fandomhighdorms | Second Floor Common Room; Thursday Lunchtime.

There was revenge on the horizon for Turtle Wexler, and the market had made record gains this week. Typically, as she sat curled up on the couch, watching them report on the gains on CNN, Turtle would be very pleased with herself and the world, and in a generally good mood. But her eyes on the television set were distinctly dull and down, and, above all, worried. For, alas, not even record gains in the stock market could make Turtle's mood better in light of the conclusion she had reached this morning as she thought about it over the Wall Street Journal after her workshop.

Yesterday, Jeff had said that he wanted to talk, and there hadn't been a straight answer as to whether or not it was a good talk or a bad talk. It depended on her, he said, and then wouldn't talk about it, because soc-- football was on. Needless to say, this made Turtle rather nervous.

But then she had to go and think about it, and it only got worse from there. Of course it was bad. If it was good, he would have just said it was good. But he was trying to cover that it was bad. And, in the recent weeks, there was the whole thing with the closet, and then, oh, God, that night the squirrels slipped her rum and she got drunk and tried to...and then...

Green arrows flashed across the marquee at the bottom of the screen, but they held none of their usual consolation. Not under the realization that it was crystal clear and quite obvious.

He was going to break up with her.

He. Was going to break up. With her!

You didn't dump Turtle Wexler! You couldn't!

...

...She'd be really, really ticked off about the whole thing if she wasn't so devistated.

But, hey. At least stocks were up, right?

[[ this = what happens when someone leaves the TV in the workout room on CNBC while I'm working out. Open, open, open, of course! ]]

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When Brooke saw the lower lip tremble, she immediately said, "I'll be right back," and ran into the kitchen.

Not long at all later, she reemerged carrying a ~~modded~~ container of ice cream and a spoon, and a couple napkins in case tissue was needed. Not that she'd ever done anything like this before or anything. "Here."

"...Thanks," Turtle, shifting slightly to be better positioned for the consumption of ice cream, took a look at the container first before she'd take a spoon to it. It was turtle ice cream. Oh the irony! She sniffed a little, digging in the spoon and indulging her sweet tooth a little, her eyes glumly returning to the TV screen.

Brooke really was concerned, and if this were Peyton or something ther'd be hugs at the very least, but in this case there was just a quiet, "You okay?"

Turtle ruefully shook her head. "No," she said, and drew in a deep breath, lips pressed together doubtfully, uncertain as to whether or not she should say any more. But she had brought her ice cream. That was at least even exchange for an explanation.

"My boyfriend..." she stared, took another breath, "wants to...talk."

That last word was saturated with how dire the situation clearly was.

She really understood the meaning of the word "talk". In that context, it meant nothing but bad. "Oh no," she said sympathetically. "Do you know what about? I mean, is it fixable?"

"Probably too late," Turtle admitted. "I think he's pretty much already made up his mind. The only thing saving me at the moment is that he won't talk during EuroCup."

"Okay, well..." she said, thinking this over. "At least that probably means it's not so bad that he needs to talk right away, right? It's something."

Turtle gave Brooke a bit of a look. "Have you met Jeff?" she asked. "Multitasking? Not his strong suit. All that means is that he doesn't have enough focus to concentrate on guys kicking a soccer ball and me at the same time. But he's smart, you see, so when there isn't a game, he's probably avoiding me, because he knows that you can't just dump Turtle Wexler..."

"What would you do if he tried?" Brooke asked, really curious about that last statement and wondering if she might need Turtle's number in her speed dial for her next breakup.

Despite her previous assertion that there might be serious consequences, Turtle's eyes just dropped helplessly away.

"...I don't know," she admitted, with a voice brimming on the edge of tears that she'd already promised herself not to let happen.

"Aww, it's okay," she assured her. "Just... don't freak out too much yet. This is Jeff. He might not even get around to the actual talk. He might just start spouting off something about breasts and forget."

"While he's talking to me, maybe," Turtle reasoned back, "but it will still be there, lurking. He'll think about it again after I've left or when I'm not around and how he doesn't want to be with me anymore, but he just can't say it, because he's Jeff, and he won't be happy..."

Brooke sighed, not envying the situation. "Boys suck," she decided.

"I don't know," Turtle said after a mouthful of ice cream. "I kind of really like this one. Like, a lot. Boys don't suck as much when you've got the prospect of losing one. Especially since I hate losing. Hate it."

"Yeah," she admitted. "But I've always found it easier to decide they suck in general going in, and it usually makes things easier. Personally."

"Well, yeah..." Turtle sighed in agreement. "But, you know. Jeff's...different."

And she knew that, no matter what, no one could argue that fact.

Brooke nodded. A lot. "Well, yeah..."

"And, I guess..." Turtle added, after a moment of sulkily ruminating over her ice cream, "I guess I really shouldn't be all that surprised. I'm probably not that good of a girlfriend..."

"Okay, no," she said sternly. "You are not allowed to start doing that to yourself. I forbid it."

"But if there wasn't some truth in it, then why," she gave Brooke a sharp look, "would have be breaking up with me?"

"Because boys suck, and maybe he has his own issues," Brooke said, and again, it was Jeff. "I mean, let's face it, this guy is... unique. The fact that you've been able to deal with him at least as long as I've been here means you have to be pretty damn awesome. No wallowing in self-doubt on my watch."

"...Maybe." But Turtle, frowning into her ice cream, wasn't very convinced. She could think of a few more arguments to support her case, but she wasn't exactly sure she felt comfortable bringing those up to Brooke. Things about blondes and boobs and getting drunk and sex that she really had a feeling were at the root of all this. Especially since she knew that Brooke would tell her that those were stupid reasons, reasons that made boys such as much as they did, and that's what made it hard. Because Turtle knew all that stuff. She knew it very well. But that didn't stop it from hurting all the same.

Second Floor Common Room; Thursday Lunchtime.

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