Living Short in Bel Air (Completed 2013)

ChapteЯ 16: Stuck.

ChapteЯ 16: Stuck.

Lya’s P.O.V.

Driz gingerly patted her lavender summer dress.  “The boys are definitely going to drop dead when they see us,” she said, adjusting her glasses. 

“You sound pretty confident,” I teased.  It sounded easier than done not to tell Driz about Jeff asking me out and the phone call with Clint.  But somehow, she already knew Clint and Jeff were working at the kissing booth which got me pursing a frown.  Apparently everyone knew—except me (of course). 

I was surprised Driz was fine with the boys participating as bachelors at the booth until I realized why. 

“What colour of lipstick do you think Clint will like?” She held up a scorching red and a hot pink tube. 

Right.  She was planning to drag me with her to the booth.  Just to kiss Clint. 

For a freak’n dollar. 

Cue face-palm.

“Why don’t you just put on both?” I joked.  My red ringlets bounced as I spun in my forest green Marc Jacobs summer dress.  I gritted my teeth as I pinched on the two inch heels and reminded myself this was for the greater good.  After scheming thousands of plots how to humiliate Jeff, I realized if I wanted to win the BAB competition, I would have to keep my hands clean.  Jeff wasn’t too fond of ignorance, him being a lady’s man who adored attention. 

“I think I’ll use the clear lip gloss,” Driz decided. 

A surge of relief washed over me, dodging yet another female debating crisis.  Despite the new look, I was still not a fan of girly business.  The idea of shorts and a baseball cap actually crossed my mind earlier, but knowing Driz that would be Mission Impossible 4. 

Ten minutes later, we were exiting a taxi to the Bel Air Fair.  Children ran around with hands full of cotton candy and coins to spend their luck on.  We brushed past tourists, their cameras flashing around the busy scenery.  The huge blinking Ferris wheel was already in motion and dawn was approaching fast.

“Quick!  Ly-a! 12 o’clock.”  Driz elbowed me hard in the ribs. 

Making a sour face, I tried my best to make a discreet glance ahead, and only sighed at her discovery.  “It’s a boy, Driz.” 

“A cute German boy,” she implied, raising a finger.  “He’s in my math class.  Only speaks German, but it’s pretty sexy in my opinion.”  She shoved my shoulder with urgency.  “You should go talk to him.”

That was another thing.  Since Driz practically acted that Clint was hers now (even though he hadn’t spoken one word to her in the past week) that—according to the grapevine—I was now a loner.  In its horrifying agony, Driz was now on strict matchmaker duty and what she called ‘The Ly-a Love-o-meter’ was on radar 24/7.  Sometimes, it sucked to have a boy obsessed friend. 

“I don’t speak German,” I stated, wryly.

“So?!”  She put a dramatic hand to her forehead.  “Don’t let the cosmic forces detain your love for each other.” 

I rolled my eyes.  “I haven’t even met the poor guy.” 

“Just give him a chance!”

I lifted my counting fingers.  “Driz, I only speak four languages.  English.  Profanity.  Sarcasm.  Real shit.”

Driz gave a long blank stare, and then grew a smug smile.  She squeezed my shoulder, guiding me through the crowded fair.  “I completely understand.”