Author's Disclaimer: I do not own My Life as a Teenage Robot, or any of its characters or places. They belong to Rob Renzetti and Nickelodeon. The character of Madison "Maddie" Prima, however, as well as all characters not appearing in the My Life as a Teenage Robot television series, belong to me.

Author's Note: The is not my typical fan-fiction. Actually, I haven't written fan-fiction close to two years now. Not because I dislike it, or anything like that - I was just geared toward pursuing more original stories. When I was writing fan-fiction, it was for books, as anyone who's looked at my profile page knows. While writing for cartoons is something I haven't done in years, and never expected to do again, this story was just begging to be written, thanks to late night viewings of My Life as a Teenage Robot on Hulu, as well as an idea I've had on the back burner of my imagination for nearly ten years now. I hope those who read this enjoy it, and feel that I've done the characters justice, particularly Brit. She was always my favorite character, and I did a lot of research on her while writing this. Any familiar words or phrases were taken from the Brit Crust profile section of the My Life as a Teenage Robot Wikipedia page, as well as the TV series.

CHAPTER 1:

A NEW BEGINNING

"Mommy? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

The small voice roused Brit Crust from her thoughts. If there was one thing that could make her smile, and bring meaning back to what had become a comparatively dreary and pointless existence, it was her daughter, Madison. The little girl had inherited her father's blue eyes and wavy locks, but was blessed with a deep caramel complexion and her mother's own delicate features. The only thing distinguishing her from either of her parents were her oversized, rose colored glasses. When the optometrist informed Brit that her daughter would require glasses, she made sure that Maddie had the hippest, most expensive pair of eyeglasses out of every pre-schooler in Tremorton. Whether or not Maddie traded in her glasses for contacts when she got older, it was clear by the time she was three that she was going to be a real beauty someday. Brit only hoped that the life to which her daughter was accustomed would serve as no indication of any future bearings. She couldn't bear to see such a sweet and innocent mind tainted by the sort of convictions she and her cousin had once sworn by.

"I'm fine, darling," Brit answered presently. "Everything is just peachy." It was the fashion diva's go-to expression whenever things were not fine, when they were just about as bad as they were going to get.

"No you're not," Maddie said accusingly, defiance weighing heavy in her child's voice. "You always say that, but you never are. You're always crying. Even talking on the phone and opening the mail makes you cry. I hate when you're like that, and I'm tired of driving around. I miss my friends, and my school, and my room with all my toys. I want to go home."

Brit sighed, more out of physical exhaustion than frustration. "We aren't going home, Honey Bee."

"How come?" The idea that they were going away for a long time had occurred to Maddie earlier. Sitting in the middle of her mother's huge antique bed, she'd watched in awe as Brit raced around the room, pulling clothing out of closets and drawers, and tossing everything into a large suitcase laying open on the bed. Now, Maddie was desperate to hear the truth. She wouldn't be able to continue on this journey with her mother until she had.

"It's just going to be the two of us for a while," Brit said. "Just until Mummy can get her head together and figure things out."

"What you gotta figure out?"

Like where we're going to live, and what I'm going to do for money. "Oh, you know, love. Just things. The sort of boring grown-up stuff that isn't worth filling your precious head with."

"So…how long 'til we do go home?"

As much as she loved her daughter, Brit's patience was hanging by a thread. Why did the child always require such precise answers? "I'm not sure, Maddie. That's one of the things I need to figure out. Now, no more questions, all right? Mummy needs silence if she expects to think straight."

"Sure, Mommy."

If Brit had taught her daughter to do anything well, it was how to be patient. Then again, Maddie might not have been so willing to listen, if she didn't have her tablet. It was one of only a few valuable items that Brit hadn't hocked. Everything else—her beautiful ballroom gowns, her husband's collection of cashmere sweaters, all the furniture, even her wedding and engagement rings—had been either seized by the bank or sold. By the time Brit and Maddie were standing in the entryway of their spacious home, preparing to walk through the intricately carved mahogany doors for the last time, all they had left were the clothes on their backs, and whatever they'd been able to cram into two large suitcases.

While Maddie sat quietly in the front passenger's seat, completely immersed in a game on her tablet (something with robots…for some reason, the girl was obsessed with robots), Brit considered the events which had brought them here, to a future she would have sooner died to avoid than make the best of. But she had Maddie to consider now, and determined to make life as cheery and pleasant as possible for her, regardless of their financial situation—or lack thereof. If it wasn't for little Julie Thatcher, and the embarrassing condition that had plagued Brit throughout her childhood, then the charismatic queen may have mingled in the company of some very different people in high school. For a moment, she imagined how much different her teen years would have been, had Tiff rejected her, and told all of their peers that she and Brit weren't cousins at all, or even related. How she was just some dweeb—was that even a word kids used anymore?—who followed Tiff around, thinking it made Brit look cool, and fool herself into believing she actually belonged.

Ouch.

Oh, Jenny. That must be how we made you feel, isn't it?

When they'd not been staring down their noses at their less popular acquaintances, or concocting new schemes against Jenny Wakeman, the Crust cousins had spent the majority of their high school years flirting with the object of one another's desire. The agreement that neither would ever become seriously involved with the blond-haired, blue-eyed stud known as Don Prima had remained intact between the girls right up until senior year. Not unlike the former craze of popular girls dating unpopular boys, the news that Brit Crust and Don Prima had become exclusive spread like wildfire through Tremorton High. By the time she discovered that the rumors were true, and that her cousin had in fact betrayed her in the worst possible way, the idea of leaving her hick town to attend college suddenly seemed very appealing to Tiff.

It had been eight years since the trendy twosome were last seen in each other's company. According to their mutual colleague, Pteresa McCurdy, the falling out between the Crust cousins had proven beneficial for Tiff. Without Brit to constantly emulate, Tiff had decided to follow the advice of her parents and guidance counselor, and apply to college. The school she chose was one that many considered the highest-ranked fashion institute in the country. Because it had the added benefit of being the furthest from Tremorton, Tiff hadn't been burdened by the possibility of running into Brit and Don. Just three months after earning her bachelor's degree, Tiff landed her dream job as editor-in-chief of Fashionista Magazine. So while Tiff was off living her life in a big city, deciding between fashion do's and don'ts, Brit lingered back in Tremorton, fulfilling her own destiny as a trophy wife.

Tiff's was not the only life that had been affected by Brit's actions. Although they'd attended the wedding, Brit's parents were against her and Don's marriage from the start, and had all but begged them not to go through with it. Brit was too young, too impulsive, and far too conceited to ever consider being someone's wife. She lived life as a way to flaunt herself, and everything money could buy. As for Don, he was certainly not the kind of man Rohan and Maya Crust would have chosen for their daughter. Not when that man was clearly more interested in the waviness of his hair and the shininess of his shoes than his wife's happiness.

The thought of turning up at her parents' door, defeated by life and by marriage, with a six-year-old in tow, had crossed Brit's mind more than once. But she wasn't going to resort to that. Not yet, at least. It would be too much like giving up, and admitting that she'd failed. She could almost hear the voices of her mother and father chastising her: "We told you so."

Brit wished more than anything that she had taken their advice to heart. The next thing she knew, she was on the phone with the plastic surgeon, who was telling her he was sorry, so sorry, that there had been complications during the surgery, and her husband had slipped away.

Don's death had marked not only the end of his marriage to Brit, but the end of Brit's days of being popular. While she had received an outpouring of sympathy and support from their friends, it was only a matter of time before those she'd considered loyal subjects to her royal standing began to drift, and eventually ceased all contact with her. Even without her exceptional cleverness and charisma, it would not have taken her long to fathom why the social status on which she'd thrived for so many years had become obsolete. For the first time since she was fourteen, Brittany Lacroix Crust-Prima found herself completely and utterly alone. Her friends were either married, in committed relationships, or busy with their careers. While everyone else was off playing tennis and attending wine tasting events, Brit was obliged to remain at home, fulfilling her own obligations, and adjusting to life as a single parent.

As hard as it was for Brit to admit, her and Don's marriage had been nothing short of a selfish attempt to uphold their statuses as queen and king of Tremorton High. Unlike Brit's parents, Don's were in total favor of the marriage. It didn't matter that the couple was so young, or that they were using each other as a stepladder. The important thing was that Brit was popular, and that by marrying her, Don would be enhancing not only his popularity, but the prominent standing of his family in the community. His parents had completely doted on him, the way they now doted on Maddie, who was as much the apple of their eye as her father had been. They had been there, sitting anxiously in the hospital waiting room, anticipating word on the condition of their daughter-in-law and her newborn baby. Don Senior and Pristine Prima were the first other than Brit to set eyes on their new granddaughter, with her big blue eyes and shock of black hair, huddled amongst the other babies in the nursery. The proud grandparents had both agreed that Maddie was positively the most beautiful baby they had ever seen. "If Don were here," Pristine gushed tearfully, "he would be prouder than when he was crowned prom king."

Brit welcomed the nostalgia flowing through her now, as she passed a sign which read 'You are now leaving Tremorton…come back soon!'. She continued down the road that would eventually bring them into the city. With little idea of where they were going, or what they would do when they got there, Brit wished—not for the first time—that she had shared with Don the news of her pregnancy prior to his surgery. The lawsuit Brit and her in-laws had filed against the surgeon, as well as the life insurance policy Don had taken out on himself just after the couple married, had helped Brit considerably through the next six years. But the money was not enough to maintain the sort of lifestyle with which she was acquainted. Had she chosen to live more simply, the money could have lasted her and Maddie the rest of their lives. At barely twenty years old, Brit had not been mature or responsible enough to handle such a large fortune, and squandered it on things the average person could have easily lived without.

They drove on in silence for a while, the only sound being Maddie's occasional giggle or amused response to the source of entertainment in her hands. But even the game, with all its vibrant characters, witty sound effects, and in-app purchase offers that Brit had conveniently disabled, was not enough to distract from a rumbling tummy.

"Mommy, I'm hungry. When we gonna eat?"

"Well, it is dinner time…long past it, actually. All right," Brit relented. "The next restaurant we see, we will stop and have something to eat."

"Hooray! Can I have a cheeseburger?"

"Of course."

"With French fries? And a strawberry milkshake?"

"You may have anything you like, darling."

Brit knew she had to start being more firm with Maddie. Until she found a way of earning some money, Brit could not afford to be thrifty. Particularly when thriftiness was what had caused her to find herself in a state of such dire circumstances. For once in her life, she would have to stand on her own two stylishly-clad feet, and find a way to help not only herself, but the child who both admired and depended on her. Still, it was their first day on the road, and they had been traveling for hours. Both were exhausted, and Maddie had probably been hungry for a while now. She just hadn't wanted to add to her mother's concerns by saying so. It was part of what made the daughter of Brit Crust and Don Prima such an easygoing and unspoiled child.

True to her word, Brit pulled into the parking lot of a typical-looking diner some ten minutes later. As she and Maddie climbed out of the car, Brit saw that theirs was the fanciest in the lot. The diner was the kind of place Tiff would consider 'lower class central'. Even Brit's late husband would have sooner walked deliberately into traffic than dine in a place that served its customers on cheap china plates and not the glistening silver platters he'd preferred.

As they entered the diner, Brit's gaze never strayed from the back of Maddie's head. The little girl's long, wavy tresses bounced in unison to each of her skips, as the pair approached the hostess. Had she been more interested in their surroundings, or even a less observant parent, then Brit might have noticed the striking young businessman, sitting alone at a corner booth, reading a newspaper, and the intense way he was watching her and her daughter.

"Two, please," Brit told the hostess. "Prima."

By the time they had been seated at a comfy booth, and their waitress had appeared, Brit was feeling decidedly guilty. What little appetite she'd had had fled like someone wearing a bad outfit. The waitress was a pretty young woman of presumably college age, with a warm smile and hair done up in pigtails. Both her hair and demeanor made Brit think once more of Jenny Wakeman, the robot girl whom the Crust cousins had once pranked and bullied at their disposal.

Glancing at the waitress' name tag, Brit saw the girl's name was Kristale. Kristale? Really? Brit wasn't even sure how to pronounce it. Was it Krist-all or Krist-ale? Was that the actual spelling, or had the girl simply made it up, the way Pteresa had made up the 'P' in her name?

The former queen bee suddenly felt very old.

Brit was far too engaged in her obsession of whether or not twenty-six might possibly be considered middle-aged—oh, the horror!—that Krist-all—Krist-ale?—found herself asking for the second time what her very beautiful—though clearly very distracted—customer would care to drink.

"What?" Brit fluttered her pretty onyx eyes in what many men would consider charming confusion. "Oh. Just water, please."

"Of course. And for you, sweetie?"

Maddie was busy coloring the picture on her placemat with the crayons the hostess had given her. But she was not so absorbed in her activity that she could not spare a smile for the person resembling her favorite superhero. "Oh, that's easy! I'm gonna have a strawberry milkshake. My mommy promised I could."

"Is that right?" Kristale beemed at Brit, who smiled back, though rather uncomfortably, and resorted to drumming her slim gloved fingers on the edge of the table.

Maddie's answer, which consisted of the same over-the-top enthusiasm reminiscent of her mother's cousin, sent a brief but powerful wave of remorse sweeping across Brit's heart. "You betcha!"

"Okay." Kristale scribbled quickly onto a little notepad she'd fished from the pocket of her apron. "One water and one strawberry milkshake, coming up." She stuffed the notepad back into her pocket and hurried off.

Kristale was not gone for more than a few seconds when a voice behind Brit caused her perfectly sculpted eyebrows to raise in speculation: "May I suggest the cranberry-mango iced tea? I hear it's quite popular."

Perplexed by the sudden transformation of her mother's facial features, Maddie stopped coloring her picture to examine the face so identical to her own. "Mommy, what's the matter with your eyebrows?"

"My eyebrows? What about them?"

"They're all pushed up. The way they are when you're scared. Are you scared of something, Mommy?"

"Only of heights," Brit said. "And of my favorite fashions going out of style." She added this last part simply for Maddie's benefit. It was clear from the little girl's reaction that she yearned for reassurance.

Moments later, Maddie's concerns were put to rest, as a tall glass containing her favorite beverage was placed before her. "There you go," Kristale said. "Complete with complementary whipped cream and a cherry on top."

The little girl's blue eyes widened intently behind her light pink lenses.

"What do you say, Maddie?" asked her mother.

"Thank you!" With that, Maddie picked up the milkshake and took a huge gulp. As she set the now half empty glass back down on the table, Brit and the waitress smiled at the mass of pink milk and whipped cream sticking to Maddie's face. "Best. Milkshake. Ever," she proclaimed.

Kristale beamed. "I'll make sure to pass along your compliment to the milkshake machine."

"Mechanical appliances are a lot like robots, you know." Maddie spoke matter-of-factly, the way she did whenever the excuse to discuss her favorite topic presented itself. Her knowledge of robots, coupled with her glasses, gave her the outward appearance of an exceptionally young junior scientist. "Except appliances don't have feelings, and they can't talk."

"I see." The puzzled look on Kristale's face suggested she didn't encounter children like Maddie very often. "I had no idea."

"It's true. I read it in an issue of Not-So-Popular Mechanics for Kids."

"Do you want to be a mechanic when you grow up?"

"Either a mechanic or a trapeze artist. I don't know for sure yet. Mommy says I got lots of time to figure it out."

"Madison Giselle Prada Prima!" Brit scolded. "What have I told you about your incessant chit-chat? Do you not realize that you are bothering this poor girl?"

"Actually," Kristale broke in, "I find the conversation quite intriguing. If I wasn't on the clock, I'd love to stay and participate."

"You wouldn't say that if you value your ears." Even as she said it, Brit was unable to hide her amusement. "She will talk them right off."

"I wouldn't mind. But I've gotta make it look like I'm working. Otherwise, my boss will accuse me of fraternizing with the customers." Kristale rolled her eyes. Then, lowering her body so that her face was on level with those of Brit and Maddie, Kristale continued in a hushed tone: "He thinks of himself as principal of a high school, and runs this place accordingly, even though almost everyone who works here is at least twenty years old. So," Kristale concluded, as she normalized her voice and posture, "what can I get you ladies?" Once again, she whipped out her pen and paper from her pocket. She pressed the pen to the paper, determined to give the impression she was doing what she was paid to do.

"Uh…" Brit thumbed swiftly through the menu. "I'll have the turkey Cobb salad."

"Turkey Cobb…got it." Kristale scribbled madly on the paper. "And what sort of dressing would you like with that?"

"Blue cheese. Light."

"Of course. Can I get you a refill on your water?"

"No. No thank you. Actually, though, I would like to try the cranberry-mango iced tea. I hear it's…good."

"It is. That's what makes it the most popular of all our iced teas." Kristale turned then to Maddie. "And for you, miss future mechanic-trapeze-artist?"

"I want a cheeseburger. With French fries. And lots of ketchup!" Then, remembering her manners, Maddie added humbly, "Please."

Brit smiled in approval.

"I'll be back in a bit with your orders," Kristale said, right before bolting in the direction of the kitchen.

Following Kristale's departure, Maddie announced she needed to use the restroom. Since it was within visible distance of their booth, Brit gave her permission to go alone. "Be sure to wash your hands," Brit reminded, as she watched her daughter head toward the women's restroom.

"I will!"

"Nice kid you've got there," the stranger said.

Brit made no attempt to turn her head as she addressed him. If he expected her to look at him, then he could darn well come over to her booth and introduce himself. "Thank you."

"Yours?"

"Who else's daughter would she be?"

"Good point. I was watching the two of you earlier, right when you walked in. I must say, seeing the way you are with her surprised me."

"Is that so?"

"Indeed. I never pictured you being the maternal type. I had no idea that you even liked children."

Brit sensed her cheeks flushing with hot irritation. How dare he—this person she didn't even know!—make such personal assumptions about her, and her relationship with her daughter! On second thought, forget about him coming over to her booth. She had every right to march right over to his, and beat some manners into that cocky know-it-all with her designer handbag!

"And just what, exactly," Brit ventured politely, "would lead you to conclude I could not possibly be fond of children? You and I are neither friends nor acquaintances, you understand. Nor have we ever exchanged words prior to this moment. Therefore, how can you possibly know a thing about me?"

"On the contrary, my dear. You and I have spoken…though it has been a while. Nine years, as a matter of fact."

"That is impossible. I'm quite certain I would recall—"

The sound of the stranger rising from his booth resonated behind Brit, the echo of his footsteps quickly following. Suddenly he was there, standing over the erstwhile queen of high school, his smile utterly sincere, his teeth straight and perfectly white, with skin that was utterly flawless.

"Hello, Brittany. You're looking well."

For several seconds that felt more like an eternity, all Brit could do was stare with wide, disbelieving eyes, up at the distinguished gentleman in the stylish suit and tie who was no longer a stranger to her.

She gasped, her hand flying to her cheek in a dramatic gesture. "Sheldon?"