Season One
Brooklyn Noelle Brankovich

Chapter One: "Do I have to dance today, Mommy?"

The sound of my mother yelling at the housekeepers was enough to wake me up. My golden-flecked green eyes flew open and I wasted no time getting out of my floating bed.
Sitting at the edge, I cracked every bone in my body from head to toe in the most healthy way I can as seen done by my regular chiropractor.

I let out a single "ahh" and slipped my size nine feet into the slippers that waited for me on the white carpet that made up my bedroom floor.

It was supposed to be an off-day; every week I was granted one random day to relax.
However, I couldn't help but move my body rhythmically across my room.

The golden six AM sun shone in through my bow window, illuminating my body like I was on stage again. Music that didn't play from a speaker didn't have to because I heard it in my head and danced along.

Startling me, my westernized Spaniard mother busted in. The door swung against my wall and made a loud THUD! It was enough to startle all the help on the forty acre estate.

My eyes wide, I relaxed my tense shoulders and put my feet back fully on the plush surface.

"Mommy," I breathed out, my hand on my heart, "you scared me."

"Brooklyn Noelle Brankovich, why are you parading around your room? Have you properly stretched first? Drew a bath?"

I didn't say anything because I knew better than to talk back. When she wasn't looking, though, I rolled my eyes.

She stomped to my bathroom and started running the warm water in the freestanding tub resting on the cold, true marble floor.

"Come," she ordered with a strict handclap. I sauntered over and turned my back to her so she could strip me from my satin pajamas and measure my waist amongst other necessary things she did daily.

"Hm," she went, not sounding satisfied. I pressed my lips together, bracing myself for what she was about to say.

"Two baked eggs today, bacon, greens, and no extra sugar in your cappuccino," Mother told me what I ought to have for breakfast. "I'll have the chef prepare it now if he hasn't already. Hurry with your bath, girl," she insisted just before gliding out of my presence.

All five feet and nine inches of my sienna skin-colored body sunk into the full tub - being sure not to get my eighteen-inch hair wet. No bubbles, and the water wasn't hot - it was barely even warm.

I ran my hands along all of my skin before grabbing a cloth to properly wash. Then, I rinsed my body off again and soaked for a moment. Next, I exfoliated using my TreeHut shea sugar scrub - the Moroccan rose scent - and wooden handle back scrubber.

Before she could rush me out, I got dressed in a white long-sleeved crew neck shirt, grey bike shorts, and white Nike ankle training socks.

Mother came back in my room to sit me at my seat center-room and style my hair as she did every morning for the last twenty-two years of my life.

"Is Dad here?" I had the nerve to ask, not looking up from the clutter on my vanity.

"No," she responded unhappily, "you know that."

"Sorry, it's just that I was hoping to see him sometime this week," I sighed.

"Hey," she cooed, lifting my chin, "don't frown, you'll get wrinkles." Just when I thought she had something sweet to say to me for once.

I slouched and she hit my shoulder with the paddle brush to remind me to keep good posture.

"You don't have to do my hair," I mumbled, biting on my nails without breaking them off.

"What was that," she asked sternly.

I moved my hand from my lips and said, "Nothing! Nothing, Mommy, I'm sorry."

She displayed a small smile and lifted my chin so I could look at my reflection in the mirror. A sock bun. No surprise there. Only, she normally only did those on days I had to rehearse.
Thinking nothing of it, I thanked her with a hug and led the way to the kitchen so I could start my day with breakfast.

"Breakfast was delicious, as always, Sutton. Thank you," I said. Then, I kindly handed my plate off to the head chef who just smiled and hurried to put the dishes in the sink for the maid, Melinda, to wash.

Sutton and Melinda had been around since before I got my period. Melinda was more of a parent to me than Dana or Michael. She cared for me when I was sick because my reality tv star mother was too scared to catch anything. Melinda taped my recitals and took me to practices whenever my mom couldn't. And Sutton would attend them in place of my plastic surgeon father.

As Sutton prepared to give me my morning snack, Mother waved him off. She insisted I don't be spoiled and eat too much. We didn't want to risk any weight gain or overeating that would make me sluggish, she warned.

My watering-mouth stayed open as Sutton walked away with my apple with cinnamon and glass of vanilla-flavored almond milk.

"But-"

Mother cut me off to tell me, "We're going to practice today."

"But-" I stopped to correct myself when she shot me a threatening look. "Today is Thursday, I get an off-day, remember?"

"Yes, but we leave for vacation tomorrow and then you can relax. So, today, we dance. Chop chop!"

***

I looked in the mirror and didn't like who I saw. It wasn't myself - whoever that even is - but the reflection of my mother. I'd known for a while that she lived through me, desperately clinging onto her now irrelevant career. Her glory days were over, she was a retired once elite dancer (ballerina) who became world famous at a very young age. And I, her only child, her prodigy.

Because she pushed me so hard, I developed a love/hate relationship with ballet. You would think my accomplishments would speak for themselves and that she'd cut me some slack. No. She's a dictator, controlling everything I eat, wear, how I sit, and who I date.

A sudden striking handclap brung me back from my thoughts. I didn't need to hear her voice to know she more than likely said "chop chop!"

I sighed and forced my sore and bruised legs to lead me towards the designated dance room in our eight bedroom home. On the way, I slowed to glance at all of her trophies, awards, and article clippings in the long glass showcase. At the same time I felt proud, I also felt resentment.

It was ten AM now - standard time for most ballet practices - and practice wouldn't be over until four in the afternoon. Overkill, I know, but that's the life of a ballerina.

Per usual, I wore a pair of tights, and black leotard on under my pink mesh wrap top.
I broke in my slippers by cutting them and hot-glueing the inside, as well as scratching the bottom and stepping in the rosin. They were new, a "gift" from Mommy.

"One, two, three, POSE. One, two, three, POSE," Mother counted along with the eight count song.

When I stumbled, she gasped and immediately took it from the top. I cursed her under my breath and she shot me a warning look. Collecting myself, I inhaled and poised myself.

"One, two, three, POSE!"

***

"Brooklyn," Mother's voice yelled from downstairs, "William's here!"

I got up with excitement and scurried down the left side of the grand double staircase.

Knowing my Mother was leaving, that meant I was going to be home alone and I hoped Will and I could finally hook up again.

It'd been a while since we fooled around, he's very respectful and always working, so the timing was always off.
Will Vanderbilt is not the spontaneous type either, he was raised in a Catholic school and home. He's way too serious about everything, especially our relationship.

I don't want to make it seem like Will's an ass or anything, very sweet kid actually. He just has these artificial goals and is a sheep, following right in his father's footsteps without ever thinking for himself.

"Hi, Will," I gushed, smoothing out the wrinkles in my t-shirt dress.

"Hi, beautiful. These are for you," he said, offering a box of chocolates. Instantly, my eyes lit up at the sweet treat. How nice of him!

When I reached for the box, Mommy snatched it away. She tightened her mouth at me and then fixed her face to address Will.

"You shouldn't have," she gritted, wearing a plastic smile, "really."

Mother's heels clacked along the porcelain floor as she went to a trash can and wasted the dessert. I couldn't object or even make a face to react, only frowned and alluded to the backyard where Will and I could have some privacy.

"Oh, and Brooklyn," Mother called after me.

I sighed and let go of Will's hand just as we reached the French doors beyond the kitchen leading outside.

"Yes, Mommy?"

"Make sure you're all packed for tomorrow by the time I get back. I'm just going to meet up with some friends for drinks-"

I interjected to say, "I know, I know - for your reality show." She nodded with this proud smile.

My Mom's apart of the cast for a Real Housewives show - Texas version - a small, but wealthy county.

I let out a small, rushing "okay" and then let her leave.

As soon as the door clicked shut, I grabbed the box of chocolates from the trash and tore away the plastic wrap. Hahahahah!

I wasted no time stuffing my face. After two, I thought to close the box but I just couldn't help myself. Tsk tsk.

One more won't hurt, I thought in my head.

"Mmm," I physically melted, "SO good!"

***

"What's tomorrow," Will asked me at random as we strolled through the garden out back.

"What?" I didn't know what he meant.

"Tomorrow. Your mother said be packed?"

Oh, that. My dark hazel eyes rolled.

I sighed and squeezed Will's hand before offering to sit on the wooden bench placed before the fountain.

"I forgot to tell you we're going on vacation," I told him. Upon seeing his shocked reaction, I began to explain. "My Dad finally has some time off, he just wants to relax. It'll only be a week then I'm all yours," I said, cuddling up to Will.

He exhaled and removed my hand from his lap. "Brooklyn, we have to talk."

My head nodded. "What's up?"

"Um," he cleared his throat to speak, "this isn't easy to say, but, I'm breaking up with you."

"Why?" I had no other reaction but to ask for what, and my face was of stone.

He stood with both his hands shoved into the pockets of his Khaki pants but I didn't want to comment on his poor fashion choice.

"Well, I just think we're at two different places in our lives. I'm a lawyer, I'm about to take over at my Dad's firm-"

"That's great, but I don't get why-" I spoke and got interrupted.

Will put his fingers to his small mouth and looked to be thinking hard about his next words. He simply stated, "You're young-"

"You're only a few years older-"

He ignored my comment and continued, raking his fingers through his tangled mess of blonde hair.

"I'm not trying to seem like an ass here, Lynn," he sighed, "keep your head up. See you around?"

"Okay, then," I quietly noted, playing with the frills at the bottom of my dress.

Will stopped and stared down at me. He angrily scoffed, "That's it, you're just going to let me go?!"

My face fell straight. I grew confused, unsure of what he expected.

"Well, yeah," I replied. "What do you want me to say-"

"Fight for me, Brooklyn! Do you feel anything for me?" The look in his eyes was almost desperate for me to respond with a yes.

"Y-yes? I mean, I like you-"

Will's arms flailed. He sort of laughed sarcastically in my face and then put his hands on his hips.

"That's it," he queried, "just 'I like you'? We've been together for four years, Lynn. All I want from you is some emotion; show me you care! Can you even do that?"

Nothing in me was ready to have any sort of conversations about feelings. I just didn't like opening up to people. It shows weakness, and I am not weak.

Frozen, I listened and waited until William was finished expressing himself - something I apparently was incapable of doing.

He shook his head one more time, disappointed in me. My shoulders just raised.

"Sorry," I cooed.

"Stop saying that, no you're not!" Will shouted which scared me enough to make me jump out of my skin. After a gasp, I stood and pointed towards the front.

"I think you should leave now," I suggested impatiently, not even looking at his face.

Will mouthed "wow" and cursed as he made his exit.

***

"-Oh, that's alright, sweetie. It's not the end of the world, he'll come around; he has to if you all want to get married," Mother tried comforting me as she brushed my hair in bed after I told her about my breakup.

I sat up hearing the word "married".
His parents were good friends with mine, they set us up when we were younger but it wasn't until four years ago that Will and I started dating. Because he was in school so much and I was always busy with dance or traveling, we couldn't officially make anything work out until two years later.

A lot of the time, I felt single, like I didn't have a boyfriend. Though, he was a gentleman and did the usual "boyfriend" things like meet my parents, buy me expensive things, and be my guest to special events. He said he loved me and I said it back because that's what you're supposed to do in a relationship. I couldn't honestly tell you if I actually felt any romantic feelings for him, though, he was just there. You know how it is when you have to make the best out of a situation; you accept it because it's all you know. There's seven billion people in the world - forty-nine point two percent of that are males - so Will isn't exactly my soulmate (even if our parents drilled into our brains the idea of him and I getting married one day and reproducing.)

"Don't lose too much sleep over it, we have to be up early tomorrow," Mother nagged one final time.

My reaction was to groan and toss in bed as soon as she got up to place my hair brush on the vanity.

She smacked her full lips at me with her fists digging in her hips.

"Do I still have to go, can't it just be a couple's thing? I mean, you and Dad never go out anymore-"

She stopped my blabbering and killed the lights. I sighed deeply and stuffed my face in the pillow.

"Maybe I'll meet someone on the cruise," I mumbled unsure, only trying to get a rise out of my mother.

She let out a "pfft" sound and as she shut the door, I heard her say, "don't count on it."