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The boyfriend trap
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
The Boyfriend Trap
by Lara Michele
I've hated mornings since birth. I must've, since the contractions
started coming at eight o'clock in the morning and I didn't pop out
until 9:45 p.m. Perfect timing, if you ask me. It's true, though, I
can't say I've ever been much of a morning person. There's too much
light involved. So that explains why I was still hidden under my lime
green comforter at seven a.m. on a school day. A MONDAY, no less.
"Cameron!" I faintly heard my mother scream. "If you don't get your
rear in gear you'll miss your bus -- and I don't have time to drive you
to school today!!!"
"Too bad," I groaned. "My rear is stuck in park." Moms are such
strange creatures. When you're late for school they threaten you that
they won't give you a lift -- like not going to school is some kind of
threat or something.
But moms are also creatures to be pitied, I discovered, when mine
materialized in the doorway to my room, a distressed look on her face.
"Come on, Cam," she prodded. "There's only a few more weeks until
Spring Break. You can sleep all you want then." Poor Mumsie. She
looked and sounded like she was on the brink of despair.
I sighed deeply, then threw off the covers. "I'm up, I'm up," I
muttered, my head throbbing from the bright sunlight which had sneaked
in through the hot pink Venetian blinds. Mom patted my hair which had
mysteriously been transformed into a big, honey-brown tumbleweed during
the night, then handed me a Smurf mug full of steaming hot cocoa. My
mother can be so wonderful sometimes; she'd even remembered those little
white marshmallows.
"Now don't forget," she said while I breathed in the heavenly scent of
rich chocolate in the morning. "Ralphy has a dentist appointment at
five, so we'll be home late ... around six or seven, depending on the
number of cavities he's managed to collect. There's a tuna casserole in
the fridge, and yes, I checked, the tuna was dolphin-safe, so you can
actually eat it without having an attack ... you'll have to pop it in
the oven around five-thirty, on medium, of course ... Whip up some of
those great sweet potatoe biscuits you make, if you get the chance. And
don't forget the salad. We need to start eating more carrots. Use lots
of carrots ... Cam? Cameron Elizabeth Ford, you open your eyes this
instant. I do not, and I repeat, DO NOT think that you are funny."
I started to giggle, big, uncontrollable giggles. Mom shook her head,
then kissed me on mine. "Don't forget to make dinner, okay Cam?"
"I promise I won't forget," I assured her. "Have a great day at the
office."
"Office? What office? I've got court in a half an hour. The Lewis
trial."
"Aw, Mom, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you late!" Today was the
day that Lenora and Lester Lewis would finally end their 19 year old
marriage. My mother was representing Mrs. Lewis, and Lenora had told
Mom that if the outcome was favorable, that she would hire her as her
(Lenora's) personal lawyer. The Lewises were extremely rich, and that
position would give my mom the kind of job security she had always
wanted.
"It's okay, hon. If I leave now, I'll still be about fifteen minutes
early. There's some eggs on the table, make sure you and Ralphy eat
some."
I wrinkled my nose in disgust and waved her goodbye. It was exactly
7:15. Great. That gave me about twenty minutes to shower, get dressed,
choke down an English muffin, and shoo my little brother out the door.
What a way to start the week.
As usual, I made it with about thirty seconds to spare. Ronnie, my
long-haired bus driver who always had a pair of John Lennon inspired
shades perched on the tip of his nose, pulled up with a mandatory gruff
laugh. "Hey gorgeous, oversleep the alarm again?"
"Don't ask," I said, herding Ralphy onto the crowded bus. I hated the
fact that we went to the same school, but what could I do about it? It
wasn't my fault that the only college prep institution in a 25 mile
radius just happened to accommodate grades 1 through 12. It's not that
I didn't like my brother, on the contrary, he was pretty cool as far as
siblings go. It was just the principle of the thing. Like I had lost
some indescribable freedom or something.
I pushed my way to the back. Our house was one of the last stops on the
route, so there were usually no seats by the time we were picked up.
Luckily, I had connections. My best friend in the whole wide world just
happened to be the third person on every morning. Which ensured me a
prime seat in the tail end of the bus. And it brought us lots of male
attention, too, because Jezzie attracted ALL the guys.
Like this morning, for instance. I noticed that my half of the seat was
being occupied by Mr. Brian Dugan, not only one of my closest friends
but also the cutest guy on the entire varsity basketball team. He stood
5'11" with sandy blond hair and rich, coffee colored eyes. We had
become friends a couple of years ago, after I'd tutored him in Algebra.
Dugan was the sweetest guy, and very easy to talk to, especially for a
girl like me who blushed whenever a guy came near her. We had had alot
in common, too, like a love of Mafia movies and a passion for
cherry-vanila ice cream. And we also shared a common interest in a
certain Jezebel Carrera -- only one of us wanted her hand in marriage and the
other wanted her green suede jumper ... three guesses on which I desired.
"Hey, Dugan, get your basketball behind out of my seat."
"Cameron, darling, love of my life ... we share everything else, why not
a spot on the bus?"
"Wrong, Doog, you STEAL everything of mine, my homework, my money, my
heart ... I'm keeping the seat."
"As you wish, oh Light of my Life." He graciously moved two seats
forward.
Jezzie shook her head in amazement. "I've been trying to get rid of him
all morning," she whipered. "And all it took you was ten seconds and a
bat of your eyelashes."
"Come on, Jez, Dugan's not so bad."
"He is when he's been following you around for a year, watching your
every move with those big, puppy-dog eyes of his." She smoothed down
her turqouise-colored stretch mini. "So how was your weekend?"
"Fabulous, simply fabulous," I said, using my Lauren Bacall voice.
"First I jetted over to Paris with Tom Cruise, but then the little
fellow simply began to bore me. So I borded the Queen E II and headed to
Catalina, but on the way, the ship capsized and I was marooned on a
deserted Island with Roseanne Barr, Estelle Ghetty, and the New Kids on
the Block. Of course, all of the New Kids became enraptured with me,
and, ignoring the old bat and cow, fought shamelessly over my attention.
In fact, they were fighting so hard, they missed the rescuers. So I left
them alone with Rosie and Estelle on that miserable island while I
was whisked away in style in an aircraft piloted by George Michael." I
paused for some air. "And how was your weekend, dahling?"
"Not as wonderful as yours," she giggled. "Grandma's house is pretty
boring, if you ask me. But one good thing came out of the trip."
"What?" I asked, as Jezzie rummaged around through her purse. I figured
it had something to do with a guy. I was right.
"Him." She thrust a Polaroid at me.
"Pretty cute," I commented. Actually, he was more than pretty cute, but
I would never admit that to her, not about one of her boyfriends,
anyway.
"I got him for you," she said matter-of-factly.
"Got him for me?" I questioned. "What do you mean, you got him for me?"
"He's gorgeous, smart, and unattatched. What more could you ask for?"
"God, Jezzie, guys aren't like souveniers. You can't just pick one up
for me when you're out of town."
"You don't like him?" she asked, sounding hurt.
"I don't even know him. Look, thanks, but I'll find my own men, okay?"
"If all it takes is for you to get to know him, no sweat. He'll be
calling you around eight tonight."
"What?" I practically shrieked. "You just give my number out to any old
stranger?"
"Our families have been friends for practically ever. He'd been going to some
boarding school in Iowa or something and recently moved back to
Pennsylvania. I haven't seen him in three or four years. But Grandma
arranged this big friendly dinner, and we got to talking. I was showing
him some pictures, you know, the one's we took over Christmas? He
thought you were cute, so I gave him your number. It's no big deal.
Just talk to the boy, Cam. It's not like you've been sold off to him or
something."
I sighed. When would I ever learn. "What did you say this guy's name
was?"
Jezzie smiled triumphantly. "I didn't. It's Dylan. Dylan Thomas.
Like the poet."
"Dylan Thomas." He sounded like a poet. A poet or a Greek God, that
is. "If this guy's so great, how come you're not interested?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Not my type. He's too safe for me."
"And that's a bad thing?"
She gave me a wan look. "It is if your looking for danger."
I laughed. "Oh, Jezebel, we are such different people. The yearbook
will vote me "Most Likely to Marry Mr. Rogers" and they'll vote you
"Most Likely to Spend the Night in a Holding Cell."
The bus pulled up at our school, Sweet Briar Academy -- College
Preparatory for the Fine Young Men and Women of Sweet Briar,
Pennsylvania. We all filed out in an orderly fashion (school policy, of
course). On the way out, Dugan pulled me aside. "Hey Cam, can I borrow
your Bio questions? I was REALLY busy all weekend and I ... "
"Here you go, Doog, but just let me tell you I wouldn't give you these
if I didn't love you."
He grabbed the papers and planted a quick kiss on my cheek. "Thanks,
Cam, you're a peach!"
"That's Miss Cobbler to you, Doog," I teased. He laughed and ran off to
catch up with his friends. I looked around for Jezzie but she was no
where to be found. I thought I heard someone call my name and I whirled
around. It was my brother Ralphy, with blood all down the front of his
blue Oxford shirt. He was waving something in his hand.
"My God, Ralph, what happened to you?"
"I wost anover toof," he lisped. "I need to go to de nurf and get
cweaned up."
"Great," I replied. "One less molar for the dentist to worry about. Come
on, kiddo, I'll take you." Which meant I had about ten minutes to get
Ralphy to Mrs. Hanscom, the school's 90-year-old nurse and dietician,
rush to homeroom, get my books, and write a three page essay on the
Hundred Years' War (which had totally slipped my mind until I had seen the
blood on Ralphy's shirt) that was also due this morning, first period
to be exact. 'Oh well,' I thought complacently. It was, after all, a
Monday.
**************************************************************************
The day progressed fairly well, pretty calmly, if you ask me. Jezzie's
ex-boyfriend gave her and I a ride home, so I had alot of extra time. I
wanted to devote it to a nice, hot bubble bath, but Dugan showed up and
asked me if I wanted to play a round or two of indoor mini-golf. I
accepted, not only because I knew I could beat him with my eyes shut,
but because I could never resist a Dugan Request.
We got to Golf-a-Rama around 3:30. "I have to be home around 5," I told
him. "I'm supposed to start dinner."
"No problem," he said, as he payed for our admission. We had this long
standing rule that when ever we went somewhere together, the invitee
would pay for both people, unless it was a concert or something. He
fished through a mesh basket of brightly colored golf balls, chosing a
lime green one for me and a leopard spotted one for himself. "To match
my underwear," Dugan joked.
The course was pretty lame, but we still had fun, talking and joking
around like we always did. We saw a few people we knew but nobody
really special. After the second game, Dugan surrendered and we went to
the back to have an ice-cream cone, cherry-vanilla with rainbow
sprinkles.
"What's wrong with me?" Dugan asked.
"Dugan, this place closes in a few hours -- I really wouldn't have the
time to list EVERYTHING ..."
He looked sad. "C'mon, I'm serious, here."
"What brought this on?"
He sighed, then looked away. "Jezzie."
"Oh, of course." Poor Brian. He really had it bad for her. But who
could blame him? Most guys adoredd Jez, which isn't so hot when you're
just an average looking best friend who pales in comparison. "Look,
Brian, nothing's wrong with you. You're a good player, you're pretty
smart, definately sweet, and God knows you're not lacking in the looks
department."
"How come Jezzie doesn't feel that way?
"Bri, Jezzie's not the only girl in the world. What about Kelly Wirth?
She's dying to get a crack at you. And Judy DeMarco's been drooling
over your school picture for months."
"How come when I'm down, you always know the exact perfect thing to say
to me?"
" 'Cause I love you, and you know that."
He smiled. "Will you marry me?"
"Not in a million. You're more trouble than you're worth."
"C'mon," he said, cleaning up our trash. "Let's get out of here."
We walked home in time for me to pop the infamous tuna caserole into the
oven. Dugan asked if he could stay and help with dinner. I graciously
let him peel the carrots that Mom was so obsessed with while I prepared
the sweet potato muffins. It might seem strange for the star center of
the basketball team to be so enamored with helping me cook, but I knew
it was because his mother never did any of those things. She was a
caterer and refused to whip up any spectacular dishes for the family.
They usually ended up eating pizza or frozen entrees. A lot of times
Dugan would just hop on over here, for Mom loved to have him over. I
guess I did, too, if I think about it. He was always entertaining, and
he loved Ralphy. There was a time when I'd actually thought I could
fall in love with Dugan, but now I knew that our friendship was much too
special to let something like dating get in the way.
We worked along in silence. Every now and then Dugan would stuff a
mushroom in my mouth. "I wonder what our kids will be like ..."
"Our kids?" I said, laughing. "Do you mean my kids and your kids, or
kids that we'd have together?"
"I meant your kids and my kids. But now that you mention it ... if we
ever had kids, they'd be close to perfect."
"How do you figure?" I asked, kneading the peachy-pink dough.
"Well, they'd have to be gorgeous. They'd get my eyes and your hair --"
"Make that you're hair and my eyes," I interrupted.
"Okay, you're eyes and my hair. They'd be about average height, average
weight ... they'd inherit your intelligence and my athletic abilities."
"Even the girls?"
"Especially the girls. And of course you'd have to teach them to cook
..."
"Even the boys?"
"Especially the boys. God, the woman's movement was really lost on you,
wasn't it?"
"Ha!" I said. "I was just testing you."
"Yeah, sure," he replied, looking at me strangely. "Do you think we'll
ever end up married?"
My heart started to beat a bit faster. "You and me?" I swallowed hard.
"Nah, it'll never happen. We're too much alike."
"My dad keeps his fingers crossed. He adores you."
"Like my mom adores you?" I asked. I wanted out of this conversation,
and fast.
"Yeah, I guess." Just then, Mom and Ralph pulled up.
"No cavities!" Ralphy yelled, as they walked in the door.
"Congrats," Brian said, picking him up and tossing him around. Mom
greeted Dugan and invited him to dinner, but Dugan declined. "Hey Cam,
walk me home?"
"Sure," I said, even though I really didn't want to be alone with him
right now.
But things were back to normal. We laughed and played around, then I
went back and ate a terrific family dinner. I did get that bubble bath,
and in the middle, the phone rang. Mom popped her head in. "Cam?
Phone for you. It's a Dylan Thomas."
Yuck. "Get his number, I'll call him back." I let the bubbles drain
out of the bear-clawed tub. I dried off, and changed into my pajamas,
regardless of the fact that it was only 7:00 p.m. Composing myself, I
dialed this Dylan's number, and as the phone began to ring, I could feel
the impending doom creep up my spine. I made a mental note to myself:
find a less flirtatious best friend, and SOON.
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