Chapter Three
Beetlejuice paced in the Roadhouse while Jacques looked on.
"Perhaps the situation was one that you could not attend, Beetlejuice," Jacques said. "Do not let it trouble you!"
Beetlejuice didn't reply but merely continued pacing.
"It's all that Claire's fault," he muttered to himself. "Dying and making Lydia have friends…"
"Beetlejuice," Jacques began, "shouldn't you be happy that Lydia is making new friends?"
Beetlejuice whirled around, his face contorted in anger. "Get outta here!" he roared, prompting Jacques to run out the door with his bony arms flailing.
Beetlejuice angrily flopped onto his sofa and flicked on the TV.
"Welcome back to 'The Lice's Right!'" blared from the screen, and Beetlejuice had just conjured up some jarred beetles as a snack when someone knocked from the door.
"Never fails…" Beetlejuice growled, mumbling some choice words about someone named Murphy. He slammed the door open and shrieked, "What?"
"Like, how rude!"
Immediately, his demeanor changed when he recognized the voice and saw the person it belonged to standing behind the door.
"Like, even if you are that creepy Lydia's best friend, you, like, totally stink," droned none other than a very dead Claire Brewster.
Beetlejuice was speechless; literally, the words that were forming in his head popped out and vanished. Even in her newly dead state, Claire was still the bratty princess that had been the ruler of Miss Shannon's School for Girls and Lydia's tormentor.
He slammed the door in her face.
Claire, however, would not be ignored that easily.
"You, like, can't do that! You, like, have no idea how long I've been, like, looking for you!" I have something important to, like, tell you about Lydia!
The door cracked open.
"You don't say?"
Lydia arrived at the party fifteen minutes early; her father had insisted on meeting Samantha's parents and making sure they would stay home for the entire evening.
"Dad, I'm sixteen already," Lydia said, embarrassed that she was so early.
"Now, Pumpkin, your mother and I just want to make sure you're safe." Charles gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Have fun."
Once Lydia's parents were gone, she turned and looked at Samantha, who'd came down the stairs wearing what looked like a bathing suit cover-up made of gold lamé.
"Wow, Lydia, that's…some dress," Samantha offered.
"Yours too," Lydia awkwardly replied.
"So," Samantha said to cover up the silence. "Want to play a CD?" She gestured to a stack of CDs and tapes next to their players. "Pick whatever you want."
Lydia held up a tape of Spanish flamenco.
"Oh…that's my mom's," Samantha said. "How about I choose?"
Within half an hour, Lydia was utterly sick of the same poppy Madonna songs and of hearing another girl wonder how to pronounce Prince's new name-symbol. Fortunately, Bertha and Prudence had also arrived fairly early and were all too willing to keep Lydia company.
"That's the fourth cup of punch that boy with the bow tie has gotten all night," Bertha pointed out.
Lydia smiled knowingly. "Why don't you go talk to him?"
"I don't know, Lydia," Bertha was suddenly shy. "He doesn't seem very interested in talking."
"Well, you never know 'til you try," Lydia replied, gently pushing Bertha toward the snack table.
The boy looked up at Bertha, the sense of mixed fear and relief plain on his face.
Lydia giggled, then shook her head as Prudence powered through the other guests to go talk to Brian Byrd, St. Christopher's valedictorian.
"Oh, Prudence," Lydia smiled to herself. She went to refill her own punch cup, but a young man grabbed the ladle before she could.
"Allow me," he said, refilling her cup.
Lydia looked up into soft brown eyes; they belonged to a boy with a handsome, smiling face. Lydia was momentarily speechless but quickly remembered her manners.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," the boy said. "Would you like to dance?"
"Dance?" Lydia stared at the area where the other guests were dancing; she wasn't surprised to see Bertha and the bow-tied boy already cutting a rug to some swing music. "Uh, sure!" She swallowed her punch and threw the cup in the trash before taking the boy's extended hand.
Beetlejuice just stared at Claire in shock. His ears were surprisingly clean of wax and other gunk, and Claire's loud voice had not stumbled over any of the words, but he was still having trouble understanding exactly what she had just told him.
"What d'you mean, 'likes' her?" he asked. "You say that word so much, I can never figure out what you mean!"
Claire sighed dramatically.
"Ugh, like, you know, like!" she shouted.
"Valley Girl slang," Beetlejuice muttered to himself, "you know I hate it!"
"Like, my point is," Claire continued, "even though Antonio is totally, like, the cutest boy at St. Christopher's, he, like, never even talked to me or Sam or, like, any of us. It's, like, totally unfair for him to, like, like that horrible Lydia!"
Beetlejuice didn't even hear the slight on Lydia because he was so absorbed in this new problem. Someone "liking" Lydia? Impossible! She was his friend! Not to mention she was much too young for all that "crushing" nonsense…
"Like, I don't know what you are going to, like, do," Claire droned, interrupting his thoughts, "but, that party started, like, two hours ago. So, you know, it's, like, the perfect time for him to, like, start putting on the moves."
Beetlejuice froze. As far as he was concerned, Lydia was in danger. Who knew what kind of character this Antonio was?
Before Claire could say another "like," Beetlejuice had shoved her out the door and popped over to the Otherworld.
Author's Notes: I apologize for this chapter being short. Chapter Four is almost done but I want to make sure the end of that chapter is perfect before I put it up. Chapter Five is halfway done, and I'll be starting Chapter Six soon too.