Chapter Ten

Lydia had preferred having been 'up' before Clare in the competition because it had taken some of the pressure off – she'd been able to focus on her performance without worrying how she and Clare compared until afterwards.
Now, backstage, pacing to and fro as the realisation of what she'd just accomplished rocked through her, she began nervously rubbing her hands together.

She found herself lingering outside of the stage door. As the stage had been a special construction for the contest, this door separated the backstage area from a flight of steps that led down to a modular-build dressing room. At that moment, the models were brushing past her, all enthusiastically talking whilst they headed to the dressing room to quickly change into the next entrant's fashions. Towards the back of the line one of them, Sarah, reached out and grabbed an unsteady Lydia by the arm, smiling infectiously.
"Lydia!"

She turned at both the sound of her name and the tug on her arm only to be faced with four beaming faces.

"I just wanted to say for all of us that we really enjoyed that!"

Relieved and grateful, Lydia began to subconsciously fiddle with the cameo of her pendant. "I'm really glad, you girls looked amazing,"

Some of the girls ahead of Sarah who had lingered now dashed off, obviously becoming aware of the time.
Sarah stepped further into the open stage door, nodding in enthusiasm. "Yeah. I'm so glad that that spoilt Brewster girl didn't manage to get us replaced; I really want this poncho now!"

Lydia's concentration had faltered mid-sentence. Her brow furrowed; she should have known.
Sneaky, Clare. Very sneaky. She thought bitterly.

"Anyway, we'd better split." Sarah said and ushered some of the remaining models after her. "Nice talking to you!"
"Yes, you too!" Lydia called as the door swung shut.

A stagehand began to gesture for her to step down another flight of steps towards the exit. Lydia complied. She folded her arms but was nevertheless smiling.
Clare was up next, and with a group of models that would not be as co-operative as she was used to. In short, things could not be better.

Clare was worried.

Angrily marching backstage towards the wings and, therefore, somewhat in Lydia's direction, she wanted to scream.
The Deetz girl had beaten her– beaten her at her own game! She was stunned, appalled, infuriated. Not that the show was over, not by a long shot, but she hadn't even been able to interfere to make doubly sure that Lydia would lose. Without that security, Clare felt at a loss. The crowd should have come to see her, not the goth girl.

She quick-dialled her father on her cell phone and jumped down his throat the minute he answered. "Daddy! Why didn't you get my models elected?"
Lydia, coming from the opposite direction, saw bunny-boiler Clare up ahead and smiled despite herself.
"No! This is – like – the worst night of my life! Ev-er! If I lose this competition then I'm blaming you, Daddy!" Clare fumed, going so far as to pull the phone away from her ear to yell into it. "I don't need models! I can, like, wear the clothes myself if I have to!" With that, she hung up, just as she caught sight of the fast-approaching Lydia. She regarded her as if she were tacky gum on the heel of her shoe. "UGH! What are you looking at?" She demanded.

Lydia smiled, mock-pleasantly. "Oh, nothing. Good luck out there, Clare." She gestured behind her, towards the stage. "The sun's come out for you,"

"Oh, bite me!" Clare screamed, and stormed off.

The intense satisfaction that Lydia felt then was undermined by a wave of guilt. It was a bad thing to feel relief and triumph at the detriment of others, be it Clare Brewster's misfortune or not.

Out of nowhere, Beetlejuice appeared beside her, rolling up his sleeves and narrowing his eyes. "Why I oughta…"
Placing a restraining hand on his arm, Lydia shook her head. "Let her go, Beej. She didn't try to hijack my entry, at least,"
"Hm. That shows how much you know, babes." The ghost sniffed. "I had to chase her away from the stage," With that, he 'juiced himself into the black uniform of the competition stagehands and help up a hand, palm out. "'Er, excuse me, no entry during performances,'" He said in a nasally voice that made Lydia giggle.

Brushing some dark strands of hair back behind her ear, Lydia tipped her head on the side. "Well, thanks for keeping an eye out,"

Beetlejuice's clothes reverted to normal, and with that one of his eyeballs popped out into his waiting palm, rolling there for a moment. He grinned. "Any time, babes,"

The eye in his palm, about eye-level with Lydia's collarbone, turned its gaze on her, pupil dilating as it took in the close-up sight of the harem pants adorning her bottom half. Even though harem pants, by nature, were baggy, they clung to her hips like a second skin. It was becoming difficult for him to snap his gaze away.
Beetlejuice finally, forcibly, returned his eye to its socket before composing himself.
Before he could say anything, Lydia spoke instead. "So… what did you think?" She asked expectantly, nodding towards the stage.

"Wuh?"
"About my entry?"
"Oh," He hadn't thought it even needed to be said. Beetlejuice smiled widely and gave her a double thumbs-up. "You stole the show, Lyds,"
She exhaled, content with his response. "I couldn't have done it without you," She said with feeling.

Beetlejuice gripped onto the lapels of his suit and gave them a slight tug, as he did whenever his ego had been stroked. "Well, your favourite Ghost with the Most is always here to help, babes." He grinned. And, just like that, and without any good reason, his eyes were drawn to the waistband of her pants again.
Since when had her body gotten so—curvaceous? The good kind, the 'voluptuous' kind.
And pinstripes… they suited her. His stripes. Suddenly he wanted to see her in them more.
Clothes or fashion had no meaning to Beetlejuice, hence why he always wore the same outfit. The only thing he cared about was 'normal' versus 'abnormal'. 'Normal' was boring pinstripes; 'abnormal' was flipping that on the head with zany monochrome stripes on an outfit that was halfway between a zoot suit and a convict's uniform. Lydia's gothic and dark fashion sense was 'abnormal'. He liked that. Even better, he liked seeing his fashion sense on her; he liked seeing he could be a part of her. It was the same feeling he got whenever he saw her wearing the pendant he'd bought her for their last anniversary and… oh, wait, she was wearing that too.

Before he could help himself, his mouth opened. "You look good in stripes, Lyds,"

Lydia paused, a flush creeping up her cheeks that settled into a firm blush. She tried to laugh the compliment off but was still notably grateful when she replied. "Thanks, B. J.. I like to think so too,"

A stagehand chose that moment to appear. Beetlejuice masked a yelp of surprise and shrunk himself down to the size of a thumb before he could be spotted, perching on Lydia's shoulder.
Lydia acknowledged the stagehand coolly and began to quickly make her way out of the backstage area. Once outside and on the lawn at the back of the construction, she glanced at Beetlejuice out of the corner of her eye.
"We'd better watch out front." She whispered once far enough away from any staff volunteers. At the sight of the clear look of mischief on his face however, she didn't need to read his mind to know his intentions. She narrowed her eyes and pointed at him in warning. "No beetlejuicing Clare, B. J.. I want us to be equals… more or less. She didn't get a chance to meddle, so I don't want to do the same,"

The tiny Beetlejuice folded his arms and frowned. "Spoil my fun," He grumbled.

Clare was onstage behind a large podium, spotlighted with the full spectrum. She tapped the microphone mounted onto the stand obnoxiously before she spoke in her high-pitched, Valley-girl accent. "So, like, hey everyone. Up now is what you've all been waiting for, so enjoy my clothes,"

Now stood towards the back of the seating area, Lydia held her breath as the models began to walk on. She soon found herself stifling a laugh at the sight of them.

All the models looked identical. Clare had forced them to wear blonde doppelganger wigs to match her own fluffy hair and their faces were plastered with the exact same levels of makeup and 'you've-been-tangoed' bronzer. Though they all looked moderately different, even the clothes themselves were eerily similar, and certainly not unique. The outfits consisted of baby pinks, baby blues and pastels; all were preppy, dull, and showing a bit too much skin.

The models proceeded to act out real life situations in 'skits' that were not at all funny or impressive – though whether or not they were meant to be was another story entirely. After each skit the attention would swing back to Clare, and she would describe where she would wear that outfit. One was a 'golfing with daddy' outfit, the other for a 'hot date'.

Clare's segment of the competition was both painful yet satisfying to watch.
The judges all looked grave by the end of it.

After Clare's entry two more girls submitted their designs, before finally the show began to wind down to an end. An interval was announced for the judges to make their decision, and the audience was temporarily released from their seats.

Lydia felt a weight lift from her. It was over. There was no more she could do, except hope for the best.

"You were right, Lyds," Beetlejuice said finally from his perch on her shoulder, half-hidden behind a curtain of raven hair. "We didn't have to mess with Clare – she did a bad enough job on her own!"
"See, Beej? And if we'd have interfered what would that have made us?"
"Prankster King and Queen?" He answered, reclining where he sat.

Lydia exhaled through her nose heavily and rolled her eyes. "No. It would have made us sink to her level,"
"Pffft," When he was sure no one was looking, Beetlejuice 'juiced himself into the relatively new guise of B. J. Beetleman and shoved his hands in his pockets. He glanced at her incredulously. "Lydia, babes, haven't you given up on trying to teach me morals yet?"
"Not yet,"
He deflated. "Unlucky for me,"

"Lydia!" A familiar voice called through the crowd. Lydia jumped and turned. A tall girl with long brown hair was lumbering over to them, grinning to display teeth that had once been goofy but had since been straightened out with braces.
Lydia was both surprised and delighted at this girl's sudden appearance. "Bertha!"
"... no kiddin'," Beetlejuice mumbled beside her.

"It's been a long time!" Bertha squealed happily. "You were so cool up there,"
"Thank you," The old friends entwined in a brief embrace before withdrawing, hands on each other's wrists.

Bertha hadn't changed much. Her voice still cascaded from high to low and back again, her tilted, squinting eyes were still the same, and her straight-laced sense of dress still stamped the word 'geek' all over her, but… something about her was nevertheless different. It took Lydia a moment to put a finger on what, but then it hit her. It wasn't any one thing, but an aura the girl now gave out. Bertha exuded a confidence that had come from years of hanging on to strong-spirited girls, something that said 'I'm happy in my own skin', and made her attractive as a result.

Lydia was surprised and a little disappointed to see Prudence wasn't with her, but then that was silly; Prudence was doing aid work in third world countries and hadn't been back to Peaceful Pines since graduation.

Bertha had been eagerly talking about the show, half of which Lydia had missed. She tuned back into the conversation, smiling as Bertha said: "The clothes were great! Reminds me of when we set up the Boo-tique. Whatever happened to–?" The tall girl stopped mid-reflection, having caught sight of the boy, or, well, man stood beside Lydia, who'd just now cleared his throat irritably.

Bertha blinked and paused. In turn, Lydia noticed where her gaze had been drawn to and also glanced up at a pouting Beetlejuice.
Lydia rolled her eyes. In some ways he was like a Tamagotchi; if you didn't give him attention for so long, he alerted you in case he wasted away.
She stumbled over her words as she introduced him. "Oh, Bertha, this is, uh, this is—my—" Despite herself, she relished the word as she said it. "–boyfriend. B. J.. Uh… B. J. Beetleman,"

"Beetle…man?" Bertha repeated.
Hadn't Mr Beetleman been the man who'd helped them set up the Spooky Boo-tique? Was this a relative of his, like Betty was?

Beetlejuice waved with his fingers stiffly and smiled in the same way he had when 'introduced' to the Deetzs. "Ohh, pleased to meet ya, Bu–"
Lydia slammed her foot down on his before he could finish the word 'Burp'. Beetlejuice masked the pain easily, giving it only a twitch of the eyelid. "—ee—Bertha,"

Bertha's mouth formed a small, stunned 'o' shape. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend, Lydia,"
The disguised ghost wrapped an arm around Lydia's shoulders and smiled in a smug, conceited manner. She, too, smiled, albeit weakly.
"Things– change. Ahahaha," Lydia laughed off.

Bertha regarded them closely for a moment. Her nose wrinkled as she strained to think of what she'd been talking about only a moment before, but the topic had obviously been exhausted. In an effort to maintain a conversation, she gestured to them both. "You, uh, make a cute couple,"
Beetlejuice and Lydia both felt their cheeks turn pink, although he was the first to play it off with an absent wave of his free hand. "Naww, you're just saying that to be nice,"

"Are you related to Betty?"
Beetlejuice thought about that. "She's my, uh… my-"
"Cousin," Lydia said for him quickly, though still tried to sound as though she were naturally and helpfully finishing his sentence. The two then looked at each other and both began to let out false, cheesy laughter. Overdone couples laughter, the type that meant 'oh you' without words, the type that implied they finished each others' sentences all the time.

Just then, there was a mumbling coming from the direction of the stage. All three turned.
The audience who had been stood mingling only moments before were now returning to their seats, en-masse. Lydia cursed. "Damn, I didn't even get to speak to my parents," She breathed, glancing around to try and catch sight of them. She finally spotted them in the right-hand seating area near the front row, waving to her frantically.

Bertha, too, was looking around, trying to find whomever she'd attended with. "Shoot, I'd better go too."
She turned, giving Lydia a parting smile. "I really hope you win, Lydia! You deserve to!"

Lydia felt impelled to give the tall girl another hug. "Thank you, Bertha. It was nice to see you again. Don't be a stranger, okay?"
"O-kaay. Byee!" Bertha waved before disappearing as she meandered back through the thickening crowd.

Without words at first, Lydia and Beetlejuice began to make their way over to Charles and Delia at the front. Weaving in and out of people, they finally got through the thick of the audience and had a clear run to the front-row seating.

Lydia eventually glanced up at Beetlejuice, replaying over and over what Bertha had said to them, even though she knew she had just said it to make conversation. She decided to pluck up the nerve to repeat it, and prodded her best friend teasingly. "We… make a cute couple, hey?"
Beetlejuice's eye twitched. He'd had enough of the words 'cute' and 'nice' that evening. "Don't say that word, babes," He moaned, before a person shambling towards their seat stepped onto his foot. Normally, it wouldn't have hurt, but that same foot was already tender from the stomping Lydia had only just given it.
"Y'owww! Watch it, pal!" Beetlejuice barked at the skittish man, before rounding on Lydia. "And– Oh, yeahhh." He said as it occurred to him. He held up his foot petulantly. "This is for stomping – beetles, that is – but not for stomping on. Was that really necessary?"

Lydia's response was deadpan. "Yes," She said unsympathetically, her lips curving into a smile.
Beetlejuice blinked at her response, but wasn't completely surprised. After all, Lydia was becoming more like him every day, and obnoxious she could be.
He shrugged his shoulders, irritation dissipating as easy that. "Hmph. Tough love," He said.

As soon as the L word rolled off his tongue, Beetlejuice twitched, though partly because the word didn't flow from him naturally. Yes, the word was 'in his dictionary', so to speak, but it was in a small font and the meaning of it was: 'Some kind of 'feeling' that really messes you up; see related: Neither-Neitherland, overbearing mothers, cuteness'.
For Lydia, his use of the L word was enough to make her notice a bit more than she had done up to this point; for starters: he still had his arm around her.
It must have had the same effect on him, because Beetlejuice noticed it then too. He practically jumped as he withdrew his arm. Laughing nervously, he used the same hand that had cupped her shoulder to scratch the back of his neck idly. "Eheh, we'd, uh… better sit down…"

Lydia's shoulder suddenly felt very bare.

Surely when they'd been fighting through the crowd they had gotten separated as they'd sidestepped people? He must have removed his arm from around her then, right? So how did she not notice when he'd slung it back over her? And how could he not notice that he'd done it?
They were slotting together so naturally that it made Lydia's heart thump.

"Uh, yeah…" She finally answered, and the two hurried over to where her parents were sat.

"Pumpkin!" Charles cried as soon as they were near enough, gesturing to an empty seat they'd saved for Lydia. Then he stopped, biting his lip anxiously. "Oh, and, uh, you're here, B. J.."
Beetlejuice grinned, hands in his black trouser pockets. "Wouldn't want to miss this, Mr D,"
Charles glanced around. "Err, we didn't know you were coming, else we'd have saved you a seat…"

"Aw, that's okay," Behind his back, Beetlejuice zapped a tarantula into being that fell from the air onto the occupied seat next to the one that had been saved for Lydia. The chair's occupant, finding the eight-legged creature sat squarely on their head, screamed and ran towards the parking lot, brushing herself down madly as she went.
Beetlejuice's instinct was to chuckle gleefully, but under the scrutiny of the Deetzs the sound wouldn't come.

Charles and Delia looked around curiously at the woman who'd high-tailed it to the exit and the empty seat she'd left.
The tarantula disappeared with an almost inaudible poof, and Beetlejuice tried hard to copy the expressions of Lydia's parents.

"I wonder what her problem was?" Delia mused, cupping her chin in thought.
"Gosh, I don't know," Beetlejuice edged towards the free chair. "But that was some stroke of luck,"
"Wasn't it?"

Lydia went to take her seat too but she didn't get far enough. Delia placed her hands on her stepdaughter's shoulders and squealed happily. "Ohh, Lydia, you were spectacular,"
"Thanks, Mom,"
"Uh-Delia, honey, they're starting," Her father interrupted in a quiet voice.
"Oh, hush, Charles," Delia rolled her eyes but did as she was silently bade and sat back down, as did Lydia.

Within but a few minutes the judges were stood in the centre of the stage, just as the sun began to set behind the large construct.
An elected individual of the committee – the same auburn-haired lady who'd been so enthusiastic when questioning Lydia – held up before her an unnecessary, melodramatic golden envelope and began to eye the audience in an almost jubilant manner.

Lydia bit her lip. They'd come to their decision pretty quickly.

"Thank you for your patience, ladies and gentlemen. And now- time to reveal our winner," The judge began, fingers teasing at the envelope flap.
"Tonight we've been treated to many wonderful designs, clothes and inspiring young people. All of you that have graced the stage tonight should be proud of what you have accomplished. However–" She paused. "–one person stood out amongst the rest. Though the clothes are, to a degree, controversial we stand united in our decision,"

Lydia's breath hitched.
She clutched hold of Beetlejuice's hand, barely noticing how cold his dead skin was to the touch.

"And the winner is…"

He squeezed her hand back, and gave her a supportive wink.

The woman at the forefront of the stage was carefully opening the envelope, and finally withdrew a piece of thick white card with the blank side facing the crowd.

Lydia's heart began to hammer and her stomach flipped queasily in her abdomen.
The card was turned.
Text was on it, but the words were illegible to her until the same name was repeated out loud.

The judge grinned. "… Lydia Deetz!"

The crowd – all clichés aside – went wild. Delia turned to Lydia and shrieked with pride, throwing her arms around her just as 'B. J.' punched the air in triumph.

"Congratulations, Lydia," The acting-announcer spoke into her microphone.

Lydia, overwhelmed, found herself crippled with shock and modesty. Tears welled up in her eyes as she trembled from head to toe and relaxed back into her seat.
She'd done it. She'd actually done it.
"I knew you could do it, pumpkin," Charles encouraged, reaching across from his position beside Delia to pat her hand lovingly.

Somewhere behind Lydia a blood curdling, high-pitched scream of disgust and envy could be heard.
The judge carried on, unhindered. "Your designs were inspiring and unique. Not only did they certainly have the wow-factor, but they were comfortable and durable and the models didn't want to take them off! Your spectacular performance proved your passion for this field, and you, by all rights, deserve this victory. So, could we please invite our- ahah- 'Host with the Most' back on stage?"

Horror struck her. Lydia didn't think she had the ability to stand, let alone walk to the stage. She tried to sink even lower into her chair, wanting to be invisible, but Beetlejuice placed a helpful, prompting hand on her back. He smiled. "Ya did it, Lyds. Now go shove it in that Clare Brewsters's face,"
The thought of that was tempting and certainly helped Lydia straighten up. "Voice of reason as ever. Though I still think I'm gonna faint, Beej,"
"Lydia, your crowd is waiting," Delia butted in, applauding along with the rest of the audience.

Lydia swallowed, hands anxiously vibrating at her sides. She looked once more to 'B. J.' for reassurance before edging out of the line of seating towards the aisle, and heading for the stage.

Embarrassing acceptance speech over with and having been promised to be contacted soon about her prizes, Lydia followed her parents and Beetlejuice to the parking lot.
Then, once they'd loaded up the trunk with labelled garments that Lydia had had to practically claw back from the models, they climbed into the Deetz's family car, homebound.

Mid-journey, Charles found himself continuously glancing in the rear-view mirror at the couple in the back seat, his eyes nervously scoping the young man, in particular, out. He didn't know why, but something about B. J. made him edgy, even though the lad seemed pleasant enough.
"Did you, uh, enjoy the show, B. J.?" He asked, finally.

The pale-skinned blond nodded his head politely, hands clasped in his lap. "I sure did, Mr Deetz, sir,"
Almost as soon as the words left his mouth Beetlejuice grit his teeth.
He had to find something to do, and soon; he was pent-up from restraining himself all day.

Delia was still stuck in a bubble of pride and on her high horse. For most of the journey home she'd been discussing with the car's occupants about the show, about how terrific her daughter was, and about how Lydia had 'inherited' her creative genius (though no reference was given to the fact that Lydia couldn't hereditarily 'inherit' anything from Delia.)
Eventually her stepmother said: "Lydia, how on earth did you get those—those effects?"

"Oh, you know, Mother. Technology these days can do anything," Lydia dodged the question with a vague reply and a wave of the hand, but it was enough to appease Delia at least.
Charles sniffed, shaking his head. "Well, the other entries were missing a trick not using it!"

Beetlejuice smirked at Lydia and cocked his index finger, creating a hand-gun gesture and blowing out the thin trail of invisible residue his 'juice-zapping had left. "Well, you know what they say, Mr Deetz. 'Technology' only works for some people. You either know how to work it or ya don't,"

Delia leant back into her passenger seat with a sigh. "Isn't technology wonderful?" She said dreamily.
Lydia rolled her eyes but was grinning all the same. "Yes, yes it is,"