Bridge Over the River Winter
a Beetlejuice fanfic
by
C. "Sparky" Read

Chapter Two

"Come on, Lydia," smirked Clare, when Miss Shannon had turned back to the chalkboard. "You're brainy. Let me see your homework."

"No, Clare." Lydia pulled a book over the papers on her desk. "You should have done your own homework."

Clare sniffed. "Like, homework?" she scoffed. "Moi? But I simply had to attend Jennifer's party, you know."

Lydia opened the book and said nothing.

"If you like, let me see your homework," Clare went on, "I just might give you a beauty tip or two - As if it would make any kind of difference."

A few nearby girls, all Clare's cronies, giggled flatly.

"Leave me alone, Clare," hissed Lydia from behind the book.

"Why are you so pale, anyways?" Clare pressed. "Did you like, crawl out from under a rock?"

Lydia practically slammed the book down. "Be quiet!" she warned.

"Miss Deetz." Miss Shannon put her chalk down and turned to face the class. "Have you something to say?"

The class stared at Lydia.

"Um...no, Miss Shannon."

Miss Shannon frowned and resumed writing on the chalkboard.

"Way to go, Lyd-ia," taunted Clare.

"Will you keep it down?" Prudence, a very short girl with very big glasses twisted in her seat to frown at Clare. "Some of us are trying to learn."

"Yeah," agreed Prudence's gangly friend Bertha, "and some of us need it more than others!"

Bertha and Prudence tittered while Clare turned red.

Lydia went back to pretending to read the textbook. It looked like it was going to be another plodder of a day. She stared at the clock. It was ten in the morning. As she did, every day at this time, she made a wish:

Please let something interesting happen.

And, as usual, nothing did.

Lydia slumped in her chair, defeated. That was it, then. She was destined to lead an entire year of this boredom. Resolving herself to wait for three, she stared out the window.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Beetlejuice slammed his palm down on the counter. "You can't do that to me!" he was shouting at the indifferent teller. "I've had an account with this bank for centuries!"

"Well now you don't," replied the teller. "Next!"

"But I have money in this bank!" protested Beetlejuice, not budging from his spot at the front of the line. "And I need it today!"

The receptionist peered at the ghost over her glasses. "Sir," she said, "your account has expired. Next!"

"Expired?" Beetlejuice was incredulous. "Expired?"

"No need to repeat yourself. Next!"

The ghost finally floated away from the teller in bewilderment. Expired? How does a bank account expire? His anger dissipated and was replaced by a tinge of worry. Now was not the time to be unable to pay his rent - his other options were, well, nonexistent. He needed this place.

He drove back to the building, taking the longest route possible. But when he finally got there, the reception was what he expected: Jacques, his old friend, smiling and waving cheerfully.

Beetlejuice hated guilt.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Lydia hated gym.

She frowned at the melee around her. Girls throwing softballs; girls throwing footballs; girls attempting to throw medicine balls. She exhaled loudly.

"Hi Lydia," said Bertha as she and Prudence approached her. Prudence was limping.

"Bertha!" exclaimed Lydia, "What happened to Prudence?"

"Some of the other girls tried to use me as a volleyball," explained the short girl, adjusting her glasses.

"Let me guess who," said Lydia.

"Hey Lydia," called Clare, as she and two other girls walked over. "We're starting a game of field hockey. My team against your...team." She smirked.

"You leave us alone!" demanded Prudence, tiny hands on diminutive hips.

"Yeah!" agreed Bertha. "You don't play fair."

"Fair?" Clare grinned. "You want to play fair? Like, what fun is that?"

Miss Shannon blew her whistle. "All right, girls!" she shouted, clapping her hands sharply. "Pay attention! We have a visitor!"

Everyone looked.

Lydia thought she was going to faint.

"Hellooo, Lydia!" chirped Delia, waving.

There was a brief roar of laughter.

"Oh, smooth, Lydia," laughed Clare. "Your mommy came to check up on you? That is like, sooo lame."

"Mrs. Deetz has something to say," went on Miss Shannon.

"Oh, yes!" beamed Delia, stepping forward. She was holding a small box. "I would like to personally invite each and every one of you to a little soiree at our humble home tomorrow night!"

Clare blinked. "A party?" she asked.

"Yes!" Delia opened the box. "I have your invites right here!"

"Delia!" hissed Lydia, sidling up to her stepmom. "What are you doing?"

Delia frowned. "I thought I told you to call me Mom," she said. "And I'm ensuring your popularity for years to come! Why, a party is just the way to earn your friends, you'll see...Everyone take one!" she trilled, distributing the invitations. "You too, Miss Shannon," she added, handing one to the headmistress.

"Now girls, what do you say?" prompted Miss Shannon sternly.

"Thank you Mrs. Deetz," chorused the girls.

"Ta-ta!" Delia pranced off of the field.

Lydia looked around. Most the girls were staring at their invitations as if they might morph into snakes at any minute. Clare and her friends were snickering derisively. Bertha and Prudence smiled.

"We'll come to your party, Lydia," said Bertha.

Clare, followed by her cronies, shoved the tall girl a little as she faced Lydia. "Like, you wouldn't catch me dead at this little so-called party of yours," she sneered. "Ta-ta!" she mocked, walking away.

Lydia drooped. Swell.