Brooke had a secret she had been keeping from everyone. There was an epidemic she had been exposed to years earlier when she had traveled with England with her mom's friend Jenson at the time. She had been 13, Jenson 29 but as soon as he had looked in her slutty brown eyes he knew that the trip was going to be full of illegal sex. Brooke had sworn it was love, and had tattoed JW (for Jenson Wellingbottom) into her inner thigh. On the plane back to North Carolina young Brooke had revealed to Jenson that she was actually thirteen, and not the sixteen years she had promised him before they had had sex on top of a bus. Infuriated Jenson took off his headphones, pausing his favorite Chingy song, Holidae Inn.
"You're WHAT?" he screamed, bellowing like a mad mother willow awoken from slumber.
"Thirteen, Jen-Jen. I'm thirteen." She gave him a perky smile figuring it was okay to reveal her skankorific secret now that they were in love and happily on their way back from America. It was in these moments that Jenson got a wild look on his face like an angry Tom Cruise when he talks of Brooke Sheilds and post-partum depression . He slipped his hand into his back pocket, and took out a vile of mucus yellow liquid.
"What's this boo-boo, is this some brandy for your lady love?" Brooke giggled. She always had loved getting drunk.
"I wouldn't hate you more had you revealed you were a transsexual you little whore. This is for you, drink it."
Brooke took the vile, thinking perhaps the liquor would calm her down. Jenson was being a naughty boy. She drank it and the JW tattooed on her inner thigh glowed green.
"What's happening!!!!!!" She cried. Suddenly she felt very peculiar. Most of the time she wanted to have sex, or go shopping, but instead she had the fleeting urge to hunt mice. She licked her paw.
"Because you were a pussy, you now will be a pussy." Jenson said looking out the window and turning up Chingy on his ipod. Truly it was the only music he listened to.
A panicked young Brooke looked around and meowed. This curse was fleeting. Suddenly she wildly burst down the aisle of the pain pawing at the flight attendant for milk. On a rampage she heard someone scream, "GET THAT CAT OUT OF THIS PLANE!" With that Brooke clawed at the air compressant window. MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOW she cried as she fell from the plane. The air whooshing at her as her little cat limbs flailed. She fell and fell and fell, landing in the little town of Tree Hill, North Carolina.