Half-Baked
by
Owlcroft

When Lydia got home from school that afternoon, she was wearing an expression of concentration. Even after she'd Called Beetlejuice through, she looked at him with a distracted air until he asked her about it.

"Something wrong, Lyds?" He cocked his head and halfway extended a hand to her. "You know I'll help with whatever it is."

"I'm not sure," was the reply. "It might be fun, but I'm afraid it'll be a lot of work instead. BJ, my class is going on a trip, to Boston, next month and I've been 'volunteered' to make 24 loaves of bread to sell to help pay for the costs."

Beetlejuice grinned at her. "I've always been good at making 'dough', babes. You know I'll help."

"Just no cookies this time," she laughed. "Once is enough for those!"

He laughed, too, a trifle shamefacedly. "So when do we start baking? And when's the trip?"

"Oh." Lydia's own grin faded and she looked faintly troubled. "You know it's going to be educational, right? I mean, it's not going to be much fun. Miss Shannon said we're going to be graded on what we learn. So, I was wondering if you really wanted to go or if you'd rather . . ."

"Ah, well . . ." he suddenly took great interest in his boots. "Do you have to go? You've got all those history books." He waved a hand toward the stack of books on her desk.

"It's not really optional, and I think it'll be worth it to see some the things I've read about – like Faneuil Hall and the harbor to see the ships and the Boston State House. And it's always fun to stay somewhere new overnight." Lydia turned away and picked up her camera, pretending great interest in setting the lens.

"Overnight!" His eyes widened in surprise and dismay. "You'll be gone for two days? Lyds . . ." He sighed then and frowned at the floor. "Yeah," he muttered. "I know you'll have a great time. Take photos of famous places and see lots of stuff and make some memories." Trying hard to smile, he shrugged and looked at her again, "You'll have a whole lot of things to tell me about when you get back."

"When I get back?" Now Lydia was unhappy. "Oh, of course. I guess I was . . . I mean, I had wondered . . . Anyway, it's not like you'd have any fun on a trip like this." She fiddled with her camera a little. "You probably have a whole bunch of things you've been waiting to get done when I'm . . . away, or busy, not taking up all your time."

Beetlejuice looked at her, perplexed. "What? What things? I don't have anything I want to do without you."

"Well, but . . ." Lydia removed a lens, stared at it, then replaced it. "But then . . . but you don't want to go on this trip with me, so –"

"No, I'd really like to go with you! But you don't think I ought to go along, and I understand that. It's okay, babes. Really."

"No!" she said quickly, then a silence fell, broken by Lydia after several seconds. "Actually, I was kind of hoping that maybe, you know . . ." She fiddled with the lens again, then took a breath and said quickly, "that maybe we could find enough fun things for you to do on the trip that you would go with me."

He stared at her. "Go with you?" He took one step toward her and looked at her intently. "You want me to go with you? Really? You mean it?" When she nodded, one of his delighted grins broke out and he clasped her shoulders, then pulled her toward him. "You bet I'll go with you!" and laughed joyfully.

Lydia hugged him, as hard as she could, and she laughed as well.

ooooo

Charles Deetz was in New York, meeting with his investments counselor and Delia had gone along to do some shopping, so it was the perfect opportunity for Lydia and Beetlejuice to take over the kitchen and make bread and jokes. Multiple ten-pound bags of flour and five-pound bags of sugar had been spread along the counter; three dozen eggs, cans of pumpkin and bunches of bananas had been placed on the table next to mixing bowls, measuring cups, various spices, and sticks of softening butter. The house had quickly filled with the smell of baking bread and the sound of laughter.

The twelve loaves of quick bread were done first and already cooling on the dining table in the next room. The twelve loaves of yeast bread were mostly done and it was Beetlejuice's turn to knead the dough for the final two while Lydia removed the previous two from the bread pans and set them to cool.

"I'm so glad you taught me how to bake bread. Do you remember that horrible flat brick the first time I tried?" She moved the cooling rack to the end of the counter.

"Yeah, I thought the place was on fire!" He snortled, then eyed the dough and kneaded it some more.

"You know I took Home Ec for the sewing, but the cooking part is really coming in handy." Lydia gently tapped the bottom of one loaf to check for doneness.

"Never baked this much bread before," Beetlejuice remarked casually. "Which is surprising, 'cause I've always been full of gas", he took a peep at Lydia, "and helping you out is the yeast I can do." He took another peep at her before adding, "And I'm used to crumby situations."

She laughed before replying, "Well, I certainly know how to get a rise out of you." Lydia checked the other loaf, but wondered at the sudden silence from Beetlejuice. She tossed a glance his way and noticed he looked odd, a combination of confusion and discomfort. "Beej?"

"Um, nothing." He went back to the kneading board. "Just . . . that's kind of a double entendre." He looked at the dough critically and then punched it down. "You know, it could have a double meaning."

Lydia thought back to what she'd said, furrowed her brow, and stepped back from the counter. "It was? I mean, it could?"

"Yeah . . . and it's sort of . . . um, risqué." He kept his eyes steadfastly on the dough.

"What?"

"Racy. You know, sort of . . . suggestive."

"Oh. Oh!" She suddenly understood. "Well, but I am taking sex ed now."

Beetlejuice scowled at the unoffending dough as he dropped it into the waiting bread pan. "I thought maybe we shouldn't talk about that 'cause it would make us – I mean make you uncomfortable."

Lydia considered that for a moment, then said, "But you always said we could talk about anything. That I could ask you things, and you can certainly ask me anything – that's what best friends do."

"Yeah, but . . . I didn't think about stuff like that. What I meant was like before, about the trip. You could have just said you wanted me to go with you. You know that. And if I didn't want to – I always will, but if somehow I didn't want to . . ." He stopped to think about that.

Lydia finished for him. "You'd go anyway, wouldn't you? And that's why I hesitated, BJ. I don't want to force you to do things you don't want to."

"But if you asked me, and asked me to tell you the truth about it, you know I would."

She put the final two loaves in the oven and set the timer. "I do know that," she said slowly. "I think I've always known that."

Beetlejuice stood and frowned at the oven door. After just a few moments, he said, without looking at Lydia, "You can . . . you can ask me – I mean, if you wanted, or needed, to ask me something," he picked at a flake of dried dough on the side of the mixing bowl, "I mean, about that . . . you know, your . . . your sex ed course, you know you could. I mean, I mean . . . I mean you can ask me about anything and I'd try to help you. If I could." He strove valiantly not to blush but failed.

Lydia smiled at him and edged a little closer, to stand just next to him. She gently patted his arm and told him, "I know," in a quiet voice. "I know that you'll always help me with anything, that I can say anything to you, because we'll always be best friends."

He nodded, then oh-so-casually draped an arm around her shoulders, hand dangling loosely down before. "And I can say stuff to you, too, and ask you to help and all. 'Course I can." He took a deep breath then looked directly at her, an open gaze with nothing hidden or disguised. "Do you think . . . do you think we . . . that we could . . ." After faltering that far, he blinked hard and came to a complete stop.

She leaned against his shoulder and nodded encouragement, hoping he could continue.

After another deep breath, he did. "Could we maybe, if you want to, could we . . . find out . . . if we . . . if we wanted to be . . ." He stopped again and looked away from her and said in a rush, "if we did okay with that bread? I'm starved!"

Lydia sighed, disappointed but reassured, and she knew how to be patient. "I'm sure Father wouldn't mind if we sampled one of the loaves he's already bought. Besides," she pulled away and crossed the kitchen to find the bread knife, "we really should do a taste test." She cast a look over her shoulder and smiled at him before opening the knife drawer. "I thought you'd never ask."

Beetlejuice stared after her. "I'm trying," he whispered so she couldn't hear. "Babes, I'm trying to ask."

ooooo

Lydia sat at the back of the school bus, ostensibly reading up on the places they'd visit. But she laughed frequently and everyone wondered what exactly she found so amusing. They did, however, admire the large black-and-white beetle pin on her lapel.