The person who I dedicated this to has comments that always make me smile! You rock @Quellie <<Sorry, I think I spelt that wrong.
ChapteЯ 15: Bad is the new good
Lya’s P.O.V.
“Hello?”
I opened my mouth, but the words were buried deep in my throat.
“Anyone there?”
“Hi,” I quickly amended.
“Ly-a?” his tone sounding uneasy.
I swallowed hard, unsure why I was calling in the first place. Friday nuzzled against my legs, and stared at me with confident eyes. “You know about the Bel Air fair?” I boldly asked.
Seconds dripped past and I thought perhaps he had hung up. “What about it?” he questioned, worry evident in his voice.
I sucked in a sharp breath. “Do you have a date?”
Doubt began to creep in when he remained mute on the matter. “No,” he answered in what felt like an hour. A sigh of relief escaped, and I instantly clamped my mouth. I did not just sound relieved. “But I’m can’t go with anyone,” he said, the words just as painful as his tone.
He couldn’t go with anyone? Why? The question was at the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t want to seem needy. “It’s not like I was going to ask you,” I spoke, even waving a dismissive hand to prove myself wrong. “I was just curious—”
“I already signed up to help one of the booths,” he interjected, promptly. “All money will be going to charity so I thought it would be good.”
That sounded reasonable. I shoved the hot twisting clench in my stomach to the back of my mind, and kept the conversation with a “Mhm. Sounds great.” But it wasn’t. It wasn’t at all.
“Jeff even signed up as well,” Clint added, sounding like he was gaining back his normal voice. “He thought it was a great idea too.”
“Really? That’s wonderful.” Stupid comments was the only thing I could muster, too busy battling the dark squeeze forming in my ribs. This call was stupid. Pointless. He couldn’t—and probably didn’t want to have a date to the Bel Air Fair. Especially if I were the date. At least he wasn’t going with Driz.
I propped my elbows to hold my chin as I flipped onto my stomach. “So, uh, which booth are you guys helping out with?”
It took me a long moment to note the pause on the line; suddenly I felt an uneasy churn plummet to my stomach. “Clint?”
“We’re doing the Kissing Booth.”
My heart lodged in my throat. Turning tables, the silence hung at my receiver and I didn’t even realize my nails digging into the pillow.
“Ly-a? Please don’t tell me you hung up.”
Kissing Booth? That has the word kissing in it. Clint. Kissing girls. Judging by the amount of ladies swooning on him at school, hundreds of puckered lips would be kissing him. None of them being mine. Pictures flashed in my mind, blonde girls, dark skinned girls, redheads, brunettes, smooching the only boy I actual had interest in. Behind curtains. With privacy.
My backbone stiffened. Jeff. Jeff would be kissing hundreds of girls as well. And if Jeff was helping out at the booth—he couldn’t go with me.
My heart skittered around in my chest. I didn’t have a date. I just got dumped—literally dumped for a date. On the phone. Twice. At the same time.
“Please, please, Ly-a. I really hope you didn’t hang up,” he softly begged.
Despite the dislodged emotions slamming against my gut, I mustered enough words to condense the abrupt shock. “Friday made me drop the phone. Sorry about that.”
“Oh, okay. Well—”
“How come Jeff didn’t tell me?” I snapped. So much for keeping my cool.
“I—uh—I-I don’t know,” he spoke, judging by his stuttering was taken aback by my question.
“He should have told me—he should have thought about that before asking me!” My blood began to boil. The white hot anger a tad late in response, I was infuriated now, realization finally dawning on me. “He thinks it’s okay to bring a girl on a date while simultaneously kissing a bunch of random girls?! What’s wrong with that—that filthy bastard!”
“Now, now. Maybe he thought he could juggle both you and the females,” Clint implied.
“What a cocky . . . pig!” I spat, indignantly. “Well if that’s what he thinks, then he’s about to get a slap in the face!”
“Do an extra slap for me, shrimp!” he quipped.
“Oh, I will,” I hissed, throwing a soundless punch to the pillow. “He’s gonna be—”
“Two olives short of a martini?”
“Well if he doesn’t explain himself, then that fucktard is gonna have no martini!”
“You screw that fuc—” he cleared his throat, “pig’s balls and tell him you can’t be messed with!”
“I will!”
“You will!”
I stabbed the hang up button, before I could crushed the cellular device. It was time to have a little chat with Jeff. Ready to hit the man up on speed-dial and unleash hell, I suddenly had a much better idea.
CLINT’S P.O.V.
I collapsed in the chair, letting it spin me until I was seeing doubles. My grin ached, but it remained huge as I was almost drunk in glee.
Sources was what I had—Stacy. Jeff had Steve—the pony driver. It was overwhelming for the fact my plan had worked. I wished I could see Jeff’s reaction, but I left that to Ly-a. Pain failed to fill its way inside, but I kept telling my mind I wasn’t using Ly-a. I cared about her. More than Jeff ever would. This was for her own good anyways. And she didn’t sound that hurt when I told her about the kissing booth.
I promised myself I’d think of Ly-a whenever I kissed a girl and when that doubted me, I thought of the kissing booth as a good cause. Signing Jeff and I up was the most brilliant plan, and tricking his mom into agreeing with the idea was priceless. Well, I wouldn’t call it tricking. Just persuasion and strong points of evidence.
Maybe Ly-a would visit me at the booth. That got me grinning.
My hair damp in my face, I flicked it away and picked up the plastic basketball. In perfect arch, the ball went in with a glorious swoop.
“Who knew it felt so good to be bad?” I said to myself.
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Short. Not much, but a meaningful setup for the next chapter. And yes, the Carnival scene is next. Trust me—with the stunning scenes running in my mind—the next few chapters are going to be mind-blowing.
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Living Short in Bel Air (Completed 2013)
SpiritualAs an old dead guy once said, "And though she be but little, she is fierce." A self motivating journey dedicated to the short girls, tomboys, weirdos, and outcasts, where a lonely, girl in Bel Air shows the society that big things come in small pack...