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Confessions
of Three Teenage Drama
This bunch of craziness is posted in honor of my first
Jixaversary! Thank you, Cathy, for allowing me to be part of such a talented
bunch of authors. This story has no redeeming social value whatsoever. No
lessons will be learned, no issues will be discussed, and there will be no
moral at the end of the story. This submission is solely dedicated to FUN!!! I spent a lot of time
this past summer with teenagers and was reminded of those days… those
drama-filled days. Remember how it felt being a teenager? When one minute you loved someone, the next
you absolutely hated them, and then five minutes later you loved them again?
When a zit signaled the end of the world? When the alignment of the planets
depended on that special someone asking you to “the most important dance of
the ENTIRE year”? When you could run the entire gamut of emotions
in fifteen minutes or less? Well, here’s your chance to relive those days… if you dare!
Please join us at The Cameo for “Confessions of Three Teenage Drama Friday evening, Helen Belden carried a wicker
laundry basket full of clean towels to the upstairs bathroom. She had just
pulled them off the clothesline in the backyard where they had dried in the
sun all day. As a result, they were springtime-fresh. Brian and Mart were on a
camping trip with Jim and Dan, and Bobby was spending the night with Larry
and Terry Lynch. Though none of the boys would be at home this evening, Honey
and Di were spending the night with Trixie at
Crabapple Farm. She knew from experience that
it was best to have a fully-stocked linen closet during their sleepovers. The
girls usually washed their hair at least once during the slumber party,
possibly more depending on how many makeovers were performed. Additional
towels would be needed in the morning when they took their showers. And, of
course, there was always the possibility that a towel or two would be needed
sometime during the night to mop up any liquids that were spilled during a
moment of silliness. Helen stacked the
freshly-washed towels on the correct shelf of the linen closet in the
bathroom. Once she had accomplished her task, she walked across the hallway
to go downstairs. As she neared the door to Trixie’s bedroom, she smiled as
she remembered slumber parties with her own friends years ago. She halted briefly outside her
daughter’s closed door as an odd sound came from the room containing three
excitable teenaged girls. Silence. That’s
strange, Helen thought to herself. They’re
awfully quiet in there. Unable to suppress her
curiosity, she leaned her ear against the door and listened closely. Why, I don’t hear a peep out of them! I
wonder why. Helen furrowed her brow in deep
thought as countless possibilities danced through her mind. Are they hurt? She sighed deeply, exasperated
with herself for being such a worrywart. Of
course they’re not hurt; they’d be crying or screaming. She turned to leave, but
another possibility forced her to stand still and contemplate. Maybe
they’re listening to music, she mused. After a moment of
thought, however, she shook her head. No, I’d at least hear singing. She worried her lower lip,
determined to figure out the mysterious silence. Could they be taking a nap? Helen peeked at her watch, and
then scratched her head as she pondered the strange situation. They wouldn’t be asleep. It’s only In spite of her constant
frustration with her daughter’s curiosity, she knew that Trixie came by that
trait honestly. For as much as she hated to admit it, Helen was just as
inquisitive as her fair-haired children. Knowing it would be impossible to
forget about the mysterious silence, Helen decided to investigate. She knocked softly on her daughter’s
bedroom door. Upon hearing the muffled, “Come in,” she turned the knob and
stuck her head in the doorway. “Do you girls
need anything?” she asked, studying Trixie and her two best friends. To her
amazement, the normally exuberant teenagers were unusually subdued; somber
even. “We’re okay,
Moms,” Trixie replied glumly. She was lying on her back across her full-sized
bed, allowing her head to hang upside-down over the edge. “Dear, you
shouldn’t lay like that,” Helen gently chided. “It’s making all the blood
rush to your head.” “I don’t mind,”
Trixie said without much enthusiasm. “I think better this way.” “What are you
thinking about, sweetheart?” Helen prodded, although she thought she already
knew the answer. “Nothing,” her
daughter answered in a sad voice, her sandy curls swinging as she shook her
head slightly. Helen stifled a
smile and shifted her gaze to Honey and Di, who didn’t appear to be any more
cheerful than Trixie. Honey was lying on her stomach across the foot of the
bed, her head resting on her folded arms. Di resembled a contortionist; she
lay on her back on the floor, but had her legs up on the bed, absentmindedly
wiggling her feet. “Honey, Di, are you girls sick?” Honey briefly
lifted her head and smiled weakly at her friend’s mother. “We’re fine, Mrs.
Belden. Just a little tired.” “Yeah,” Di
agreed, looking up at her from the floor. “It’s been a long week at school.” Helen’s gaze grew
sympathetic as she took in the dark circles under Honey’s eyes and the tear
streaks down Diana’s cheeks. Trixie was not
the only Belden adept at finding clues and solving mysteries. Her mother was
quite proficient at gleaning bits and pieces of information and putting them
together, much like someone would work a puzzle. And this puzzle was one with which Helen was familiar. After all, it
had not been so long ago that she was fifteen. Helen smiled to herself as she
recalled the various clues: a circle drawn around today’s date on the
calendar with the word “dance” written inside of it; the boys going on the
first camping trip of the season; the girls boycotting the aforementioned
dance; an impromptu slumber party, and a trio of normally giddy girls who
currently resembled mourners at a funeral. She easily recognized the
symptoms, and luckily for the girls, she had the perfect cure. “I’m in the mood to cook,” Helen commented
nonchalantly. “I thought I’d make some brownies, if the three of you would
help Mr. Belden and me eat them.” “The iced ones?”
Trixie asked as she hung upside-down. “If you’d like,”
her mother answered. “And maybe some chocolate chip cookies…” “The homemade
kind?” Honey questioned hopefully, her hazel eyes brightening slightly. “Of course,”
Helen said with a consoling smile. “And I made some fudge earlier today…” Di’s feet quit wiggling. “Peanut butter fudge?” Helen laughed
softly. “As a matter of fact, it is. That’s your favorite kind, isn’t it,
Di?” “Yes, ma’am,” Di
agreed, a faint smile parting her lips. “Well, if you girls wouldn’t mind helping
Peter and me eat these goodies, then I’ll go down to the kitchen and start
making them.” “Thanks, Moms,”
Trixie told her, trying her best to muster a bright smile. “Yeah, thanks
Mrs. Belden,” Honey and Di chorused, without much enthusiasm. After giving the
girls a final smile, Helen exited the room, the only sound being the soft
click when the door closed.
Friday night, Peter Belden
quirked a dark eyebrow at his wife. “So why are we taking three huge plates
of sugar-laden junk food up to Trixie’s room?” he questioned incredulously.
“Those girls will be bouncing off the walls.” Helen glanced at
her husband, her smile quite secretive. “Sometimes a girl needs chocolate.” Peter gasped in
horror. “All of them? At the same time? Good grief, I’ll be lucky to live
through this, being trapped in one small house with three young women all
having th---“ “It’s not that!”
she corrected with a laugh, playfully swatting his shoulder. “There are other times that a girl needs to
overdose on chocolate.” He merely
shrugged his shoulders to show his ignorance on the subject. “Are they going
to binge and purge?” Helen cast him a
reproachful look. “That’s not funny.” “I wasn’t trying
to be funny,” Peter explained earnestly. “I’m just trying to figure this out.
I’ve never been a teenage girl before, so I don’t have any past experiences
to go by. You’re going to have to give me a hint.” Relenting at his
sincere expression, Helen softened and affectionately wiped away a smudge of
flour from his jaw. “You want a hint, huh?” “Please?” he
begged, his dark eyes twinkling. “I grew up with two brothers. I have no girl
cousins. And I don’t have a
feminine side. So even the playing field a bit, sweetie.” Helen giggled as
she straightened the apron he was wearing. “Don’t have a feminine side, ay?” He grasped her
hands and pulled her close to him. After gazing at her a moment with his
soulful brown eyes, he whispered in a husky tone, “Please?” “Okay,” she
agreed with a breathy sigh. It was impossible to withhold anything from her
husband when he looked at her like that. “I’ll give you some hints. A circled
date on our calendar marked ‘Spring Dance’. Below ‘Spring Dance’ someone with
messy penmanship scrawled ‘Camping Trip’.” Helen looked at
him pointedly, waiting for him to digest those facts and reach a reasonable
conclusion. However, Peter’s
face remained clueless. “The girls are mad because they couldn’t go with the
boys on their camping trip?” Helen exhaled
loudly, shaking her head. “No, dear. I’ll give you another hint. Impromptu slumber party?” “It’s a good time
to have a sleepover because the boys aren’t here to change their channels?”
Peter was obviously grasping at straws. The wrong straws. “I haven’t heard one single peep out of the girls the
entire evening,” she informed him, her brow creased in worry. “You mean they
aren’t squealing and giggling and shrieking and singing?” he clarified. “Not a bit.” Peter raised his
eyes to the heavens. “Thank you, Lord!” he exclaimed joyfully, waving his
hands in adoration. Helen didn’t know
whether to laugh at his antics or to be annoyed by them. Thankfully for her
husband, she chose to laugh. “Oh, stop!” she commanded with a chuckle. “Now
Peter, you have to admit it’s strange that they’re being so quiet.” “Why, yes,” he
conceded, “that is strange. I’d
even go so far as to quote Trixie: It’s downright… mysterious.” “So have you
figured it out yet?” Helen asked with a saucy grin, obviously enjoying the
fact that she had the upper hand with her husband. For a moment,
Peter tried to imply that indeed he had solved this mystery. He sputtered
some unintelligible phrases and did a lot of hand gesturing, but in the end,
he threw his hands up in total surrender and admitted, “I have no idea.” “You still
haven’t figured it out?” she exclaimed in disbelief. “The dance, the camping
trip, the sleepover, the pouting?” She tapped her foot and looked at her
watch. “No, I still don’t get it.” “Of course you
don’t,” Helen told him curtly. “You’re a man. You fail to pick up the clues
we women so carefully leave for you.” Peter scratched
his chin thoughtfully. “So this is my
fault…?” Helen looked at
her husband in amusement. She grasped his hands and brought them to her lips.
After kissing them, she shook her head disparagingly at him. “No, sweetheart.
It’s not your failing per se that I’m ranting about; it’s
the failing of men in general. More specifically, it’s the failing of three
certain teenage boys…” “Bobby’s not a
teenager,” Peter corrected, still not getting the point. “I’m not talking
about Bobby.” “So this isn’t
Bobby’s fault?” “No, dear,” Helen
said with a patient smile. “Thank God,”
Peter muttered under his breath. “Finally something’s
not his fault.” He paused for a moment, then inquired curiously, “Well, then
who’s the third one?” “Jim.” “Jim’s not ours.”
Confused as he was, of that fact, Peter was certain. “I know that,
dear,” Helen stated, her tone patronizing. “But
Trixie is.” “But Trixie’s not
a teenage boy.” “But she is a teenage girl, dear.” Peter’s shoulders
slumped as he rubbed his throbbing temples. “My head hurts,” he mumbled. “I’m
totally confused now. All day long I deal with percentages, spreadsheets,
interest rates, mortgages, taxable income, nontaxable income… That
I can understand. But the ramblings of an emotional woman?” He snorted and
raised his hands in despair. “I’ll never
understand those as long as I live.” “Can you give it
to me straight, Helen?” he asked with a pleading smile. “Just pretend I’m
Bobby, since I feel about six-years-old right now.” Helen laughed and
threw her arms around her husband’s neck. After placing a kiss of promise
upon his lips, she answered his question. “There was a dance at school this
evening. The girls wanted to go.” “So why didn’t they?” he asked with an unconcerned shrug. “Because the boys
didn’t invite them.” “And they had to be invited to the dance by the
boys to be able to go?” Helen wanted to
ask her husband if he had consumed a lot of paint chips as a small child, but
she bit her tongue. “No, they didn’t need
an invitation, but they wanted
one.” “Why? What’s the
difference?” Helen sighed
wearily. “The difference is that
Trixie, Honey and Di wanted the boys to escort them to the dance. Sort of
like a group date. But the boys never asked them to go; they went camping
instead.” “Maybe the guys
didn’t know about the dance,” Peter suggested in defense of his fellow men.
“After all, Brian and Jim are in
college now. They can’t keep up with all the Sleepyside Junior-Senior High
news.” “Oh, they knew,”
Helen informed him. “Trixie made sure that Brian knew and Honey made sure
that Jim knew. Besides, Mart’s the one who wrote the article in the school
paper about the upcoming dance, so he definitely
knew. And I’m sure the girls hinted around for the boys to ask them.” “So Brian, Mart,
and Jim didn’t take the girls to the dance,” Peter stated with another shrug.
“Big deal.” “Peter, it is a big deal to the girls,” Helen
informed him, her tone gentle, yet reproving. “According to Trixie, it’s the
last big dance of the school year, aside from prom.” “They could’ve
gone anyway,” Peter brought up. “They’re pretty girls; I’m sure some other
teenage punks invited them.” Helen snorted at
her husband’s terminology. “They didn’t want to go with some other punks; they wanted to be
escorted by our punks.” “But our punks
decided to go camping instead?” Peter summed up with a smirk. “Exactly.” “And that’s why,
at this very moment, my daughter and two young ladies whom I consider
daughters are moping upstairs?” As hard as he tried, Peter could not contain
the glee he felt. “Peter!” Helen’s
blue eyes blazed as she scolded her husband. “You’re not supposed to be
happy.” “I can’t help
it,” he admitted, unable to suppress the grin upon his face. “You expect me
to be upset that my fifteen-year-old daughter is NOT in a dark
gymnasium, slow dancing with Jim, who until now could do no wrong in her
eyes?” “There are chaperones at the dance, dear.” Peter’s response
to that statement was a defiant snort. “Yeah… five chaperones for 200 kids.
Each chaperone only has to keep an eagle-eye on 40 kids. That makes me feel a lot better.” Helen placed her
hands on her shapely hips and glared up at him. “We’re not talking about some
average teenage boy, Peter. We’re discussing Jim.” “I know we’re
discussing Jim,” Peter argued. “And
forgive me if I’m downright giddy that his freckled hands are nowhere near my
baby girl’s backside.” “Jim respects you
too much to act like that,” Helen disagreed, shaking her head in
exasperation. “He’s far too honorable.” “Honorable boys
have hormones, too, Helen,” Peter insisted. “I was honorable myself once, a---” His wife
interrupted him with a snort of disbelief. “You were never as honorable as Jim.” Peter squared his
shoulders indignantly. “I was, too.” “You were not,”
Helen quarreled. “Andy was the
honorable one. Hal was the ambitious one. You were…” A secret smile played on
her lips as she finished, “…the charming one.” “The charming
one, huh?” Peter wrapped his strong arms around his wife’s waist and lowered
his head to nuzzle her neck. “You know, I can still be charming…” “You certainly
can,” Helen murmured huskily, running her hands along her husband’s muscular
back. “And after we take this chocolate up to the girls, maybe you can give
me a private demonstration of your charm.” “That would be my
pleasure,” he told her as he placed light kisses along the sensitive part of
Helen’s neck. “Good thing Jim’s
more honorable than charming,” Helen commented with a giggle. “You’d have to
get your shotgun.” “And thankfully
Brian has a responsible head on his shoulders,” Peter chuckled. “He reminds
me of Hal at his age.” “And Mart…” Helen
abruptly stood upright, leaving her sentence unfinished. “What about Mart?” Peter merely
winked at his wife, his dark brown eyes twinkling with mirth. “Why, he’s got
his father’s charm, of course,” he informed her with a mischievous, and very
appealing, grin. A grim expression
passed over Helen’s face as she realized how true that statement was. Mart
may have inherited the Johnson’s fair coloring, but personality-wise, he was
a carbon copy of his father. His utterly charming
father… “Well, maybe it is a good thing that the boys went
camping,” Helen gulped nervously. “It’s much healthier for them to camp in
the fresh air, miles away from Sleepyside… instead of slow dancing in that dark, crowded gymnasium.” Peter’s gaze
narrowed as he read his wife’s obvious thoughts. “So why did the boys go camping instead of taking the girls to the
dance?” “I have no idea,”
Helen admitted, “but right now, I’m just glad they did.” With a deep
chuckle, Peter removed the apron he had worn while helping his wife in the
kitchen. “Come on, woman. Let’s deliver this to the girls, and then I have
something I need to show you in the barn.” Helen’s sandy
brows rose slightly. “Oh, really? And just what do you need to show me?” “Somethin’,” Peter answered airily. “I promise that you’ll
like it.” “Word of honor?”
she asked tartly. “Word of honor,”
he repeated, an impish sparkle in his eyes. “It’s
guaranteed to charm the pants right off of you.” Helen giggled at
her husband’s innuendo. “Peter…” “What?” he asked
innocently. “I’m allowed to charm
you now. I have a license. I got it about twenty years ago, and I’ve been
putting it to good use ever since.” Several minutes
later, Helen stood outside her daughter’s closed bedroom door. “Knock,
knock!” she called, her hands laden with goodies. “You may enter,”
Trixie called from inside. “If you want your
chocolate, open the door!” Helen commanded with a roll of her eyes. “My hands
are full.” Helen heard the
faint squeak of bed springs followed by clomping. A minute later, an obviously
unhappy Trixie opened the door, and then immediately trudged back to her bed. “Are you girls hungry?” Helen asked brightly, setting down two
large platters of baked goods. The tantalizing
aroma of freshly-baked brownies and chocolate chip cookies wafted through the
room, eliciting smiles from the gloomy girls. “Yummy-yum-yum!” Trixie
exclaimed as she gazed longingly at the plate of iced brownies. “Those cookies
sure smell good, Mrs. Belden,” Honey replied politely, sniffing the air. “Where’s the fudge?”
Di, already on the brink of tears, looked totally crestfallen at the lack of
peanut butter fudge. “I’ve got it
right here,” Peter called, as he entered the room carrying not only the fudge
but also a two-liter of cold cola, complete with plastic cups perched on the
top of the bottle. “Dad!” Trixie
exploded, tears pooling in her china blue eyes. Peter jumped
stiff-legged at the sudden screeching of the familiar term to which he was
referred. “What?” he asked, terrified by the horror-stricken expression on
his daughter’s face. “No boys
allowed!” Trixie cried as she jumped up from her bed in protest. Peter chuckled,
not realizing the danger he was in. “Why not?” “Boys are mean!”
Trixie informed him angrily. “Boys are gross!”
Honey exclaimed, her chin quivering. “Boys have
cooties!” Di shrieked, her voice slightly teary. “But I’m not a
boy,” Peter told them gently. “I’m a man.” “You used to be a boy,” Trixie argued. “And once a boy, always a boy,” Honey pointed out with a pout. “So there’s no hope
for you,” Di summed up, crossing her arms in finality. “Can’t I come in
for just a little bit?” he pleaded. “Nope,” Trixie
said with a toss of her sandy curls. “Forget it,”
Honey declared, with a shake of her head. “No way,” Di
refused firmly. “But I have
caffeine and fudge.” He hopefully held up the aforementioned objects as a
peace offering. “Well, maybe you
can come in for a little bit…” Di began as her violet eyes focused on the
fudge. “DI!!!” Trixie and Honey chorused
amiably. “You can’t back down!” “But he has my
fudge,” she whined pitifully. “You get your brownies and your cookies…” Trixie expressed
her frustration with a loud huff. “Fine,” she snapped. “Dad, slowly put down
the fudge and back awaaaay
from the room, and nobody’ll get hurt.” Peter shook his
head in bemusement, a confused smile on his face. “Trixie, you’re being
silly. I’m your father; why aren’t I allowed in your room?” “Because, as a
man,” Trixie began, “you possess that nasty, vile, loathsome…” “Stupid, gross,
inconsiderate…” Honey added. “Idiotic,
uncaring, insensitive…” Di supplied. “Y-chromosome,”
Trixie concluded. “Therefore, you are hereby sentenced to eternal banishment
from the “But my paycheck
provides the roof over the “Typical man
response,” Trixie sniffed indignantly. “Exactly what I
was thinking,” Honey pouted. “You took the
words right out of my mouth,” Di muttered. Peter, bemused by
the girls’ actions, just laughed and threw his hands up in exasperation. “You
ladies just need to pick your lips off of the floor and straighten up. There
are more fish in the s---” His insensitive
comment was left hanging as he intercepted the warning glare his loving wife
was shooting at him. “Didn’t you need my help,
dear?” she commented casually, with a quirk of one sculpted brow. “In the
barn?” “The barn?” Peter repeated, not
picking up on Helen’s subtle rescue attempt. “Ye-es,”
Helen drawled out slowly. “Remember in the kitchen, you said you needed my
assistance in the barn…?” Peter coughed as
he choked on the image that flitted through his mind. “O-oh, yes,
sweetheart,” he stammered in between coughs. “That barn! I-I-I needed you to get your hairpin and take a look
at that… that thing we talked about… the lawnmower… err, the motor… uhh… and the milk pail…” After clearing
his throat, he replied in a deep voice, “I’ll be in the barn.” He set the
soda and the platter of fudge on the dresser beside the rest of the goodies,
and quickly made his getaway. “Do you girls need anything
else?” Helen asked cheerily, a blush on her cheeks. “We’re fine,”
Trixie answered with a grimace. “You may proceed with your repair of the milk
pail.” After a final
giggle of embarrassment followed by a wink, Helen turned on her heel and
trotted out of the room and down the staircase.
The girls’
spirits were buoyed slightly by the intake of the extremely fattening, yet
highly delicious, sweets that Helen had provided. As they munched on
brownies, cookies, and fudge and slurped their cola, Trixie, Honey, and Di
mustered the will to chat a bit. “Gleeps!” Trixie exclaimed, with a roll of her eyes. “Moms
and Dad are sure embarrassing. They can act so stupid sometimes.” “What do you
mean?” Honey asked as she licked a drop of chocolate off her fingers. “That ‘going to
the barn’ bit was really lame,” Trixie snorted. “I think they’re
kind of cute,” Di admitted with a giggle. “You would,” Trixie
muttered with an indignant sniff. “Well, I think
they’re cute, too,” Honey declared, picking another cookie off of the
platter. “Cute?” Trixie
gasped and clutched her chest, feigning a heart attack. “You’ve all gone
stark raving mad!” “I think it’s
sweet how affectionate they are,” Honey commented between nibbles of her
cookie. “Yes, it’s
wonderful that they still love each other so much after all these years,” Di
agreed with a dreamy sigh. “It’s very romantic.” Trixie’s lip
curled in disgust as she leaned over her bed and pretended to throw up. “C’mon, Trixie,”
Honey giggled, “don’t you think they’re cute?” “Just a teeny
tiny little bit?” Di prodded. “No! I think
they’re gross.” Trixie shivered to illustrate her point. “You know, I used to
think my mother was a wise woman. However, after watching her fawn over Dad
like that…” She shivered again. “What’s not smart
about that?” Honey queried. “Duh!” Trixie
exclaimed. “Dad is a guy. We don’t
like them anymore, remember?” Honey smiled
sheepishly. “Oh, I forgot. I was too busy thinking about how cute your dad
is.” “Honey!” Trixie
exploded, clutching her short sandy curls in her fists. “What’s wrong with
you?” “We’ve been over
this before, Trix,” Di told her. “Whether you like it or not, your dad is hot. And more power to Moms if she
wants to exercise her marital benefits.” Honey hooted with
laughter. Trixie closed her eyes tightly, clutched her curls, and shook her
head vigorously. “EWWW! Now you have all these yucky thoughts stuck in my
head!” Di shrugged, and
then asked matter-of-factly, “What? Like them doing it?” Honey collapsed
in a fit of laughter, while Trixie collapsed in a mass of hysterical shrieks.
In order to shield herself from hearing any more offending comments, Trixie
buried her head under her pillow. Di giggled as she listened to her
sandy-haired friend’s pleas for mercy. Once Honey had calmed down, her hazel
eyes met Diana’s violet ones, and they both looked at Trixie. Soon both of
them were dying laughing again, and it wasn’t long until they had fallen off
the bed, landing in giggling heaps on the floor. From under
Trixie’s pillow, a Fran Dresher-like voice whined, “Fee-ling nawww-shus. Getting diiiiizzy.” This only served
to create more giggling hysteria on Di and Honey’s parts, who were laughing
so hard that they forgot all about the pain in their backsides resulting from
falling on the floor. Once Honey and Di
had calmed down and reclaimed their positions on the bed, Trixie peeked out
from under her protective shield. She assumed a stern look and pointed her
stubby index finger at Di. “Don’t ever, EVER
bring that up again,” Trixie lectured. “Good grief! I came close to spewing
mushy brownie-vomit over both of you.” Honey wiped a few
tears caused by her laughter. “I don’t see what the big deal is, Trix. You know they’ve done it before.” “Realistically,
yes, they may have done it once or
twice,” Trixie admitted reluctantly. “Well, not that
I’m some big mathematician or anything, but odds are that they’ve done it at
least…” Di paused dramatically to tick off Belden children on her fingers, “four times.” Trixie shot her a
threatening look. “I have chosen to believe that after once or twice, they
decided they didn’t like it anymore, and elected to conceive me and Bobby by
artificial insemination.” Honey and Di both
wheezed with laughter, desperately trying to catch their breaths. “Surely you don’t
really believe that,” Honey gasped. Trixie defiantly
crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air. “That’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.” Several cookies,
brownies, and pieces of fudge later, Trixie, Honey, and Di’s
mood had lightened considerably. After every single crumb had been devoured,
the three depressed teenagers decided to go downstairs to scavenge for more
sustenance. “Let’s see,”
Trixie murmured as she pilfered through the refrigerator. “What do we have to
eat in here?” “A more
appropriate question would be: What don’t
we have to eat in here?” Honey corrected. “There are enough leftovers in here
to feed an army.” “What’s this?”
Trixie carefully opened a large Tupperware bowl. “Hmmm… Anyone interested in
cold mashed potatoes?” Honey wrinkled
her nose. “Gross. How can something so yummy when it’s warm look so yucky
when it’s cold?” “Ix-nay the ashed-may o-pay-atay-oestay,”
Di stated, her thumb and index finger firmly
clamping her nostrils shut as she looked in the big container filled with the
leftover potatoes. Trixie snickered.
“I didn’t know Di was bilingual.” Honey scrunched
up her pert nose. “What does ‘ix-nay the ashtray oil of olay’
mean anyway?” “She said ‘nix
the mashed potatoes’ in pig Latin,” Trixie explained with a giggle.” “Well, I think
‘ix-naying’ them would be the best for everyone,”
Honey said with a snort. “I think they’ve been in the fridge for a while. We
could destroy a small country with them.” “I think you’re
right,” Trixie agreed as she gingerly placed the lid back on the bowl and
hurriedly put the bowl back in the refrigerator. “I wish we didn’t
live so far out in the boonies,” Di complained. “I’d give anything for a
pizza right now.” Trixie placed her
hands on her hips and turned to her ebony-haired friend. “We have all this
food in here and you want takeout?” “Mmmm,” Honey murmured, licking her lips. “Chinese would
be good.” “Unbelievable,”
Trixie snorted with a roll of her eyes. “I guarantee that the food in this
refrigerator is better than you’ll find in any fancy restaurant.” “But what about
the service?” Di asked with a grin. “Ah, we guarantee
the finest service here at Réfrigérateur Belden,” Trixie assured in a thick French accent. “Even our
wealthiest patrons declare our cuisine the fairest in the land. Absolument délicieux!” “Absolument délicieux, huh?”
Honey questioned incredulously. “Well, I suppose we’ll grace Réfrigérateur Belden with our presence.” “Merveilleux
news, my little chickadees,” Trixie encouraged. “And will you be having an
appetizer?” “Ooh!” Di squealed as she
pulled out a long stick of pepperoni. “This looks yummy.” “But of course,
Mademoiselle,” Trixie agreed enthusiastically. “The spicy pepperoni will make
a lovely appetizer. And for your main entrée?” “Leftover fried
chicken!” Honey squealed in delight. “Yummy-yum-yum!” “Ah, so you’ve
chosen the poultry for the pièce de résistance,” Trixie said, continuing to
imitate a French waiter. “Tres bien.
And what shall you choose as your vegetable?” “Pickles,” Di
insisted. “The sweet or the
dill?” Trixie inquired, holding up both jars. “The dill!” Honey
and Di chorused. “Magnifique!” Trixie held her fingers to her mouth and
kissed them. “The kosher dill pickles are how we say… par excellence.” The giggling
girls carried the food to the large kitchen table. “What about
dessert?” Honey asked. “We just ate iced
brownies, chocolate chip cookies, and fudge,” Di informed her. “And your point
is?” Honey queried with a snort. With a flourish,
Trixie yanked open the freezer. “Mademoiselles, may I recommend the Moose
Tracks ice cream? It is the crème de la crème of all desserts, n’est-ce pas?” “Since when do
you know French?” Honey asked with a giggle. “Since I started
watching the Travel Channel,” Trixie informed her tartly. “Mar---” Tears pooled in Di’s eyes at the mention of that particular name, so
Trixie wisely rephrased her statement. “A-certain-person-who-shall-remain-nameless
was watching a show about restaurants in “Really?” A
mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Honey’s lips. “Well, in that case,
I have a question for you. Qu'y a-t-il pour boire?” “Huh?”
A look of total confusion distorted Trixie’s features. “Qu'y a-t-il pour boire?” Honey repeated. After giggling at Trixie’s obvious
bewilderment, she translated, “What do you have to drink?” Trixie
immediately assumed her French waiter persona. “Ah, mademoiselle wishes to
have a beverage. May I recommend a fine strawberry-flavored carbonated soda?
Pink, bubbly, and aged to perfection.” She opened the refrigerator door and
pulled out a two-liter of Strawberry Blast. Honey
studied the bottle carefully, and with a perfect French accent, responded, “Très bien.” Trixie
quirked a sandy brow at her. “Is that a yes or a no?” “That’s
a yes,” Honey replied, getting three glasses out of the cupboard and filling
them with ice. “Are
you sure we want Trixie to have strawberry pop this late?” Di asked
incredulously as she watched Honey pour the soda into the glasses. “You know
how hyper it makes her.” “Good
point, Di,” Honey said, handing Diana a glass of pop. After pouring some in
her own, she replaced the lid on the two-liter bottle. “Hey!”
Trixie yanked the soda out of Honey’s hands and reopened it. “As owner of
this bottle of Strawberry Blast, I’m allowed to consume as much as I want, no
matter how hyper it makes me.” “Now,
do you own that pop, or does your dad?” Di questioned, trying to keep a
straight face. Trixie
merely stuck her tongue out at her. After taking a long swig of soda, she
sighed in contentment. “Ahhh. Nothing like
Strawberry Blast. When I’m a grown up, I’m going to drink all the strawberry pop
I want, whenever I want,” she
declared defiantly. Saturday
morning, “Ugh,”
Honey moaned, tossing her spoon in the now-empty box of ice cream. “I feel
sick.” “Me
too,” Trixie agreed mournfully, rubbing her swollen stomach. “I
think it was the pickles that did it,” Di groaned. A very un-Diana-like belch
erupted from the violet-eyed beauty. “Well,
you’re the one who dared us to
drink the pickle juice,” Trixie told her crossly. “It
seemed like a good idea at the time,” she replied with a shrug. “What
do we do now?” Honey asked. “I’m bored.” “Wanna watch movies?” Trixie suggested. “What’s
on?” Honey slowly rose from the table. “I
dunno,” Trixie answered. “We can go in and see.” “Do
we have to?” Di inquired, a pitiful expression on
her face. “Can’t we just veg out here?” “Nope,”
Trixie informed her as she pulled on Diana’s arm to force her to stand. The
girls wobbled into the living room and crashed onto the couch. Trixie picked
up the remote, turned on the television and went to the channel that showed
the current program listings. “HBO’s
showing ‘A Perplexing Existence’,” Trixie half-heartedly commented. Honey
sighed loudly. “I can’t speak for Di, but I’d rather not watch that.” Di
nodded in agreement. “Me neither. I’m just not in the mood for Matthew
McConaughey.” “I
agree,” Trixie said glumly as she scrolled through the options. “So what do we want to watch?” “ ‘Bitter Analogies’,” Di read. “What’s that about?” Trixie
hit the description option and read a synopsis in her best news reporter
tone. “ ‘Bitter Analogies: A love struck woman comes
to the conclusion that the man she loves does not love her in return. After
much heartbreak, the despondent woman ponders suicide, joins a nunnery, and
eventually chooses a life of solitude’.” Trixie
scrunched up her face. “So… Whaddaya think? Is that
something we want to watch?” Honey
sighed wearily and yanked the remote from Trixie’s hand. She turned off the
television and set the control on the coffee table. “What else is there to
do?” “We
could listen to music,” Di suggested. Trixie
rose from the couch and walked over to the Beldens’ stereo system. She opened
one of the cabinet doors, in which they stored several CDs, cassettes, and
even a few ancient records. “What
are you in the mood to listen to?” Trixie asked, looking at their options.
She held up a CD to see if it met her friends’ approval. “ ‘Top 40
Greatest Love Songs’?” Di wrinkled her nose. “Gag!” Trixie
put that CD back and pulled out another one. “How about this?” “ ‘Kyle Deveroux--- Dance Every Dance with Only Me’,” Honey read
out loud. She shook her head emphatically. “I don’t think so.” “Do
you have anything silly?” Di asked. “Something pointless and utterly
nonsensical that won’t make us think about your stupid brothers?” Trixie’s
face brightened and she snapped her fingers. “I have just the thing!” She dug
through the cabinet and after much searching, triumphantly dug out a CD from
the back. She opened the case and loaded the CD. “This
will be perfect,” she murmured with a smile. Di
looked up from her task of painting Trixie’s toenails. “What are we listening to?” she asked, holding the lid of the
polish in midair. Honey,
who had just selected the shade “Sands of Time” for her own nails, craned her
neck in the direction of the speakers. Though she didn’t recognize the tune, her
foot tapped to the beat of the upbeat song, closely resembling something one
would hear at a beach party in the early sixties. “I’ve
never heard it before, but I like the music. It sounds like something you’d
hear in a ‘Gidget’ movie,” she commented, straining
to make out the words. Suddenly, her contemplative expression turned into a
grimace. “What did he say?” Trixie
giggled madly as she watched her friends’ bewilderment. “I forgot about this
song. But it is rather perfect,
don’t you think?” Di
and Honey both hovered around the stereo speakers, their ears carefully
listening to the words. As
the chorus came on, Honey laughed. “Is he saying what I think he’s saying?” “What
do you think he’s saying?” Di asked, a perplexed expression on her face. “I can’t make
out the words.” Honey turned up the volume as the chorus repeated. (She
wants) She wants to see you again Di’s black brows knotted as she heard the words. “Twisting in the wind? What the heck
does that mean?” Meanwhile, Trixie
and Honey had doubled over in a fit of giggles. Trixie wiped away
a tear shed from laughing too hard as she struggled to speak. “You know…
Twisting… Like someone’s been hung.” Di remained
motionless, save for her long eyelashes batting. “In a noose,”
Honey added, stifling a giggle. Di’s face scrunched up in horror. “Ugh! That’s awful!
What kind of trash are you listening to, Trixie?” “It’s not trash,”
Trixie insisted with a smirk. “It’s ‘They Might Be Giants’.” “They might be whats-its?” Di questioned in disbelief. “ ‘They Might Be Giants’,” Trixie explained, grinning from
ear to ear. “It’s supposed to be silly, not morbid. You’ll just have to
listen to the whole song.” Trixie hit the
repeat button and started the song over from the beginning. She smiled as the
happy Beach Boys-sounding, surfing-style music began. She set
your goldfish free Di
smiled ruefully as the chorus began. “Where in the world did you find this
CD?” “Cap
left it here,” Trixie replied with a giggle. “That
figures,” Di said with a snort. “This sounds like Cap Belden music.” “But
you have to admit that it’s funny,” Trixie prodded. “It’s
funny,” Di admitted, openly grinning as the second verse began. She's
not your satellite During the perky guitar solo,
Trixie hopped up and grabbed both of her friends’ hands. “C’mon!” she
giggled. “Let’s dance!” Trixie’s
pleading, combined with the upbeat music, was too
great a force to ignore. Honey and Di looked at each other, shrugged, and
stood up. It wasn’t long until all three girls were dancing around, doing the
swim, and hooting with laughter. As soon as the
song came to an end, Trixie hit the repeat button and the merriment started
all over. In search of another dance floor, she climbed on the sturdy couch
and began bouncing around. Honey and Di quickly followed suit, and soon all
three were hopping around, flinging their arms like a trio of loons. Hopped up on
chocolate, sugar, caffeine, and carbohydrates, the three girls leaped from
the couch to the loveseat and then back again to the couch. They bounced so
high that, if they tried, they could touch the ceiling with their hands. “She wants to see
you again,” Trixie sang loudly as she jumped. “She wants to see you again.” “Slowly
twisting,” Honey joined in with a giggle. “In the wind,” Di
finished, clicking her heels together as she leaped in the air. “Twisting,
twisting,” the girls sang together at the top of their lungs, not caring if
they were in tune or not. “In the wind…” The
ensuing crash inevitably following a chocolate-induced high is not a pretty
sight. And this crash was no exception. “WHY?!” Trixie wailed, pounding her
fists onto the carpeted floor on which she lay. “Why didn’t he ask me?” Honey,
hunched over on the loveseat with her head buried in her hands, looked up.
Her hazel eyes were puffy and filled with tears. “I don’t un…derstand,” she gasped in between sobs. “I thought he… was
respons…ible and com…
p-passionate.” Di,
curled up in the fetal position on the couch, cried uncontrollably. “But…
I’m… su-supposed to be the… pr-pr-prettiest girl in
Sl-Sl-Sleepyside. Oh, Mart! H-h-how could you?” “M-Mart
and Br-Bri-Brian are idiots,” Trixie stammered
through her tears. “I can see wh-why they’d do th-th-this. But not J-J-Jim. He’s the m-most wonderful *sob* b-boy in the w-w-wor-rld.” “Maybe
they’re gay!” Honey wailed, her hazel eyes widened
in horror. “Impossible!”
Trixie exclaimed, clutching her curls at the mere thought. “Maybe
they really like Loyola, Linnie Moore, and Dot
Murray better than they like us,” Di suggested weakly, big tears streaming
down her cheeks. “Okay,
maybe they are gay,” Trixie
muttered, thinking she’d rather have Jim prefer guys over Dot. “They’re
not gay,” Di hissed. “Besides, they’re not nearly sensitive enough to be
gay.” “True,”
Honey murmured thoughtfully. “And they also wear way too much flannel to be
homosexual. I think gay men wear more rayon.” “That’s
right,” Di affirmed wisely. “They’re just idiotic and inconsiderate
heterosexual men. They probably forgot about the stupid dance.” Trixie
shook her head. “I called Brian every day and said something about it so that
he would say something to Jim.” “And
I did the same thing with Jim so that he would do the same thing to Brian,”
Honey sniffed. “It was obvious that that was their cue to ask us to the
dance.” “It
was as plain as the noses on their faces,” Trixie muttered. Di
sighed wearily and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I made sure to
tell Dan that I wasn’t sure if we were even going to the dance or not, so
that he would be sure and tell Mart so that Mart would be sure to ask me to
go with him.” “How
could they not pick up on our hints?” Trixie sobbed. “Are they that stupid?” “It
was too obvious for them to miss!” Honey lamented, reburying her face in her
hands. “They just didn’t want to go with us!” “We
couldn’t have been any clearer!” Di cried. “I just know that Dan told them to
ask us.” “I
need chocolate,” Trixie gulped. “Me
too,” Honey agreed with a sniffle. “Me
three,” Di whimpered. “Scalpel?”
Honey requested, holding out her open palm. Once the object was placed in her
hand, she resumed her task. “Tomato
juice?” Trixie took the glass of red-colored liquid that Di offered her. “Nail
polish?” Di asked. She smiled gleefully as Honey handed her the bottle of
“Magenta Madness”. “Just
a little more off the top,” Honey murmured as she appraised her hair-cutting
skills. “This
tomato juice isn’t working,” Trixie complained. “I wonder where Bobby’s red
magic marker is.” “Where
does Moms keep her blender?” Trixie
and Honey both looked up at their violet-eyed friend in horror. “What
are you going to do?” Honey gasped. “Nothing,”
Di replied innocently. However, the mirthful twinkle in her eyes belied her
innocence. “Now,
Di, as much as I can’t stand my almost-twin, I really must protest if you’re
planning to put him in Moms’ blender,” Trixie chided sternly. “Moms makes really good smoothies with that blender, and I’d
hate for Mart’s non-bending legs to break it.” Di
frowned and held up the blond Ken doll in her hands. After glancing around
the kitchen, her eyes fell upon the stove. “How long does it take plastic to
melt to a liquid state?” Trixie
scrunched up her nose. “That might get kind of stinky. Especially when
‘Mart’s’, or should I say, Surfer Ken’s, unruly mop begins burning.” Honey
grinned and held up a darker, freshly-shorn Ken in one hand and a handful of
black hair in the other. “Cut if off first. Even if he survives the lava,
none of the other Barbies will want him since all
his lovely hair is gone. Mwah-ha-haaa!” “Gimme that scalpel,” Di ordered with a giggle. “Good-bye
blond curls. Hel-LO bald head.” Trixie
sighed wearily as she examined her Ken doll. “I just can’t get his hair to
turn red,” she complained. “Why don’t they make redheaded Ken dolls?” Honey
rolled her hazel eyes. “You and your red hair fetish. You’re really sick.” “Can’t
you just pretend that Ken’s hair is
red?” Di asked as she carefully scalped Surfer Ken. Trixie
shook her head mournfully. “I just can’t project my anger on a Ken that
doesn’t have red hair. Don’t they make a ‘Ron Howard’ Ken or something?” “His
freckles came out pretty good, though,” Honey commented as she appraised
Trixie’s handiwork with a sharp brown eyeliner pencil. “Why,
yes. Yes, they did,” Trixie murmured, pleased with her accomplishment. “I
even put some on his hands. See?” “Wow,
Trix,” Di said with a smile, “that does
look good. Can I borrow that pencil?” “Sure,”
Trixie agreed with a shrug. “Why do you want it?” Di
held up Surfer Ken close to her eyes. “Mart hates his freckles, so I thought
I’d give him a few thousand more,” she explained as she began her task. “Do
you like Brian’s jewelry?” Honey
asked, obviously pleased with her work as she held up the Ken for her friends
to admire. Trixie
nodded in approval. “That tack makes a very nice nose ring, Honey.” “Thank
you,” Honey said sweetly. “I thought it would compliment all the tattoos I drew
on his legs.” “Oh!
That gives me a great idea!” Trixie hopped up from the kitchen table and ran
over to one of the drawers in the cabinets. After a bit of digging, she
triumphantly held up two stickpins, both with pink heads. “Let’s
see how Jim looks with his ears pierced,” she giggled. Di
looked up and quirked an eyebrow. “Earrings, huh?” She immediately went over
to the drawer and sifted through its contents until she pulled out two
stickpins. “And bless my soul if they aren’t purple!” she exclaimed in
delight. “Do
they have any yellow ones?” Honey questioned hopefully. “Before I melt Brian,
I’d like to give him some earrings to accentuate the nose ring.” “I
didn’t see any yellow ones,” Di told her, “but I did see some red food
coloring in there, Trixie. Maybe that will color Jim’s hair. ‘Cause right now he looks more like Ben than Jim.” Trixie
wrinkled her nose. “As tempting as the thought of making a Ben voodoo doll
is, I can only torture one man at a time, and today is Jim’s day. Besides, we
already did that once.” She walked back over to the drawer and began looking
through it. “So where’s that red food coloring…?” Honey
yawned as she nestled onto the large recliner in the living room, her
desecrated Ken/Brian doll tucked securely in her arms. “Is anyone else ready
for bed?” “Bed?”
Trixie exclaimed, her face scrunched up in disgust.
“Why, Honey Wheeler! It’s not even Not
hearing a reply, Trixie nudged her ebony-haired friend who was beside her on
the couch. “Isn’t it, Di?” she repeated a bit louder, elbowing Diana firmly. “Huh?”
Di sat upright and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “Did you say something,
Trixie?” Trixie
rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. “What’s wrong with you two? We
have at least two more good hours of giggling and gabbing ahead of us, and
you slackers are falling asleep! Shame, shame!” Di
stretched and attempted to become more alert. “What’s on TV?” Trixie
reached over and grabbed the remote that she had laid on the coffee table
earlier. “I dunno. Let’s see.” She flipped through
the different stations, not seeing anything of interest on any of the
Beldens’ 120 channels. Finally, a passing glimpse of Ewan
McGregor caught her eye and Trixie ceased her flipping to gaze longingly at
her favorite actor. “Ewan,” she sighed dreamily, “oh, Ewan.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” “Hmmm,”
Honey commented. “ ‘A Perplexing Existence’ must be
on again. Oh, here comes the pool scene. Hel-lo,
Tom!” “I
just love this part,” Di murmured as the Matthew McConaughey character
entered the scene. “I
thought we didn’t want to watch this,” Trixie reminded them. “I can change
the ch---” “NO!”
Honey and Di protested loudly. “I
mean, I don’t mind if you don’t mind,” Honey stammered. “After
all, there’s nothing else on,” Di added sheepishly. Trixie
merely shrugged and placed the remote back on the coffee table. “Fine with
me.” The
girls sat in silence as they watched their favorite movie. As the characters
portrayed by Ewan McGregor, Tom Welling, Matthew
McConaughey, and Orlando Bloom went about doing honorable, responsible
things, the girls’ minds went back to four certain young men. “I
wonder what the boys are doing now,” Honey commented, her tone wistful. “They’re
probably snoozing in their sleeping bags,” Di replied. She smiled slightly as
she thought about Mart curled up cozily. “I
hope they wake up and find themselves in a patch of poison ivy,” Trixie said
with a scowl. “Well, I don’t know about you girls, but I don’t want to waste
my time thinking about them.” “I
wonder if they’re not wasting their time not thinking about us,” Honey
questioned softly, looking out the window at the softly falling rain. “Humph!”
Trixie snorted, tossing her curls in a flippant manner. “I could care less what they’re thinking about. As far as
I’m concerned, Jim Frayne can… can…” “Can
have Dot Murray?” Di suggested. Trixie’s
cheeks grew red, and her china blue eyes closely resembled sapphire
fireworks. She turned to face Diana, an angry expression on her face. Instead
of speaking, she merely cleared her throat with a loud, “A-hem!” Di
contritely covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry,Trix. I forgot that that name wasn’t allowed to be
uttered in this house.” “That’s
fine, Di, but don’t let it happen again.” Trixie attempted to smile.
“However, that wasn’t exactly what I was going to say. As far as I’m
concerned, Jim Frayne can find somebody else’s curls to tug. No matter how
many fond glances he casts my way, I’m finished waiting for him.” Emboldened
by her friend’s passionate speech, Honey threw down her Brian/Ken doll.
“You’re exactly right, Trixie. Why, there are lots of boys I could’ve gone to
the dance with. This is the last time I’ll ever sit around and wait for Brian
Belden to invite me to some stupid event.” “I’ll
bet Peter Kimball would’ve been happy to come to Sleepyside and escort you to
the Spring Fling,” Trixie announced. “Not to mention the hoards of boys in
town that would simply die for an opportunity to ask the beauteous Madeleine
G. Wheeler out on a date.” Honey
stood and gallantly bowed to her friend. “Why, thank you very much, Beatrix H. Belden. And I could say the same thing about
you. I’d be willing to wager a large sum of money that the handsome Tad
Webster would be ever so pleased to escort you to an extra-curricular
activity.” Trixie
nodded. “Yes, Tad is nice…” “And
if you prefer tall, dark and handsome, I’m absolutely positive that a certain
good-looking basketball player from “Why,
you’re so very kind, dear Honey. Ned is
rather cute,” Trixie gushed, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. Eager to
remove the attention from herself, Trixie looked at
Diana. “And who would be the first in line to go to the dance with the
prettiest girl in all of Sleepyside?” “Hmmm,”
murmured Honey thoughtfully. “My guess would be the handsome, sullen artist.
I’ve heard several rumors that the fine Nicholas Roberts is pining away for a
certain violet-eyed friend of ours.” “Ah,
yes.” Trixie nodded her head knowingly. “Methinks you’re right, Honey. And
what a wonderful match the creative Di and the artistic Nick would make.” She
paused momentarily and looked at her ebony-haired friend. “So what you do
think about that, Di? Shall we give Mr. Roberts a call in the morning and do
some detective work?” Di
sighed sadly and shook her head slightly. “Nick’s a nice guy, but he’s not my
type. I prefer someone with a sense of humor.” “Bob
Hubbell?” Honey suggested. Trixie snorted at that comment, making her
honey-haired friend look up in surprise. “What?” “Nothing,”
Trixie replied, attempting to smother a giggle. “What?” Honey repeated, a bit more
pushy-sounding this time. Trixie
buried her face in her hands, failing miserably in her attempt to stop
laughing. “Nothing.” “WHAT?!” Honey demanded, quickly
losing patience. “Well,
it’s just that I think Bob Hubbell might like boys better than girls,” Trixie
stammered out in between giggles. Both of her friends doubled over, intermittently laughing
and shrieking. When she could speak, Honey gasped out, “You’ve got a good
point there, Trix. Sorry, Di. As many admirers as you have, Bob probably isn’t one of them.” “That’s
okay, girls,” Di tittered. “Bob’s not my type either.” “So
what is your type?” Trixie asked
with a roll of her eyes. “A
sense of humor is a must,” Di answered. “And I prefer guys with blond hair.” “You
know, Ben’s coming in for a visit soon,” Honey informed her. “He still asks
about you.” Di
shook her head. “Ben’s nice, but he’s not… my type. He’s not… Mart.” “I’m
sure there’s some sarcastic comment I could make right here, but seeing as
how it’s late, I’ll have to take a rain check,” Trixie said with a yawn and a
grin. “Oh,
c’mon, Di!” Honey prodded. “Wouldn’t it be fun if we all went on a triple
date with Peter, Tad, and Ben? I’m sure we’d have loads of fun.” Di
shook her head adamantly. “I’m sorry, Honey. I know Ben’s your cousin, and
he’s a nice guy, but he’s just not…” “Normal?”
Trixie interrupted. “No,”
Di giggled. “Tolerable?”
Trixie suggested with an impish grin. “He’s
just not Mart,” Di finished quickly, before Trixie could offer further
opinions. Trixie’s
brows lowered as she thought carefully about what Diana had said. “And is not being Mart a good thing or a bad
thing? Because right now, I’m at a loss over which is the lesser of two
evils…” Honey
shook her head. “Mart’s not evil; Brian
is evil.” Trixie
snorted. “No, Honey. Both Mart and
Brian are evil; however, neither can compare to how evil Jim is.” “What
about Ben?” Honey asked tartly. Trixie
hooted with laughter. “Ben is the epitome of evil! Di, if my only two choices
for a date were Mart and Ben, I think I’d find the nearest convent.” “Ben’s
not so bad,” Honey declared, although a bit unconvincingly. “Once you get
past the childish pranks, the spoiled attitude, the condescending manner…” “Yeah,
Honey,” Trixie snickered. “Keep right on talking. You’ve just about talked Di
into it.” Di
cast a disparaging glance at her curly-topped friend. “Ben really isn’t so
bad once you get to know him, Trix. He’s just insecure and his arrogant
persona is all an act. If things were different, I’d probably go out with
him.” After a labored pause, she whispered, “But the only boy I really care about is Mart.” Immediately,
the mood changed in the room. It wasn’t only what Diana said, but how she said it. The wistful look in her
violet eyes perfectly mirrored the longing in Honey and Trixie’s hearts for
Brian and Jim. “And
as sweet as Peter is, he can’t compare to Brian,” Honey admitted in a soft
voice. “Brian’s just perfectly perfect.” Trixie
nodded glumly, and after wiping a tear that had made its way down her cheek,
she added, “And no matter how stupid he is, Jim’s still the most wonderful
boy in the world. I hate him.” “But
not as much as I hate Brian,” Honey added. “Well,
I hate Mart the most,” Di argued. In
unity, the three girls sighed loudly. Trixie picked up the remote from the
coffee table and snapped off the television. “I
need chocolate,” she announced. “I
vote we raid the fridge,” Honey said in a monotone-voice. “I’m
right behind you,” Diana added glumly. “Is
there anything left?” Di asked as she watched Trixie rummage through the
refrigerator. “I’m
sure I can find something,” Trixie assured her, handing Honey the large Tupperware
bowl containing mashed potatoes to hold. A
wicked grin appeared on Honey’s face. “Ladies, I have an idea…” She beckoned
her two friends closer to her and whispered her diabolical plot in their
ears. Trixie,
after hearing Honey’s idea, merely shook her head in wonder. After a labored
pause, she turned to her honey-faired friend, a shocked expression on her
face. “Madeleine
G. Wheeler, I must say that I never expected you, of all people, to think up such an evil scheme,” Trixie
replied. “Is
it a bad idea?” Honey asked nervously. “No,
it’s perfectly perfect!” Trixie exclaimed with a maniacal giggle. “I love it!
What about you, Di?” “I’m
just jealous that I didn’t think of it first,” Di tittered. “But are you sure
you want to do this, Trixie? You’re mad at Jim, not Mart and Brian.” “Oh,
pshaw!” Trixie chortled. “I’m always up for torturing my dopey brothers. They
deserve whatever evil we bestow upon them. We’ll get Jim next time.” “If
you’re sure…” Honey said with a mischievous smile as she readied their
supplies.
After
participating in Honey’s diabolical plot, the girls had fallen asleep in the
living room. Trixie snoozed on the floor in front of the fireplace, a blanket
wrapped around her. Honey was snuggled up on the loveseat, the mutilated Ken
doll secure in her arms. Having chosen the longest straw, Di got the plum
spot on the couch. The
faint clicking of the front door made the three girls bolt awake. Just as
they opened their mouths to scream, a tanned hand with long, skillful fingers
turned on a lamp by the door. “Brian!”
Trixie sputtered indignantly as she shielded her eyes from the bright light.
“What are you doing here?” “Trixie!”
Brian, startled from the unexpected sound of his sister’s voice, jumped
backward and, in the ensuing chaos, slammed against his younger brother. “Watch
out!” Mart yelled, pushing Brian out of the entryway. “We’re getting wet out
here!” Brian
ignored his brother’s urging, and calmly removed his wet boots and
windbreaker. Mart, anxious to get inside the warm house, climbed over him and
stood on the carpet as rainwater dripped from his soaked clothes. “Dude,
you’re flooding your mom’s house,” Dan scolded, taking Brian’s spot as he moved
aside. “Take off the wet clothes before we need to build an ark.” “Fine,”
Mart snorted, still unaware of his audience. He hurriedly removed his jacket
and began unzipping his jeans. “Stop!”
Trixie screamed. Though her eyes had adjusted to the light, she kept them
shielded, fearing she may see more of Mart than she wanted. “What
the---?” Mart yelped as he fumbled to re-zip his Levi’s. Dan,
who had already pulled his tight-fitting black jeans down a bit, got twisted
up in the waistband and fell to the floor in his haste to pull them back up.
Dan’s wiggling ankles knocked Mart off balance, and Mart collapsed on top of
his friend. Jim,
who had already removed his wet coat, shoes, and shirt outside, poked his red
head into the entryway. After casting a disparaging glance at the two clowns,
he calmly stepped over them and asked, “What’s wrong with you two?” Brian
smiled as he watched his best friend fumble with the button of his jeans.
Before Jim could pull down the wet denim pants, Brian pointed to the seating
area of the living room. “We have an audience.” “Good
grief!” Jim cried, carefully re-buttoning his pants. “Trixie, what are you
doing down here?” Trixie
glared at him, the coldness in her blue eyes icy enough to convince the devil
to don a snowsuit. “We’re having a
slumber party,” she informed him. The
boys looked around the room and spied Honey and Diana, neither of them
appearing any friendlier than Trixie. Mart and Dan had managed to stand
upright and redress without exposing too much of themselves, thanks to Brian
and Jim’s careful shielding. “What
are you doing here?” Trixie asked,
not looking as if she really cared. “I thought you were having your little… campout.” “It’s
too rainy,” Brian explained. “We tried to stick it out, but the wind just
about blew away our tent. We decided to come home.” “Pity,”
Trixie murmured with an indignant toss of her sandy curls. “What
a shame,” Honey yawned. “A
travesty, really,” Di muttered with a roll of her violet eyes. “Is
something wrong?” Jim asked nervously. “You girls seem a bit… on edge.” “We’re
fine,” Trixie snapped, her nose wrinkled as she
looked at Jim. “Perfectly
perfect,” Honey added in a short tone, her hazel eyes shooting daggers at
Brian. “Just
peachy,” Di said as she glared at Mart, who was raking a hand through his
short blond curls in an effort to dry them. Mart
shrugged his shoulders, oblivious to the girls’ anger. “We weren’t having a
good time anyway.” “That’s
the truth,” Dan agreed with a snort. “These bozos worried the entire time.
They wouldn’t let me have any fun.” Honey,
the most tenderhearted of the girls, asked, “Why were you worried?” Brian,
Mart and Jim shuffled around nervously, but Dan quickly stepped in. “Aw, they
were worried that you were sore at them for not taking you to the dance.
Before it started raining, they talked about coming home to see if you wanted
to go, but I convinced them not to.” The
indignant expression melted off of Trixie’s face and was replaced by one of
surprise. “You did?” Dan
nodded. “Yeah. Di told me you girls weren’t even sure if you wanted to go to
the dance. I told the guys that if they invited you, you might feel
obligated. And since I didn’t want to go to this shindig, I convinced them to
go camping instead.” “You did?” Honey clarified, her light
brown brows raised in shock. “Yep,
I sure did,” Dan declared proudly, unaware that he had done a very bad thing.
“Like I said, they almost backed out at the last minute, but I hid the keys
to Brian’s jalopy. I knew you all would be upset if they showed up at the
last minute and guilted you into going to the dance
with them.” “You
did?” Di violet eyes blazed as she
glared at Dan. Dan
nodded again, still having not figured out that he was in deep trouble. At
this precise moment, his situation was more precarious than it had ever been
during his gang days. He had no inkling that at this very moment he was in
danger of losing life, limb, and/or any possible future generations of Mangans. “Indeed I did.” “Why,
Danny, I don’t know how we’ll ever
be able to thank you,” Trixie managed to say through clenched teeth. “It
was nothing,” Dan crowed, as he cast an arrogant glance in his friends’
direction. “I’d do anything to help my three favorite girls.” Jim
tenuously walked over to the fireplace where Trixie was laying. “So you’re
sure you’re not mad at me, Shamus?” he inquired, his emerald green eyes
shimmering with worry. “I was afraid that you’d be disappointed that I didn’t
ask you.” Trixie
blushed to the roots of her sandy blonde curls. “Oh, I could never be mad at you, Jim. But if I had gone, there’s nobody I would’ve
rather gone with…” Likewise,
Brian walked over to the loveseat and leaned over to lift Honey’s chin so
that her hazel eyes met his brown ones. “Are you mad, Hon? Because I would’ve
gladly taken you to that dance, if you’d wanted to go.” Honey
giggled in a charming manner. “Oh Brian, don’t be silly. You boys need time
by yourselves, and who wants to go to a stupid dance anyway? Although if I did go, I’d want you to take me…” Meanwhile,
Mart had approached the couch and knelt down to talk to Diana. “You’re not
sore at me, are you, Di? I really wanted to ask you to go to the dance with
me. In fact, I had an invitation all planned out when Dan convinced me that
you didn’t want to go.” Di
smiled her loveliest smile and batted her long eyelashes. “Of course I’m not
mad, Mart. We had such a fun evening here, and I wasn’t really in the mood to
get all dressed up. But if you had
asked me, I would’ve been proud for you to be my escort…” “See, I told you they didn’t want to go,”
Dan announced. “And you guys were worried that they’d be sitting around
moping.” The
girls giggled nervously. “Us?
Mope?” Trixie questioned in an amused tone. “Don’t be ridiculous.” “Oh,
I knew you girls wouldn’t be moping,”
Dan told her with a grin. “I was actually more worried about Trixie
retaliating in some evil way.” “Danny,
I can promise you that Trixie
didn’t think up a single plan of revenge,” Honey answered, an innocent smile
on her face. “Ah,
that’s my girls,” Dan said, giving each of them a wink. “I may not be able to
identify every tree in the woods, or diagnose mysterious illnesses, or recite
Shakespeare, but I know women. And I
knew you girls wouldn’t act like a bunch of drama queens.” Di
feigned a look of surprised horror. “Us? Act like drama queens? Surely you jest, Daniel.” “So
these three nitwits worried for nothing,” Dan chuckled as he nodded at his
friends. “Well, I’m tired, so if you
three worrywarts will excuse me, I’m going to get out of these wet clothes,
steal some of Mart’s sweats, and climb into his warm, cozy bed before he can.
See ya in the morning.” “Wh---” Mart began, but before he could finish a slender
hand had covered his mouth. Another hand gripped the neck of his wet T-shirt
and kept him beside the couch. “Good
night, Dan,” Di replied sweetly, keeping her hand clamped firmly over Mart’s
mouth. “Sweet
dreams,” Trixie instructed, a congenial smile on her face. She grabbed Jim’s
arm with one sturdy hand and kept him by her side. “Don’t
let the bedbugs bite,” Honey added with a giggle as she grasped Brian’s hand,
prohibiting him from leaving. Once
Dan was out of sight and Di’s hand was removed from
his mouth, Mart turned around and looked at Diana inquisitively. “Hey! Why
didn’t you let me stop him? He’s going to steal my bed.” “That
might not be a bad thing, Mart,” Di said, fighting to keep a straight face. “And
Brian, you might want to change
your sheets before you get into bed,” Honey instructed, a faint blush on her
cheeks. “But wait until Dan’s already in bed, please.” “And
Jim, it’s a good thing that I don’t have access to your sleeping quarters,”
Trixie said with a giggle. Brian,
Jim and Mart looked at each other, hoping one of
them could offer a clue to the girls’ mysterious babbling. However, since
each one of them wore the same stupefied expression, they remained clueless. “We’d
better go upstairs now,” Brian said, reluctantly releasing Honey’s hand.
“We’ll see you girls in the morning.” “Night,
Shamus,” Jim whispered as he gently tugged his favorite curl. “Parting
is such sweet sorrow, but I must bid thee adieu, fair Diana,” Mart declared
as he looked at the raven-haired girl tenderly. The
girls watched as Brian, Jim and Mart climbed the stairs leading to the
second-story of the house. “Jim
really is the most wonderful boy in
the world,” Trixie sighed dreamily after he was out of hearing range. “Jim
may be wonderful, but Brian’s perfect,” Honey gushed, a wistful smile on her
face. “Perfectly perfect.” “Well,
in my candied opinion,” Di replied
with a wink, “Mart’s the most wonderful and perfect of them all.” The
three girls closed their eyes and snuggled under their blankets. Before they
could go back to sleep, however, a blood-curdling scream rang through the
upstairs, followed by Jim, Mart and Brian’s laughter. “I
think Dan just found the mashed potatoes in Mart’s bed,” Trixie giggled. “Serves
him right,” Honey said with a yawn. “And
he should be thankful we forgot the cold, congealed gravy,” Di added, a happy
smile on her pretty face. Exhausted
from their traumatic adventures, the three teenage drama queens closed their
eyes and fell asleep, each one dreaming of their respective princes.
Thank
you again to the Queen of Fanfic, CathyP, for keeping the dream of Jixemitri alive. I can’t
tell you how honored I am to be a Jix Author. It’s an honor and a privilege,
one I don’t take lightly. Thank
you to all the readers who have commented about my story, whether by e-mail or by posting on the Jix
Message Board.
You’ll never know how much each and every comment has meant to me this past
year. I’m the kind of author who thrives on positive feedback, and each of
you have inspired me to keep on writing! Thank
you to my dear friend Terry (AKA chromasnake) who
created the lovely diamond bracelet dividers for me. She’s amazing! Terry,
thank you so much for your help, your encouragement, and especially your
friendship! {{{HUGS}}} Thank
you to my fabulous editors, Steph H, Kathy, and
Kaye. Not only do I depend on your editing expertise, I depend on your
friendship. Each of you has a special place in my heart. You’re not only
trusted grammar coaches, you are special friends! {{{HUGS}}} I
greatly enjoyed my slumber party days, and I wanted to relive them, if even
for a little bit. And after writing this, I really want to go to another one. For the
record, it is very comfortable to lie on the floor with your feet propped up
on the bed. *G* I ‘dore Peter Belden. Can’t you tell? :D
There’s nothing more attractive than a handsome man with a sense of
humor. I base Peter on my own hubby because I see him being very funny. Any
man who is not afraid to play in the rain HAS to have an awesome sense of
humor. I have
no proof that Andrew Belden was actually the honorable one, Peter Belden was
the charming one, and Harold Belden was the ambitious one, but that’s how
they are in MY universe. The
fact of Peter Belden’s hotness has been disputed by Trixie often in this
universe. *shaking head sadly* She just can’t admit that her dad is
F-I-N-E! *wink* Kaye
kindly provided the French translation for “my little chickadees”, but I
decided that Trixie wouldn’t learn that phrase on the Travel Channel. But in
case you’re interested, it’s: “mes petits chickadees”.
So now you know. Strawberry
Blast is my name for Trixie’s favorite beverage. And yes, Trixie’s comment
about drinking as much as she wants when she’s a grown up is a blatant
reference to my Glimpses into the Future story, “Wasted
Away in Strawberry Pop-ville”. Yes,
I’m ashamed to admit that once I did drink pickle juice at a slumber party.
It seemed like a good idea at the time… “A
Perplexing Existence” is a movie of my own creation, and it is a running gag
throughout my present and future universe. It stars Ewan
McGregor, Tom Welling, Matthew McConaughey, and “Bitter
Analogies” is another Cameo creation. I wouldn’t recommend it. It sounds like
a real bummer. *G* “Top 40
Greatest Love Songs” is my own creation. And so is Kyle Deveroux.
I couldn’t think of anybody real that I wanted to make fun of. “Gidget” is a famous series of movies in the sixties.
(They were made in the 60’s, right?) Kyle Deveroux may be imaginary; however, They Might Be Giants
is a very real band. They write and perform extremely funny songs, and I am
in awe of their talent. Their songs are right up my alley… they’re silly,
different, and very nonsensical at times. Hey, anyone who can write a song
about a thermostat, a nightlight, and a letterbox is a genius. J This story was
originally titled, “Twistin’ in the Wind“, but I
found out there is a country song by that title. And since my hatred for
country music is infamous, I HAD to change the title. *VEG* Transforming
Ken into a voodoo doll may be an autobiographical account, but I’ve
chosen to plead the Fifth. And even if that was based on real-life, it wasn’t
MY ex-boyfriend who we wanted to torture. But it might have been my idea… :D Barbie
and Ken are Mattel products. And no, they never made a Ron Howard Ken, much
to Steph H’s chagrin. However, Rachel does have
surfer Ken, and he does look a lot like Mart. In fact, when she plays Trixie,
he is cast as the middle Belden boy. Jim is actually played by a redheaded GI
Joe doll. His legs are kind of wonky, but he’s quite supple. *VEG* Peter
Kimball, Tad Webster, Ned Shultz, Ben Riker and Bob Hubbell are all
characters the Bob-Whites have met. They are the property of RH. Tupperware
makes fabulous products for storing leftovers. I wish I could afford them. I
have the lovely “Gladware” collection. Not nearly
as durable… Levi’s
are an actual brand of jeans, and according to “The Gumshoes” story, they are
Mart’s brand of choice. The
line about “future generations of Mangans” was
kindly provided by the lovely Kathy (Kayrenee). I
thought it was so funny that I swiped it (I had her permission, of course!).
I wanted to be sure and give her the credit for that stroke of genius. And a
story wouldn’t be complete without a bit of curl tugging and fond glances.
:D Hope all you Jim and Trixie fans
enjoyed that. And
last, but certainly not least, please go to the Bloopers
Page to check out the outtakes from this story. I was working on these right up until the last minute. Frankly, I wasn’t
feeling very funny at the time, so I hope they don’t bomb.
Home | Other Universes |Blooper
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