MASH

Hey readers! Here's a little one-shot I wrote to keep myself occupied while on vacation in Maine, where coincidentally, there is NO INTERNET CONNECTION. I KNOW. I nearly died before deciding to write a fic based on a game I used to play as a kid. I figured the girls of Tree Hill must've played it too! MASH is basically a game where you list three possible options for different categories (i.e. Cars, Boys, Jobs, etc.) and choose between them by picking a number. Only you only get to pick two out of the three options, and the person doing the writing gets to pick the third. Fun fun fun!

M. A. S. H

"Ok Peyt, two boys!"

Nine-year-old Brooke chewed on the end of her pink gel pen while waiting for a response from her best friend. She wore a jean skirt that had been BeDazzled within an inch of its life and a little too much eye shadow. She was sprawled across Peyton's floor, her long brown hair kept in by a tie-dye scrunchie. She had vowed to keep Peyton as happy as humanly possible since that horrible day. Anna Sawyer had been a warm and loving presence in both girls' lives. Brooke had no reservations calling her "Mama Sawyer"; her own mother was a cold woman who spent more of her time sneering and working than she did cooking, cleaning, or, God forbid, caring for Brooke. Nine-year-old Brooke Davis couldn't be more different from her mother. She was always smiling and trying to be nice to everyone. Brooke loved color and life and, more than anything, she loved her best friend, Peyton. That's why when Anna tragically left all of them, Brooke felt more sadness than she ever had, and far too much sadness for a nine-year-old to ever experience. She felt orphaned, stripped of the one adult figure that she'd always looked up to. But Brooke had little time to deal with and analyze her guilt. She had to take care of her friend, the curly haired blonde, self-proclaimed number one Hanson Hater, music lover, and now deeply troubled and confused little girl. Brooke took it upon herself to try and fill as much of the void that Anna had left as possible- she took Peyton out of the house as often as possible and, on those days where it just became too much, she was there with the Kleenex and cookie dough, spending hours wiping away tears that fell freely from both her and Peyton's eyes and running her fingers through her best friend's hair soothingly. Some days, when it was a little better, Brooke would just come over for the whole day and chill in Peyton's room, listening to CDs and doing nine-year-old girl stuff- like the game they were now playing.

"Uhhhhh…..I don't know Brooke! I don't even like any of the boys in our school!"

"Oh come on, they're not all bad…"

"Let's see, there's Tim, who still eats paste, Marvin, who's always playing with his little calculator, and-"

"What about Nathan Scott? He always wins at gym class! Or…..Jake Je-whatshisname who always smiles at you in music?"

Peyton sighed. Nathan Scott was okay, but he seemed a little too good at sports. As for Jake…well he wasn't so bad, and he could light up a room with his smile.

"Fine, I pick Jake and Nathan."



Brooke giggled. "Okay..," she hummed as she carefully wrote down both boys' names. Jake. Nathan. "My turn…"

Peyton groaned. "Just please don't pick any of the Backstreet Boys again! I'm convinced there's something fishy about that Lance guy."

"Fi-ine," Brooke said in a sing-song voice. Truth was that Brooke always picked what she wanted for the third pick. She quickly scribbled down a name before asking, "Okay, Peyt? Pick two cars!"

"Wh-wh-wh-wh-wait! Which boy did you put down?"

Brooke smiled to herself but wouldn't say a word. She picked a boy who had the same last name as Nathan, but couldn't be more different from him. This boy always played fair in gym (he passed more than he shot), sat with the new kid, Marvin, even though all the kids made fun of him because he looked like Minkus, and wrote really good poems for his Valentines. He wrote every person a different one. All of the guys tore theirs apart to show loyalty to Nathan, and most of the girls shoved them to the bottom of their Valentine's bags because they didn't have stickers or lollipops on them. Brooke always kept hers though, and she knew that the boy's best friend, Haley, kept hers too, but somehow Brooke always felt like she was the only one he ever wrote to. She would look at her favorite one every day, and it was frayed and bent from being in her pocket all the time. She didn't really need to carry it around; she'd already long since memorized the neatly written lines:

Her hair smells as nice as a cool autumn day
She talks nonstop but when she's near I can't think of a thing to say
Her smile is contagious and bright
She could ask me anything and I wouldn't pick a fight
She's a true loyal friend
Her kind of energy is hard to pretend

She's perfect, each dimple and curl
Brooke Davis- a pretty name, for a Pretty Girl.

Happy Valentine's Day, Brooke!
-Lucas Scott

"Not 'till the end cheater! Now name two cars!"

"Fine. Ummm…a really cool old one...aaannnddd… UGH! I dunno! A tour bus."

"Oooh, cool, a tour bus…" Brooke cooed, as she wrote down her friend's choices before pondering her own. She'd always liked those cute little Beetles. Maybe blue, just like Luke's ey-

"If you don't hurry up, I won't play anymore!" Peyton was getting restless. Brooke snapped back to reality.

"SOO-RRY," she whined. "Okay. Now name two salaries."



This was easy. Both girls wanted nothing more to be rich and famous.

"More money than God and…More money than that!" Peyton laughed.

Brooke had already written Peyton's answers before she said anything because Peyton always picked the same amount. Brooke, on the other hand, always wrote As much as I need.

"Okay. Jobs?"

"Record company owner and artist." Peyton said matter-of-factly.

"What do record company owners do? And how do you know what they are?"

"They-they- they own companies DUH! And like music, and, yeah," Peyton defended.

"Okay, okay," Brooke said as she tried to show her friend she was just joking around. Peeling at the rhinestones on her skirt, Brooke wrote in loopy script Fashion designer on the page. She'd loved clothes because, whenever her mom was being semi-motherly, she'd always take her out to "Get rid of those hideous things" that Brooke had only begun to wear from the last trip. Her mom would take her out, just like a real mom, and get her a whole new wardrobe, muttering, "Oh NO!" whenever she didn't like something, or "I suppose you could if you lost a few pounds" to which Brooke always felt hurt, but happy to be noticed even for a little while. "Okay! Kids?"

"Don't you think it's weird to be thinking about having kids while we still are kids?"

"Shut up, Ms. Record Owner Lady!" Brooke snapped back playfully. "Just pick two numbers."

"Fine! One and none!"

Peyton had always been headstrong and never really pictured a mess of kids in her future. Brooke was far from that. She loved babies, even if she couldn't really stand toddlers. Brooke scrunched up her face as she decided what the perfect number would be.

"Wow, that many?" Peyton joked. "Should get a head start then!" She laughed and ducked as a pillow narrowly missed her face.

"Haha," Brooke scoffed, finally deciding on Three. "Okay, last one! Honeymoon spots?"

"Hmmmm. Hawaii and Ireland."

"Two very different places," Brooke added thoughtfully. She thought a moment and wrote down Italy. Ever since she saw him reading a book about Rome, she'd always liked the idea of a culture-rich, not to mention fashion forward, Italian getaway.

"OKAY! Now, tell me when to stop…" She began to make lines on the paper until Peyton yelled stop.

"STOP!"

"Four. Okay," Brooke muttered as she got to work. One, two, three, four. "There goes cool old car."



"Darn!" Peyton said

One, two, three, four. Brooke crossed out More money than that. One, two, three, four. No fashion designer. One, two, three, four. No Hawaii. One, two, three, four. No Nathan. One, two, three, four. Now Peyton would only make As much as I need. One, two, three, four. "Looks like you'll be having kids after all!"

Peyton groaned.

One, two, three, four. CRAP! That crossed out Jake leaving Peyton with Lucas! Brooke quickly figured she'd made a mistake and crossed out Lucas' name and said "Looks like you got Jake!"

Peyton let out a sigh of relief.

"Ooooh! Does someone like Jake?!" Brooke cooed

"No!" Peyton yelled back, too suddenly. "He's just the best of the three!"

"You didn't even see who I picked!" Brooke laughed triumphantly.

"I didn't need to, I know its Lucas," Peyton snapped back.

Brooke blushed deeply to the roots of her perfect hair. She went on counting. One, two, three, four. "Congrats, record owner lady!"

"Yay!"

One, two, three, four. Ireland it is. One, two, three, four. "You and Jake will have one beautiful baby."

"Haha," Peyton smiled sarcastically.

One, two, three, four. "Well at least the big record lady will drive a tour bus…"

"Sweet!"

"Looks like you're going to have a pretty good life, P. Sawyer."

"Let's hope so, B. Davis."

"Oh wait! I forgot to do your M.A.S.H.!"

Quickly counting out she figured that they'd live in an apartment.

"Which is probably good since you'd have to travel a lot anyway in your tour bus," Brooke added smartly.

The blonde haired girl nodded. Then, Peyton's phone rang and she answered it.



"Hello?" Peyton asked. It's Victoria, she mouthed. "Yes. Mrs. Davis. I'll tell her." She hung up. "Apparently you're needed home pronto because some of Vicky's work friends are coming to dinner and you have to play Perfect Brooke."

Brooke sighed. She folded the paper up into a square and handed it to Peyton before the girls hugged.

"See you tomorrow, P. Sawyer."

"I love ya, B. Davis."

Brooke walked out of Peyton's house and started heading home. Of course she couldn't be bothered to come and pick me up, Brooke thought. She sighed and continued to walk home. When she got there, her mother rushed her into a perfect little dress and told her not to speak unless spoken to. Brooke, already fiercely independent at nine, hated to do this, but she wanted her mother to love her more, so she toughed it out. After dinner, her parents bade their guests a farewell and went to bed, leaving the maids with the dishes and Brooke without a kiss goodnight or a tuck into bed. As she climbed the stairs to her bed, Brooke repeated two words over and over to the steps of her feet. She thought them as she brushed her teeth and combed her hair. She whispered them in tiny breaths in the moments before sleep:

Pretty Girl. Pretty Girl.

FIN!

Read and review. I may make this into a story, but just with the characters in high school or after. I dunno! Give advice and reviews and tell me how you liked it!