I NEED A BOYFRIEND
Disclaimer: I don't own Bad Education because I am just lil ol' me.
Enjoy!
Step 1: Finding the Boyfriend
"Oh my god, Chantelle! We have a problem." Stephen announced as he whirled into Form K's classroom on a Friday morning.
Chantelle, who had been painting her nails a sparkly pink, looked up eagerly, even putting the lid on the nail varnish. "Tell me everything."
"Ok, so basically…" Stephen began, swinging his bag onto the desk and taking up their deep discussion pose - sitting sideways on the chair, one leg crossed onto the other so they could rest their chins on their hands – Chantelle doing the same. "I need a boyfriend."
"Well don't we all, babes." Chantelle sighed.
"By tomorrow." Stephen finished.
"Explain."
"I have this dance class social on Saturday night and I maybe, kinda, perhaps told some of the guys at my dance class that I have this boyfriend. Because, you know, social standings and popularity and stuff. Also, some of the guys kept trying to hit on me so I just said I had a boyfriend. And now they all expect me to bring him."
"Can't you just say that he can't make it?"
"But then they would know that he's not real. They already suspect it…"
"Well, what the hell are you going to do? I don't think I can pull of the moustache and cap look for a whole evening. What have you said about him?"
"I said he was, you know, handsome. Drop dead gorgeous actually. Muscles everywhere. Very big. Strong. Your typical bad boy. I basically just described my dream guy. And I made sure that I emphasised the bad guy bit so that the ones hitting on me would stop."
"Right… this is the only place we're gonna find any suitable candidates at such short notice. So, any specific details about appearance given?" Chantelle asked, scoping the room subtly. Stephen glanced around too.
"Well, I said he was relatively thin and muscly so that rules out Joe. I'm pretty sure I've already eliminated the whole wheelchair thing with Rem Dogg with a few of the stories I've been telling. He's big and like older looking with muscles and you know so no to Mitchell. Oh, and he's our age so no chance to Alfie. But I said he could drive… gah why the hell would I say that. And that he was like a real hot bad guy. I've basically made it impossible cos where the hell am I going to find one of those. Especially one that would come to a dance class social full of gays."
They sighed collectively and Stephen was close to bashing his head on the table.
"Maybe you could fake an illness? Less obvious?"
"Oh hell no; it's an open buffet, all you can eat. It's gonna be an amazing night. I just really need a boyfriend!" he practically wailed.
Just then, the door slammed, and the entire class stared round, hoping for something good like Mr Fraser on another of his fancy dress rampages.
It was just Grayson.
"Alright, Dickers." He scowled at a terrified Alfie, apparently unaware, or at least unbothered, that he was a good ten minutes late.
Alfie coughed nervously. "Frank, er, Grayson. You're late. Er, why… why are you late?"
"My truck broke down init." Grayson replied, chucking his bag onto his desk, which was then followed by his hoodie.
"I'm sorry, but, er, this… this means that you're going to have a… a…" Alfie attempted.
Grayson slowly turned to face him, glaring.
"Detention?" Alfie finished, uncertainly.
Grayson clicked his knuckles and flexed his muscles and Alfie visibly squirmed.
"You know what, don't worry about it, Grayson. Not your fault. Don't worry." Alfie gushed and then went back to sleeping on his desk.
Stephen was about to turn back and wail some more with Chantelle, when he realised something.
Grayson could drive. Grayson had muscles. Grayson was your typical bad boy. Frank Grayson was his idealistic fake boyfriend.
He spun around to find Chantelle wide-eyed with exactly the same look of realisation on her face.
"He's the one." She said.
"Yup." Stephen grinned.
"But how are we?..." she trailed off.
"I don't know." Stephen groaned.
