed the bread, sliced it and put it into a nice basket that I had and I lined that with a clean dish towel that I folded over the bread to keep it warm.

Then I pulled out a big plater and put it on the counter. I cut each of the chicken cordon bleu pieces into medallions about a half inch thick, then lined the sides of the plater with the medallions. Then I put the steamed asparagus spears in the center to make a beautiful presentation.

"Wow!" Brooke said, looking at my presentation. "You're like an artist."

"Thanks," I blushed.

"Can we come in?" Mrs Kerr called as she opened the back door and came in with Brooke's younger sisters.

"Sure," my dad said, appearing from the other side of the kitchen, looking cleaned up and wearing a fresh shirt.

"Everything smells delicious!" Mrs Kerr said. "Oh, and look at that platter. It looks too good to eat!"

"Not to me," Elena joked.

"Me neither," Melissa said.

"Everything's almost ready," I said. "Why don't you all go into the dining room. Dad, if you take the platter, I'll open the wine for you and be right there."

He took the platter and followed all of our guests, except Brooke, into the other room. I grabbed the cork screw and pulled the cork on the wine bottle.

"All set?" I said to Brooke.

"Well, I am," she smiled, "but you're not going in to eat dressed like that are you?"

Now, usually I just went in and ate in my apron. I mean, it was just dad and me, after all, and neither of us cared. I looked down at myself and realized I was pretty messy. "Oh... yeah." I untied my apron and pulled it off. "Ok?"

"No," Brooke laughed. "Wait here." She grabbed the wine bottle and ran it into the dining room and I heard her say, "We'll just be a second."

She came back into the kitchen and said, "Where's your room?"

"Right there," I said, pointing down the hall in the opposite direction of the dinning room.

She grabbed my hand and pulled me that way. "Find a clean shirt," she ordered. It was a polite order, but an order nonetheless.

I pulled a clean tee shirt out of a draw and shook it out. "Will this do?"

"I guess," she said, dismissively. "Don't you have anything a little nicer?"

"Not really," I answered, kind of embarrassed. "I'm kind of a tee shirt and jeans guy. I never really get dressed up."

"Never?"

I shrugged. "I never really have a need to."

She shook her head. "Your life is going to change, my friend. Do you have clean pants?"

"No. I need to do laundry," I lied. The truth was that I only had my one pair of jeans and one pair of shorts that I slept in. Yeah, my jeans were dirty, but I wasn't going to show off my hairless legs in a pair of shorts on the first day that I was with the most beautiful girl I'd ever met.

"Ok, well, you'll be ok. No one can see your pants sitting down. Take your hair out of the hairnet and I'll brush it out for you and we'll be ready to eat."

I bent forward, pulled the hairnet off and let my hair fall free. I shook it, as I always did, and stood back up, pushing it back. "All set."

"Seriously?" Brooke looked at me, horrified. "That's how you take care of your hair?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Where's your brush?" she huffed.

I shrugged. "I don't really have one."

She shook her head, disgusted. "Let's go eat your dinner, then, after... I'm going to brush out that mess and trim some of those split ends so your hair looks more healthy. Understand?" That wasn't really a question. It was more of an affirmation at the end of her statement so I understood that she had made a decree.

"Yeah, sure," I laughed, assuming that it would all be forgotten.

As we walked back down the hall, I realized that Brooke was at least a head taller than I was. That wasn't all that unusual, I was pretty short, after all, but I found this particular revelation a little disheartening though because it drove home what should have been obvious already - Brooke was never going to see me as boyfriend material.

We sat at the dinning room table and I accepted some jibes from my dad about having changed my shirt, but Brooke said that I was just trying to look nice, like my father, which he seemed to like.

As we all got to know each other, it turned out that Mrs Kerr and one of my dad's older sisters knew each other in high school and my dad had even mowed her parent's lawn for a while when he was like twelve or thirteen.

"Small world," he laughed.

My meal got rave reviews from everyone, which was nice, especially since it was a pretty easy meal. Imagine if I'd had had time to plan things out. Then I could have really have impressed them.

So, when dinner ended, I took the dishes out into the kitchen to wash them. I put all the leftovers into ziplock baggies and piled all the dishes in the sink and started running water. We did have a dishwasher, but it hadn't worked for a good long while. I didn't say that, though. I just said that it was easier to wash everything by hand when there was just the two of us living together and since we never used it, we didn't have any dishwasher soap around.

"Hey, guys," Brooke said to her younger sisters, "could you two wash the dishes for Brook so I can take him next door and sort out his hair a little?"

Melissa huffed a little about it, but Elena said, "Sure. It's the least we can do."

"Mom," Brooke yelled into the dinning room, "I'll be back in a few. I'm taking Brook next door to show him our house. El and Mel are doing the dishes."

"Ok," Ms Kerr called back.

"Come on, little buddy," she said to me. "An hour from now, your hair isn't going to know what hit it."

"An hour?" If I sounded worried when I asked that, it's because I was.

Ok, so, our neighborhood was a mishmash of house styles. Some newer, some older. Some pricier and some... less pricier. Ours was smallish and... one of the less pricey. Nothing to be embarrassed about, usually, but in comparison to the Kerr's house, it was a pretty small. Ours was a little nineteen forties ranch house with a master bedroom and a small, kid's room, a kitchen and a large living area that was split into a living and dinning room by a carpet and a hardwood floor.

Cozy, you'd say, I guess.

Dad said it was only supposed to be a starter house, but that's not how things ended up working out.

The Kerr's house, right next door, was a pretty new colonial. Kind of massive, with a big, open floor plan, bright colors, shiny appliances, big rooms for everyone... You get it.

So, we walked the hundred feet or so from our back door to theirs and went in. There were lots of folded boxes that had been used to move stuff piled on the kitchen floor, the counters were cluttered with things that still needed places in kitchen cabinets, but the place was in the process of becoming organized.

Brooke started to run up to the second floor, but I stopped at the foot of the stairs.

"What's up?" she asked, looking at me.

"Nothing." I shrugged. "I'll... just wait here."

"Don't be a goof," she laughed. "Come on up."

"Ummm... maybe I shouldn't. You know... a guy in a girl's bedroom with no one home..."

She really laughed at that. "Oh, my God, Brook. What do you think is going to happen? I'm going to fix your hair, I'm not going to have my way with you. Come on up."

I still hesitated.

"Brook..." she sang my name to me. "Brook... come on Brook... Come on... You're being silly, Brook... Come on..."

Finally, I just gave in and went up the stairs.

"See, that wasn't so hard," she said when I got there. "Come on." She took my hand like I was a child, just as she'd done at my house, and led me to her room.

Her room was like four of mine. The walls were peach colored with a pale colored hard wood floor and pale wood bureaus with a matching desk, bed and nightstands. It was all very high end and very feminine. It made me a little uncomfortable. I'd never been in such a female space before.

Brooke pulled her desk chair out and pointed at it. "Sit," she said as she walked past.

"Should I roll over and play dead, too?" I asked. I watched her walk away from me. She was wearing these little shorts that made her rear end look... well... she was a really good looking girl, you know?

"Sorry," she laughed. "I guess that was rude. I'm just really used to telling my sisters what to do. I'll be nicer."

I sat and Brooke came back to me with a large toolbox that she placed on the desk and opened, revealing brushes, a hairdryer and a slew of tools I'd never seen before.

"That's a lot of hardware," I laughed.

"Hopefully it's enough," Brooke said with a grin and raised eyebrows. Then she took out her phone and looked serious. "I'm going to take a few pictures of your hair, ok? At my old school, we had to keep a digital journal of work we'd done to turn in for credit. Your hair is pretty bad. So, I'm going to take some before and after pictures and maybe a few along the way, just in case I have to do the same thing at the new school."

I shrugged. "Ok, I guess."

She took a few pictures and then pulled out a large, flat brush. "Alright," she smiled. "Let's see if I can do something with that mess."

So, Brooke started brushing my hair, and to tell you the truth, just the fact that she was touching me sent so many chills up my spine that I actually felt a bit lightheaded. I didn't even mind that each stroke of the brush pulled my hair something fierce.

"Geez, Brook," she laughed, "it seems like you have more snarls than hair. Hang on while I get something from my bathroom."

She disappeared for a minute, then came back with a pump bottle of something and started spraying it onto my hair.

"What is that?" I asked. "It smells like flowers."

"It's detangler," Brooke said, as she pulled out a stiff plastic, or rubber, or silicon, or something, hair brush from her toolbox, "and this is a detangling brush. I'll have to use the the heavy equipment on you, my friend. When was the last time you saw a hairdresser?"

I laughed. "I've never been to a hairdresser. I used to go to a barber, but it's been a long time since I've been to one of those."

"Well, it shows," she said. Then she started using the detangling brush at the bottom of my hair, slowly working her way up, using more of the detangling spray as needed. It actually hurt a bit to have my hair being tugged the way that it was, but like I said, just having Brooke touching me was just so exciting.

"What are you doing?" Elena asked as she and Melissa came into the room.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm trying to get all the knots out of Brook's hair. Don't you two know better than to come into my room without knocking?"

Melissa plopped herself on the bed and sounded catty as she said, "Don't you know better than to have a boy in your room - especially when you're home alone."

"Oh, don't be silly," Brooke said, dismissively. "Brook lives right next door. He's going to be here all the time."

"Yeah," Elena sat next to her sister. "Brook's the new Mandy Coleman."

Both Elena and Melissa laughed at that, but Brooke shook her head.

"Who's Mandy Coleman?" I asked.

"She lived next to us at our old house," Elena said. "Mandy and Brooke were best friends."

"She did her hair all the time, too," Melissa smiled. Then her smile grew. "I guess you're Brooke's new best girlfriend, now, huh?"

Well, being the new best friend sounded good, but that 'girlfriend' part was disappointing.

"Alright, knock it off," Brooke said to her sisters. Then to me, she said, "You know what, Brook, now that it's untangled, I bet your hair is a lot longer than you thought." She touched the middle of my lower back. "It comes all the way to here. I'm going to trim off the split ends, though, and shape it a little. So, it'll be about an inch shorter when we're done, ok?"

"Sure, I guess," I said with another shrug. "Just don't go crazy."

She grabbed her phone, again. "Don't worry. Let me take a couple more pictures at this stage and then I'll trim it up."

"You're only taking an inch off?" Melissa asked.

"Yeah," Brooke said, taking her photos. "Why?"

Melissa and Elena looked at each other and shook their heads. "Because he's a boy." Melissa laughed.

"Yeah, a boy with long hair," Brooke said, shaking her head and putting her phone down, and picking up the big, flat brush she'd tried to use before. "There are lots of boys with long hair around, you know." This time the brush flowed through my hair much more easily.

"If you say so," Melissa said, raising her eyebrows.

Satisfied that she'd brushed everything through well enough, Brooke put down her brush for the time being and picked up a comb and a pair of scissors.

"Don't go crazy," I finally said, probably spooked more by Melissa than Brooke.

"Trust me," she said, but didn't say anything more.

Seconds later, the first cuts began. I could feel her working behind me as she shortened my hair, just a little, and I could see the faces of her younger sisters watching as Brooke worked.

At some point, Elena must have noticed me looking at her as she watched Brooke. The younger girl smiled at me and said, "It looks good. Don't worry."

After what seemed like an eternity, Brooke stood up straight again and said, "There. That's much better. All your split ends are gone and your hair is all nicely shaped back here, probably for the first time, ever." She put down the scissors and comb and took something out of the toolbox and plugged it in. "I just want to straighten everything out to make sure that it's perfect. Here, let me comb it a bit while the iron warms up.'

"Iron?" I asked, concerned. "What do plan on doing with that?"

"I plan on ironing your hair," she laughed. "I iron mine every day. El's too, don't I?"

Elena nodded and smiled. "Believe it or not, if it's ironed right, it actually adds volume to your hair and makes it look thicker. Brooke does it really good. You'll like it when she's done. Honest."

I was pretty nervous about all of this, of course, but I'd allow anything if it meant that Brooke would continue touching me. Besides, it really was amazing how just a little bit earlier she couldn't even get a brush to go through my hair without pulling it and now she had a comb sliding easily through it. She obviously knew what she was doing.

After she'd run the comb through my hair a bunch of times, she grabbed some big clips and put those into my hair to separate it into sections and began to run what looked like an set of electric salad tongs through my hair.

"It smells like you're burning it," I said.

"Because I am," Brooke laughed. "Don't move suddenly, or I might burn your skin, too."

"Great," I rolled my eyes.

"If it makes you feel any better," Elena said, "your hair does look a thousand times better already."

"It really does," Melissa agreed. "It looked pretty bad before."

"Thanks," I replied, with as big a smirk as I could muster.

It only took a few more minutes of work with the iron before Brooke put it down and unplugged it. "Now, hang on," she said. "I just need to tidy up a couple of things back here and you'll be all done."

She snipped a few things, then brushed some more, then lifted my hair and let it fall a few times, then brushed it some more, then, finally, said, "Alright. I think you're finally done."

I stood and gave my head a gentle shake. "It feels funny," I said and I shook it again.

"Funny how?" Brooke asked, putting away the tools of her trade.

"I don't know. Lighter... longer... different."

"That's because it's not all stuck together and plastered to your head," she laughed. "It looks good though, doesn't it?" She asked her sisters.

"Yeah," Melissa nodded.

"A lot better," Elena said.

I looked around. "Is there a mirror where I can see it?"

"Sure," Brooke said as she closed her toolbox. "My Uncle Mark is coming over to put up the ones on our walls and bureaus tomorrow, so you'll have to use the one in the bathroom down the hall. Hang on a second and I'll get a hand mirror so you can see the back."

When she was ready, we walked down the hallway to the bathroom that Brooke and her sisters would be sharing and the large mirror the sat over the double vanity.

"Oh, wow," I said, somewhat involuntarily, when I saw my reflection.

"What's the matter?" Brooke asked when she saw how shocked I looked. "It's just cleaned up and brushed. I didn't do anything to the front."

"I know," I said, "but it just looks a lot more... I don't know... I guess it just looks like there's a lot more than there was before."

Brooke laughed and so did her sisters who were in the hallway. "It's just less tangled and matted, that's all. Here," she held a large, hand held mirror behind me, "look at the back."

The back was cut in a distinct, inverted arc and was laying across my back from shoulder to shoulder on full display, rather than just falling in a limp rope in the middle. "Whoa," I let out. "That looks... very..."

"Nice?" Brooke offered, when I didn't finish my sentence.

"Well, yeah, but... girly, was what I was thinking." I said.

That made them all giggle a bit.

"Girly!?" Brooke sounded a little indignant. "You have long hair, Brook. I neatened it up. I didn't give you bangs or pigtails or put bows in it. How did I make it look 'girly,' pray tell?"

Now I felt really on the spot, you know. I didn't want to get her mad, or anything. "I don't know... I guess I've just never seen a guy with hair cut this way, that's all."

"Nicely, you mean," she smirked. "Cut this nicely. Because I think it looks really good."

"Ok, yeah, it is cut nicely," I smiled as I got used to how it looked, and it was. "I guess I was just surprised that it looked good. It never really did before."

Brooke nodded. "How do you wash it?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Soap and water usually."

That earned a horrified gasp from all three girls. "Body soap?" she asked. "Like Dove or Dial?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. Whatever we have. My dad likes Irish Spring."

"Ok, well those days are over. If you're going to have me taking care of your hair, then you're going to have to do some basic work yourself, too. We'll go get somethings in a little while. Right now, let's go show my mom and your dad how good your hair looks."

I started to follow, but my legs just stopped. "Wait, wait... my dad may not like this."

Brooke looked at me like I was nuts. "Why? Did he like the way it looked before so much?"

I shook my head. "No, in fact he complained about it a lot, but if he thought it looked girly, then..."

"Oh, don't be silly," Brooke cut me off. "It's long hair. It looks like long hair. It looks great. Come on."

Reluctantly, I followed my newest and only friend back to my house where my father and her mother had moved from the dining room table out to our low deck where they were sipping the wine my father had brought home.

"Well, that took quite a while," Mrs Kerr, said with just the tiniest bit of suspicion in her voice. "I thought you were just going to show Brook the house."

"Well, I was," she said, "but I decided that I NEEDED to get all of those snarls out of his hair. So..." she took my hand and pulled me forward. "...ta da! Doesn't his hair look better?"

Mrs Kerr applauded her approval. "Oh, yes, Brooke, that's much better. You did a fine job, sweetheart. Well done."

My father seemed a bit dumbfounded, though.

"What's the matter, Vic?" Mrs Kerr asked. "Don't you think Brook's hair looks much better?"

My dad started by clearing his throat. "Ahem... yeah... I guess. Yeah... definitely. His hair does look a lot better. The only thing is... Chef... you look a bit... like... a girl..." Then he laughed, a little nervously. "Not that that's a bad thing, I mean, but... you just caught me off guard, is all."

"Well, I think you look great," Mrs Kerr said to me, grabbing my arm and shaking it. "Not everyone just grabs a trimmer and shaves all their hair down to three quarters of an inch like Vic does."

"Hey," my dad said with pride, "I have never been to a barber. I just set my clippers to number two and stand over the waste basket and run the clippers over my head. I do it every Sunday morning and I look this good. What more could you ask for? I could do it for you, too, Brook. I've told you that before."

"No thanks, dad," I laughed. "I like my hair long.

"Well, you look like a girl," my dad said, with a dismissive laugh.

"Just stop it, Vic," Mrs Kerr gave dad's arm a gentle slap. "He looks fine. Lovely, in fact."

"Well, he could put it in a ponytail, or something, if he wanted to tighten up the look, but I wanted you to see how nicely it cleaned up," Brooke said, proudly. Then she completely changed gears. "Where's the nearest drug store?"

Mrs Kerr thought for a moment. "Well, there's Family Pharmacy. It's through the center of town and down the hill by the shopping center. Why?"

"Do they have a good selection of hair products?" Brooke asked.

"Nope," my father said, flatly. "They don't have a good selection of anything. They have necessities and they do prescriptions. That's all. If you want to get a selection of anything like that, you'll have to go to Walgreens way down on 122A. It's about forty five minutes away."

"Is it ok if I take a ride there, mom?" Brooke asked.

"Sure, honey. You're not going alone, are you?"

"No. Brook is coming with me?"

"I am?" I said, surprised that my plans had been made for me.

"Of course. We're best friends, now. Come on."

I looked at my dad. "Is it ok if I go?"

"A beautiful girl asks you to go for a ride and you ask if it's ok? Hell, yeah, it's ok! Go on! Have fun, Chef." He laughed.

Brooke took my hand, once again, and led me back to her place, but this time we went to their driveway, where we got into a fairly late model, red Jeep Wrangler, which I learned was hers, and she headed towards her destination.

"Maybe it'd be best if I taught you how to wash and condition your hair. What time do you get up in the morning." Brooke asked as she drove along.

"Wait?" I asked, surprised. "Are we getting hair stuff for me?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "Of course. I have everything I need. What time do you get up?"

I shrugged. "Around five."

"Five!?!?" She sounded shocked. "It's summer vacation, Brook. Why on earth would you get up at five?"

"Because my dad goes to work for six. I make him breakfast and I make him his lunch, too."

"You make your dad his lunch?" She sounded a lot more surprised than I would have expected.

"Yeah. I want to be a chef, remember. You want to be a hairdresser, so you do your sisters' hair, right? I want to be a chef, so I make my dad's lunch. There's nothing weird about it."

"I never said it was weird," she said.

"You sounded like you thought it was weird."

"Unusual," she said, "but when you put it that way... I guess it makes sense. Regardless - I don't get up until nine or so. So, I'll come over when I get up and I'll teach you how to wash and shampoo your hair. Ok?"

I thought about that for a moment before I asked a pretty dumb question. "You're not planning on getting into the shower with me or something like that, are you?"

That sent Brooke into gales of laughter. "You're not serious are you? Of course not! I'll wash it in the sink. Boy, you are sure scared of me, aren't you?"

"No," I said, blushing. "I'm just not used to..." I stopped talking instead of saying something stupid.

"Not used to what?"

I took a deep breath. "Look, Brooke... you're really pretty and I'm... well, I'm me. So... I'm not used to someone like you even talking to me, let alone being nice to me."

She reached over and squeezed my hand. "Well, get used to it, Brook, because I want to be your friend. I'm not going to attack you, or..." she laughed a little, "... molest you against your will. I just want to be your friend. That's all. Alright?"

I nodded. "Yeah, alright. I'm sorry if I came off as a baby, or something. I just have never had any friends."

"Why?"

I shrugged. "Cause... I'm me, I guess. I'm little and I'm weird and I'm not into the stuff that everyone else is into."

Brooke drove for a few more moments before she spoke again. "Who told you you were weird."

"Brooke..." I was a little uncomfortable with this conversation, "I have had my books knocked out of my hands a hundred times. I have had dozens of wedgies. I begged my dad to take me home from summer camp a when I was fifteen because I couldn't get any sleep because every time I closed my eyes, some big jerk or another would do something mean to me. I've been in band, chorus, drama club, track team, math team, debate club, swim team... you name it... I've tried everything and I've never found a friend."

"Until now," she said, touching my leg.

I smiled. "Until now," I said, but I kind of felt like once we started school in the fall, she'd find other friends and I'd be left alone, just like I'd always been.

When we got to Walgreens, Brooke spent a good deal of time picking out just the right products for my hair. Not a lot of stuff, mind you, but the correct ones. "I like Pantene," she explained as if I had an opinion, "so we'll go with that. Your hair isn't greasy, so we'll use the condition and repair shampoo. We'll stick with condition and repair for the conditioner, too." Then she held up a pump bottle. "This is detangler, Brook, and you need to use it every day when you're brushing your hair. The more you use it, the more your naturally tangled hair will relax."

"Wait... I need to brush my hair everyday?" I asked, only half joking.

She made a disgusted sound as she returned her attention to the products. After some prowling, she held up a can of hairspray. "Here. This is non-alcohol hairspray, so it won't dry out your hair."

"Hairspray?" I was shocked.

"Yes. What's the big deal?"

"Isn't that just for girls?"

"What's wrong with you?" Brooke laughed. "How do you think men keep their hair in place? Magic?"

I shrugged. "I guess I never thought about it."

"Alright... now, what kind of..." she stopped and shook her head. "Never mind. Follow me."

"What were you going to ask me?"

"I was going to ask you what kind of brushes you had, but I realized what a stupid question that was. Here - you need a good flat brush and good brush for detangling. Take these."

"I think this is enough," I said, a bit nervous about how much she was spending.

"Almost," she said without looking at me. "You need some hair ties to put your hair up at bedtime."

"'Put my hair up?'" I'd never heard that phrase before. ""What do you mean?"

Brooke chuckled a bit. "Well, for you, I mean just to put it in a pony tail or something like that. I usually put my hair 'up' at bedtime - like in a bun, or a messy bun - so that it's out of the way and protected."

I looked around to make sure no one could hear. "Brooke... I've never worn a ponytail in my life. I'm not sure I can just start doing all of this stuff. My dad will tease me mercilessly if I do."

She looked at me like I was from out of space. "Brook... do you like the way your hair looked this morning or the way it looks now?"

I knew the answer, but I pretended to think for a moment. "Now."

"Fine. Well, that doesn't just happen. It took a lot of work to get it looking that way and it takes a lot of work to keep it looking that way. Your dad seems like a cool guy. I'm sure he'll be ok with this."

I shook my head. "My dad seemed like a cool guy because he was trying to impress you and your mom. Believe me, he will be teasing me about my hair when I get home. All of this other stuff... he'll have a field day."

Brooke looked at me and smiled, and for that smile I would have done anything. She looked at my hair and ran her fingers through it to straighten some stray hairs, and that sent tingles to my toes. "Don't worry about your dad. I'll explain everything to him. He'll be fine. I promise." She grabbed some Terry cloth covered hair ties in various colors from a rack and said, "These will do. I think we're done - for now."

"For now!?" my voice may have sounded a bit panicked as I followed her to the check out.

"Yep. For now. As we move on, you're going to want other things, but those things can wait until you're ready."

"Other things? Such as?"

Brooke smiled and shrugged. "Bobby pins... scented shampoos... hair clips... head bands..." she saw the panic on my face, so she laid it on thicker. "... curling iron... maybe a nice big, pink bow..."

Finally I knew she was teasing. "Alright, alright. I'll get enough of that when I get home. Let's just get out of here."

Dad and Mrs Kerr were still on the deck sipping wine when we got back, but I'm not sure if they'd opened one or two new bottles since we'd left. Either way, they were both a bit tipsy and laughing pretty easily.

"Hey, look whose back!" my dad said. "It's your daughter and my... son. Well, I think it's my son, but with that new hair style... I'm uncertain."

Mrs Kerr laughed at that. "Leave him alone, Vic. He looks great. Don't listen to him, Brook. He's just being a bully." She looked at Brooke. "Did you get what you needed, sweetheart?"

"Yeah. It was mostly for Brook. He needed stuff to maintain his hair."

"HA!" my dad let out an explosive laugh. "Maintain his hair."

Brooke looked at my dad and said, "Mr Chapin, I spent a lot of time getting all the knots and snarls out of Brook's hair. He needs to maintain it correctly."

"I'll go get my clippers right now," my dad said somewhat drunkenly, "and we can take care of that mop."

"Dad, I like my hair like this," I said embarrassed both by his behavior and by his drunkenness.

"You look like a girl," he scoffed and laughed.

"Oh, stop, Vic. He looks fine," Mrs Kerr, said, just as tipsy as my dad, but a bit more flirty and that caught my dad's attention.

"Well, alright," he said, leaning back in his resin Adirondack chair, "but I don't want to see you wearing curlers and some of that green, avocado mask stuff on your face when your walking around here at night."

"Yeah, sure," I said. "You're hilarious, dad."

"Come on," Brooke said, quietly, rolling her eyes at my father. "Let's sit on the stairs."

The stairs to our deck were around the corner from the deck itself - kind of forming an 'L' and acting as a back entrance to the house. There was the deck top and then three steps down to the driveway. Brooke had me sit in the middle of the middle step and she sat on the deck level with a knee on either side of me. Honestly, if she had any idea how excited she was making me when she sat like that, she would not have let me anywhere close to her.

She opened the Walgreens bag and took out some of our purchases. She sprayed my hair lightly with the detangler and then brushed it some more before taking one of the cards that had hair ties attached to it and pulled off a yellow tie. Then, pulling all of my hair to the back of my hard wrapped the hair tie around the hair several times.

"There," she said, sounding a bit triumphant. "That should hold it while you sleep."

I reached back and felt the ponytail. It sat dead center in the back of my head, and it felt a bit odd back there. "Does it look ok?" I asked, feeling a little weird for asking.

"I think you look really nice." She smiled at me and I honestly thought That smile was going to melt me into a puddle. God, she was so beautiful. "You know, you have really pretty hair."

"Oh, gee, thanks," I said, with a nervous laugh. "That's just what a guy wants to hear."

"Well, it should be, because I like guys and I like pretty hair."

Well, that made my heart skip a beat.

"You have nice brown hair, with natural red highlights in it. It's very pretty. You should take good care of it." She said, patting my hair as if I was her pet.

"Ok," I smiled. "I will."

We sat there a while longer, just getting to know each other, until Mrs Kerr and my dad came around the corner.

"I'm going to head home, honey," Mrs Kerr said.

"Ok, mom," Brooke smiled at her. "Can you make it on your own?"

"Oh, stop it," she said with a playful wave of her hand. "I'm not that drunk. Vic, thanks for a lovely night. Brook, thank you for a delicious dinner. It was nice to meet you both. I hope this is just the first of many nights together."

"I'm sure it will be, Pat," my dad said, hanging on to the railing just to be sure that he didn't get too wobbly. "'Night!" He watched her walk home and enter her new home, then he looked at us. "Well, kids..." my father took a second to look at me, laughed and then said, "... or should I say, Well, girls..."

Brooke and I looked at each other and we both rolled our eyes.

"... I have to get up early, so goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mr Chapin."

"Goodnight, dad."

He went into the house humming. He'd had a good night.

"I think my dad has a thing for your mom," I laughed.

"I think my mom has a thing for your dad, too," Brooke laughed as well. "Old people can be so cute some times."

I shrugged. "I guess."

"So..." Brooke smiled at me, "is there anyone that you have 'a thing' for?"

I blushed a little. I certainly wasn't going to say that I had a thing for her! "Not really. No one ever really ever liked me, so why would I invest my feelings in someone else?"

Brooke sat up a little straighter and looked hurt. "I like you, Brook. I like you a lot."

"I like you, too, Brooke. Thanks for being nice to me."

She gave my shoulder a playful slap. "You don't thank your friends for being nice to you. It's what friends do. Besides... I really do like you. You're funny and a talented chef and cute... what's not to like about you? I bet you've just been too shy to make friends at school. Hang out with me, Brook. You'll have friends for your senior year. You'll see."

I shook my head. "I doubt it. In fact, I think you might find that being seen around me is a sure fired path to social suicide for you, too."

"Nah," she said in an exaggerated manner. "Trust me. By October, you'll forget that you were ever an outcast."

We talked a little longer, then Brooke said that she had to get going. She reminded me to not wash my hair in the morning and be ready for her around nine thirty or ten. Then she left and I went into the house.

I knew that my dad was going to be in a mood in the morning. He always was when he had a hangover. Some days were worse than others, so I'd just have to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. That's the other side of the coin of a guy like my dad. He's got that big, happy, life of the party personality most of the time, but when he's feeling under the weather... well... at best, he can be grumpy. At worst... he can be... well... pretty mean.

Elena and Melissa had left a few things in the dish strainer, so I put those away before I went to my bedroom. I took off my clothes, hung my jeans on the hook on the back of my door, and grabbed my sleep shorts, the only shorts I owned, from under my pillow and a clean tee shirt. Then I took my dirty clothes and padded down the hall in my bare feet to the bathroom. I put my dirty clothes in the hamper and grabbed my tooth brush.

It was about that time that I looked in the mirror and gasped.

Why?

Because I realized that my ponytail was not at the base of my head like a guy would wear it, but right at the back of my head, in a kind of sporty, athletic girl's fashion. I didn't look like a guy with a ponytail at all - I looked like a girl. Like a sporty girl. Like a kind of cute, tomboyish, sporty girl.

No wonder my dad had teased me.

For a second, I thought about taking the ponytail out, but... here's the thing...

Ever since I started... you know... getting... aroused, I guess is the right word... sexually aroused, I mean... it's always involved these fantasies about being a girl. Well, no... not really BEING a girl, but... being me, but being me and being me and looking like a girl. Like... being pretty, and wearing pretty clothes, and makeup and... well, you get the idea...

Looking into the mirror and seeing how I looked with a ponytail was like some kind of fantasy come true! I actually looked like a girl!

The scary thing was, though, that I hadn't even tried to look like a girl. I was more surprised than anyone. Did Brooke do this on purpose, or was this just how I looked when she pulled my hair back? I was kind of inclined to think that the second scenario was more likely.

The weird thing was that I hadn't really grown my hair long as part of this girly fantasy thing. At least I don't think I had. See, after my mom left, and she had just up and left without any warning one day - I was at school and dad was at work and we both came home to a quiet house and an empty closet - I just didn't go to the barber shop any more. Not because I wanted to look like a girl, but because no one took me. After a while, I kind of liked my hair on the longer side, so I just got used to it. Then it got longer and longer. No plan or anything, just laziness.

Now, it was kind of fulfilling my fantasy for me!

I knew dad had had a lot to drink and was going to be out cold for the night, so I grabbed a hand full of tissues before I left the bathroom and I headed for my room where my imagination could run wild. Laying there in bed, I saw myself with all kinds of hairstyles - long and straight like I had that night, wavy, curly, high up on top of my head, different colors, you name it!

Then, as the evening wore on, my fantasies turned to me in girls clothes. Skirts, blouses, dresses, lace, silk, frills, bows, heels, flats, wedges... whatever my over excited mind could think of.

And always, Brooke was there. Always beautiful. Always smiling. Always touching me. Always smelling like heaven. Always telling me she liked me. Always being Brooke. Always Brooke.

I'd jerked off so long before, I'd never been so desperate to come and I'd never been so aggressive with myself before.

Eventually, I'd exhausted my libido and my imagination and my body. I could take no more and my nightstand was covered in disgustingly soiled tissues. So, I pulled up my sheet and rolled over and fell asleep dreaming of the goddess who was sleeping about a hundred feet away in her own bed and I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, she might have been thinking about me, too.
 
 
To Be Continued...