Enchanted Experiments

Chapter 2 - Brooke

“Quicker Brooke! Stop being so lazy!”, my mom barked at me. I’m so tired but I need to keep going. I forget how long I’ve been running for, it’s starting to become a chore. I remember when I was happy to be able to run, to be active, and to just run with no direction. Now I wish I had never mentioned I ever wanted to run, but my mom has sacrificed for these opportunities so I should be grateful of course.  The track field is starting to make me dizzy, as I run and run completing my laps. My legs are just going in front of themselves at this point and I’m so unbelievably tired.

My breaths are heavier as I struggle to breathe. Abruptly, I stop. I bend down with my hands on my knees bent over. “Can I take a break?” I pleaded in exasperated sighs. My mom's eyes narrowed and she quickly got mad. She has a quick temper so I’m careful not to do anything that would upset her. “You think you can take a break? Breaks are for losers or second place. You are neither of those. You will get back on the field right now and you will start running whether you like it or not.” she ordered, and that was that. No arguments just that. What my mom said goes. I smiled at her and started running on the tracks.

I was able to take a break around 30 minutes later though! After that, my mom and I went home. The car drives back home are full of lectures with my mom’s critiques and how I could’ve done better. I need to regulate my pace better, I’ve learned. We finally get home and my mom’s not really into design. She likes the minimalist modern look so our house is based off of lots of neutrals and white. I guess I kinda like the colors too. “Can I go upstairs to my room now Mom?” I asked her as soon as I stepped into my house. “Yes. Take your shoes though.” she said, as I slipped off my tennis shoes. They were new, I got Nike shoes. I’m grateful of course but that won’t stop people from calling me a spoiled brat.

I walked upstairs, I’ve gotten tired of running. My room was right next to my mom’s room, that’s kinda weird for some people but me and my mom are really close so it doesn’t bother me. She says to make sure she is always there to protect me. I stepped into my room, there’s a bulletin board with all my awards and ribbons from track and volleyball. It’s mostly my motivation, besides my mom, this is her dream and I’m her only daughter so of course I have to fullfill her dreams. I lay onto my bed, I’m so tired. It felt like I was sinking into my silk pink bed sheets as I closed my eyes. I Didn’tg think of anything but how I Felt on that bed. My arms and my legs, how they are all attached to my body.

Soon, my mind along with my body starts to feel tired.  until my phone woke me up. My friend, Piper, was calling me. Sometimes, my friends don’t make the best decisions when it comes to how they treat people. They’re still my friends though so I answer the FaceTime. I saw just how messy my messy bun was.

Squinting my eyes I said, “Hi Piper..”I dragged my voice.

“Girl, you look terrible! Your eye bags and your hair, they are disgusting.”, she looked at me, almost grossed out.

Piper’s honest, I guess I appreciate that about her. I still touch under my eyes, I didn’t even realize I had eye bags, frowning as I see my reflection in the camera.

“Anyway, guess what? You know Amanda, apparently she’s been talking about me behind my back! The nerve of that girl, I hate her so much. Who does she think she is talking about me?” she rambled.

My friend group has always been so fake. They usually come to me when they have something to say, so I get all the sides of the argument. People calling each other bitches, hoes, or whores. I’ve heard it all. With all my power not to lay down, I sit up and place my phone in the mirror of my vanity.

“What did she say about you?” I asked her, quite frankly I could not care less but that would be rude. The polite thing to do is to ask, always.

Piper starts ranting again, walking around her room. Sometimes she is full-on screaming out of pure rage at the heights of the story. I’m not listening or sure what she is talking about. The time on my phone read 7:35, not even realize how far of the day had been spent. 3 hours running, and 1 and a half hours doing homework. Piper’s still talking, and all of a sudden my mind wakes up. This friend group. It’s unhealthy at this point, I realize. Something about how Piper kept on talking about how much of a bitch Amanda was, it’s like something was triggered or turned on inside of my mind. No one genuinely likes anyone who sits with us at lunch, I’ve heard them talk bad about each other but then act all good to people the next day. What if I was talked about badly by my friends? I was stupid to think they didn’t, they had to. I’ve heard everyone say stuff about each other, why would I be an exception?

My heart. I don’t recognize her feelings. She feels upset, betrayed, and sad. I keep on looking inside my heart, why am I not surprised? They were good friends to me, they always included me, and… And what else? They’re good friends but what else? What else is there? Why am I not surprised? They’re talking shit about me, surely, but do I even care about their opinions about me? Of course I do, they’re my friends. Stop thinking, I demanded as my brain shut down.  I close my eyes and realize Piper’s still talking. I mute myself, getting myself out of frame. Hopefully, she believes that my mom called me. 40 seconds go by as I’m standing right next to my vanity.

I come back to the call, “Sorry Piper, I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow!”. I abruptly hang up, not waiting for a response. I felt bad, I probably should have waited. My reflection stares back at me in the mirror, looking disappointed in myself. I could have run quicker today. I could have been nicer to Piper too. This is why they’re talking bad about you. My eye bags are sad, I didn’t realize I was so tired. I let down my hair from my bun and it’s a mess. It used to be curly, but my hair has been straightened so much by my mom that it’s more like heat-damaged waves.

My mom says curly hair makes you look childish, I agree, it makes me look like a clown. I spray my brush with water and then start brushing my hair. It’s not easy like in those silly movies where the girl gracefully brushes her pin-straight hair. My hair has been in a messy bun the entire weekend. Tomorrow’s Monday, I’m not looking forward to it. No one’s looking forward to going to school, that’s obvious but I am going to start crying if I even think about having to go to school again. I hate it so much, the classes are not even the worst, they’re the least of my problems. There’s the social aspect where some might say I succeed in it, but I have never liked how my friends treat each other. After school, I have volleyball practice.  My mom is the coach and we have volleyball practice tomorrow. She pushes me the hardest out of everyone because I’m her daughter of course. I’ve been living my mom’s dreams but that’s okay, I like it that way.

Soon, brushing my hair is getting easier as I keep making it wet. There’s a curl in my hair. Despite all of my straightening and damaging my natural hair, this curl managed to still curl. All of the rest were deep waves, this one was a curl. I’m not sure what to think of that. I got up from my chair and checked my phone. There was a text message. “I hate u sm Brooke. U ruined my chances of getting into volleyball because of your mom’s favoritism. I hope you get humbled.” I swallowed the lump in my throat that grew. People keep on getting my phone number, I’m not sure I think someone leaked it. Most people blame for their problems if they can’t get into volleyball. I feel bad like I robbed these girls of their chances. I wish I wasn’t the coach’s daughter, I’m not her favorite. At times it seems she hates me. I know that’s not true, she just wants to be the best version of myself as I can be. The text message still hurt, I’ve learned not to respond because they usually get angrier.

I don’t want to be the villain of someone else’s story. No one does, but I am. I hate that. Why do I have to be the villain? These girls hate and resent me, these sports might have meant a lot to them. I robbed them of their chances. I’m easy to hate too. I’m popular, the coach’s daughter, and conventionally pretty. I don’t want to be though. People have never asked me what I wanted anyway.