Living Short in Bel AIr

I hated it when people thought small people couldn’t do anything. Just because I was short, skinny, and flat all over, it didn’t mean I had no muscle. Hey, 100lbs wasn’t all skin and bones.

He smirked at my threat, and sucked on his finger before he popped another chocolate in his mouth. He thought this was funny. Aw hell no. This wasn’t funny. This was war.

I made a Sparta war call and tackled the boy on my bed, pinning him down. His eyes widened at me---the crazy chocolate lady---as my face was burning with fiery. I snatched my Minnie Mouse pillow and started whiping it at his face, nailing the Satan in the cheek.

“Take!”
BAM!
“That!”
BAM!
“You!”
BAM!
“Mutha!”
BAM!
“F*cking!”
BAM!
“Chocolate!”
BAM!
“Stealing!”
BAM!
“Wh*re!”

The sound of a whistle came barrelling into my room, but that didn’t stop me. I continued to nail the bastard as the voice of Ruby was heard first. Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!

“Okay, who’s being raped?!”

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2. ChapteЯ 2: Call of the Shawty

ChapteЯ 2: Call of the Shawty

I hated it when people thought small people couldn’t do anything.  Just because I was short, skinny, and flat all over, it didn’t mean I had no muscle.  Hey, 100lbs wasn’t all skin and bones.

He smirked at my threat, and sucked on his finger before he popped another chocolate in his mouth.  He thought this was funny.  Aw hell no.  This wasn’t funny.  This was war.

I made a Sparta war call and tackled the boy on my bed, pinning him down.  His eyes widened at me---the crazy chocolate lady---as my face was burning with fiery.  I snatched my Minnie Mouse pillow and started whiping it at his face, nailing the Satan in the cheek.

“Take!”

BAM!

“That!”

BAM!

“You!”

BAM!

 “Mutha!”

 BAM!

“Fucking!”

BAM!

“Chocolate!”

BAM!

“Stealing!”

BAM!

“Whore!”

The sound of a whistle came barrelling into my room, but that didn’t stop me.  I continued to nail the bastard as the voice of Ruby was heard first.  Tweet!  Tweet!  Tweet! 

“Okay, who’s being raped?!”

“Get her off of ME!” shouted the boy, helplessly trying to guard his face with his hands.

A pair of arms slinked around my waist and lifted me off the ground as if I was a light as a feather---which I technically was.  “Hey!  Put me down!”  I wiggled my hips, waving frantically, but I instantly gave up as Ruby set me down.

 “What happened?” panted my mother, her hands on her knees as she was out of breath from the stairs.

“He started it!” I shot, pointing like a two-year-old.

“Now, Ly-a, don’t be jumping to conclusions---”

“But he did start it!”

The boy slowly got up, and even dusted himself off.  Fixing his blue collared button-down, I tried not to stare at his exposed chest by his neck, the buttons a little undone.  Ugh.  Perfectionist.  

Running his hand through his hair, he made sure his shorts weren’t wrinkled, smoothing down the fabric.  Ugh.  Neat freak.

“Mr. Ryder, why don’t you tell us what happened?” asked Ruby, flashing him a polite smile.

“Wait, you know this,” I glanced up and down at the Chocolate-stealing-whore, “thing?”

“Well, Miss June.”  He cleared his throat, and flicked his hair so he could see her.  Show-off.  “I was just admiring the neatness of this lady’s room until she came barrelling in.  About to say hello, she attacked me and began to,” he shuddered, “abuse me.”

“What?!” I sputtered, throwing my hands in the air.  “That’s so not what happened!  He’s lying!”

Ruby stifled a laugh; seeing right through, but my mother, not finding it amusing, stepped in and apologetically smiled at the Chocolate-stealing-whore.  “It’s alright.  I know my daughter can be. . .unruly challenging at times.”

Unruly challenging?!  What?!  He was messing my food?!  What do you expect?!  And here was my mother agreeing with the Chocolate-stealing-whore!  “Then how do you explain the opened box chocolates?!” I shot, raising a brow.

He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his khaki golf pants.  “It was like that when I got here.”

My mother narrowed her gaze at me, giving a disapproving nod.  “Ly-a, I told you to stop leaving food on the floor!  Especially when we’re having guests!  And stop eating so much!  You’re going to get fat!”

“Excuse me, but no one told me about intruders, and secondly, he’s lying.  Again!  Lastly, I’m not going to get fat!  I’m just hungry!  Don’t blame me for not knowing where all the food goes.  But if you really want to know,” I evilly grinned, “Then I’ll show in about twenty minutes.”

“Eyie!  Ly-a!  Our guest!  Please!  Be mannered like this dashing man here!” pleaded my mother, the face mask now gone. 

Shaking her head, Ruby bit down on her bottom lip from laughing.  “Ruby!” I exclaimed.  “Do something!”

“I ain’t in this one either!” she said, twirling the rape whistle around her finger.

“Pardon me.”  We looked back to the boy, almost forgetting he was there.  “But, Ly-a?  I remember from Mia’s Talking With Virgins, episode 242, when you talk about the uniqueness of names, how you said you named your daughter. . . Ly-a?  So that’s true?”

I dropped my mouth, eyes widening by the second.  He watched my mom’s show?!  He’s a dude!  At my age!  Once again, a DUDE!

Ruby smirked.  “Mia, I think I found your gay husband.”  My eyes widened by a fraction more and I laughed, high-fiving my mother’s assistant.  But instead, she left me hanging, keeping it at a professional level.  Maybe this Chocolate-stealing-whore was more important than I thought.  Ruby would normally be all over teasing my mother.

“Why a matter of fact, yes!  It is true!”  My mom touched her chest, her face brightening as she measured him up.  “You surely are a blessed soul for watching my show.”

“More like cursed,” I mumbled.

“. . . Especially for memorizing the episode number!  Oh!  Did you like it how I. . .”

Turning off my ears, I quickly walked out of the room with my mug.  Heading back downstairs, I almost jumped to hear the sound of dragging feet.  Looking down, I smiled at the hound as its big droopy eyes stared intently at me with curiosity.

“I could really go for bacon.  How about you?”  He barked in agreement and I smiled, loving him already.  Using my mug from earlier, I heated it up some strips from the fridge and sat back down on the couch.  Crossing my legs in an Indian style, I fed one to the mutt and giggled as he licked my fingers.

“What’s your name, boy?”  He barked, and nuzzled his ears along my legs.  Scratching behind his ear, I pecked a small kiss on his fur.  “How about I name you. . .”  Clicking on the television, the old movie starring Lindsay Lohan came on, and I squinted to remember the name.

I hated it when I recognized a movie or actor and felt like I knew what it was called.  I would sit down for hours until I figured it out.  Then I remembered.  It was Freaky Friday.

I watched as Lindsay and her mom bit into the fortune cookie, and laughed at the cheesiness.  Staring down at my pooch, I smiled as I saw its big eyes ogling at the screen, clearing enjoying it as much as I was.

“Friday.  I think I’ll call you Friday.”  The hound perked his ears, and wagged his tail.  I giggled.  “Friday it is, boy.”

“Ly-a!”

I groaned, remembering my mother, Ruby and the Chocolate-stealing-whore.  “What?!”

A moment later, the three showed up, sitting across from me.  Guess no one wanted to sit with the crazy chocoholic teenager.  “I was just talking to Clint---”

I chomped down on a strip of bacon, licking my bottom lip in the process.  “I prefer the Chocolate-stealing-whore,” I corrected.

“Ly-a!  Language!”

I sheepishly smiled, flushing a bit.  “Sorry.  It’s just natural.”

Ruby snorted, and my smile grew.  “Anyways,” my mother cleared her throat, “I was telling Clint about how we got your name.”

“It is quite lovely, I might add,” he piped.  I found it disgusting how he was lying to my face.  He could lie to my mother all he wanted, but not to me.  As one of my favourite mottos once said, ‘If you got something mean to say, you might as well moon the idiot and say it to his face.’

“Thanks, but you’re saying it wrong.”  He scrunched his brows, and frowned as the word ‘wrong’ came out of my mouth.

He leaned forward, propping his arms on his knees.  “It’s pronounced LEE-A, am I correct?”

“Wrong.”  He flinched as I spoke, and I couldn’t help but smirk.  “You’re wrong, Chocolate-stealing-wh---”

“Ahem.”

“I mean, Clint.  You’re wrong.”

“Then how do you say it?”

I fed Friday a bacon strip, and rubbed his belly.  “It’s pronounced LEE-DASH-A.”

He cast a confused look over his face, and Ruby smirked.  “Son.  The dash don’t be silent,” she snapped, giving the boy some black sass.

“Don’t be. . .silent?”  Damn.  It was like this dude never heard of slang.

“It’s spelt L-Y, and then a dash, then A.  Ly-a,” I said, “But people just call me LEE-A, for short.”

The gears spun in his head as he tried to grasp this.  Slowly, he nodded his head and began to smile.  “I get it.  That’s pretty. . . cool.”

“I know it is,” boasted Ruby, “I’m a genius, and ya’ll know it.”

Laughing, a sudden thought came to my mind.  “Chocolate-stealing-whore?”  I ignored my mother’s scowl, and continued, “Why were you in my room?”

“It’s Clint.”

“Sorry, that’s not in my vocabulary.”

“Then I guess you’re just going to add it.”

“You’re not the boss of me!”

He rolled his eyes, “Ruby told my dad and I to come through the back door to drop by this morning.  She let us in and told us to make ourselves at home,” he shrugged.

“Ruby!”  I shot the women a cold glare.  “You let him in without telling us?!  Two men?!  In our house?!”

“Calm your shit, darling,” she waved.  “They’ll actually be---”

“Did I miss anything?” boomed a charming deep voice.

Spinning my head, I turned from the couch to see a 6’feet man step into the room, biker jacket hanging over his arm.  He had broad shoulders, a short golden stub, and small blonde ponytail in the back.  My eyes trailing past his black jeans, I realized he was wearing biker boots and grimaced.  My mom was going to flip when she realized he had shoes in the house.

“Oh!  Hullo there, Harley,” Mia huskily breathed, and I gapped in horrible disgust as she pulled off a seductive look.  I mean, tried, to pull a seductive look.  Her skin was pretty tight from the seaweed mask and half of her hair was still in curlers.  I bet my panties, if I handed her a mirror, it would so crack.

The man raised his black shades on his head and smiled.  “Why hello, Ms. Monroe.  I see you’re looking fine as ever.”   I slipped out a snort, and glanced down to deflect the killer glares from my mother.  “I made a little tour for myself around the house.  It looks simply divine here.”

My mother blushed to a tomato red, and slapped her thigh.  “Stop!  Really.”

“I mean it, Mia.”  The two stared at each other with a long silent gaze, and I awkwardly shifted.  Good god.  I think I was going to be sick.

“Look at the time, Ms. Monroe,” chirped Ruby, and I knew she was feeling the same.  “It’s already 11 o’clock.”

“Eleven!” burst my mother, abruptly standing up.  “I have to be at the studio in an hour to shoot my last broadcast!  I haven’t even gotten my curlers out yet!  I still have to wash up!  Ugh!  I can’t possibly go to work like this!”

I ripped the end off of the bacon.  “You’re right.  Maybe you should just call in ugly.”

Ruby slapped her hand over her mouth, and I even caught a smile crack from Harley, the motorcycle rider.  My mother gave me another death glare, and I sheepishly smiled.

“If you get ready in ten minutes, I’ll give you a drive on my bike,” he winked, and I tried not to slip my second snort.  My mom?  On a motorcycle?  Pfft.  Yeah right.

“Sure!” she perked, flashing her pearly set of whites.  “I’d love to!  Just let me get washed up and I’ll be down in a jiffy!”

My mouth shaped into an onion ring, ogling at my suddenly adventurous mother.  Yup.  She definitely had too many martinis this morning.  Let’s just hope she won’t throw up on the new blonde tart replacing her.  Although that would be funny. . .

“Good!”  Harley rubbed his hands together, “It’ll be a great way to start off this new job of mine---”

“New job?” I gulped, and made a gruesome face.  “What do you mean?”

Ruby slapped the back of my head.  “Weren’t you listening, girl?”

I winced, “Not really.  I’m a teenager remember?  Attention span of zero?”

She rolled her eyes, “Like I said.  My doctor wanted me to lay it off a little so I hired an assistant to help me.”

“Wait,” I halted my hand in the air, smacking Friday along the way.  “An assistant hired an assistant for the assistant?  Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” cut the Chocolate-stealing-whore.  Too bad his name wasn’t in my vocabulary.

Ruby rolled her eyes.  “Anyways, I hired Harley Ryder to be my assistant.”

“So how does the Chocolate-stealing-whore come in to this?” I asked, still confused.  Hey, English class wasn’t until Monday.  My brain was out of order during the weekends.

“Harley is my dad,” clarified the Chocolate-stealing-whore.

I groaned, slapping my forehead.  Friday perked up and stared at me with worry.  “Please don’t tell me the assistant hired an assistant who hired even another assistant to help the assistant’s assistant?”

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

“No.”

I sighed in relief, and the smart-ass-whore spoke up, “My dad didn’t hire me as the assistant for the assistant that---”

“Okay,” snapped Ruby, shutting Clint up (hey, I actually remembered his name).  “I hired Harley to help me out.  Clint is Harley’s son and he is not helping out.  Are we clear?”

I nodded, although I didn’t understand it completely.  I swore we just wasted two minutes at this hopeless explanation, but I decided to keep my mouth closed with the last piece of bacon. 

“So is Harley going to be coming here on a regular basis?”

“You got that right,” winked Harley.  “Probably often since we’re only a door away.  I have a feeling my son and I are going to be asking a lot of questions about Bel Air.  Maybe even ask for a tour of the Hannah Carter Japanese Garden.”

“Door. . .away?”  I worriedly stared at Ruby, my shoulders slumped.  “Ruby, don’t tell me. . .”

“They’re moving beside us, Ly-a.  The Ryder’s are here to stay!”

“Oh, it won’t be that bad,” chuckled Harley.  “I’ll just be checking in during the morning, lunch, diner, maybe even midnight to help out Ruby.  And Mia if she needs me as well.”  My mom giggled, and I tried not to throw up for the second time.

Pushing that distasteful thought, I tried to understand what was going on.  “So the Chocolate-stealing---I mean, Clint, wouldn’t come with you, right?”

“Unless he wanted to,” Harley shrugged.

I breathed out a heavy sigh of relief, collapsing back on the couch.  There was no way I could last with a perfectionist, neat freak, smart-ass, I’m-always-right, guy coming to my house four periods of the day.  That would so interfere with my bacon time.

“But if it’s all right with you, Ly-a, you could perhaps show him the ropes around town,” asked Harley.  I swallowed a lump on my throat and instantly wished I had more bacon.  “I’ve already made a list---” He laughed, “Actually Clint made the list, but I sort of helped.  He needs you to show him the basics.  How to get to school, the market, the beach, the mall, the library, the---”

“What if my mom bought him a car?” I blurted, instantly growing to the idea.  “Would he still need me?  I’m sure he’s an independent boy. . . he surely has a driver’s license, right?”

My mom balled her fists onto her hips.  “I’m not buying him a car.”

“Why not?  How would he get around?”

“He’ll take the bus with you.”

“But drug dealers take the bus!”

 Ruby looked up from her bracelet.  “You can protect him with your Minnie Mouse pillow.”

I scowled, wanting to stuff my fist down her throat.  Okay.  Maybe not.

“I’m sorry to ruin the fun, ladies, but I think Mia has to get going to her show if she doesn’t want to be late,” reminded Harley, and my mom squeaked in horror.  She dashed up the stairs, and I wondered how fast it would take her to get ready.

“I’ll leave you kids alone while I get the motorcycle ready outside.”

Ruby got up as well, taking a glass of martini with her.  “I’m come’n too!  Being the first assistant of Mia, I need to show up at every one of her shows.  You kids want to come?”

“If it means leaving the Chocolate-stealing-whore, hell yeah!” I exclaimed, bouncing up.  Of course I wanted to come because of the free food which I could never say no to.  Free snack table, people!  Friday hopped down the couch, doing a little flop as he stubby legs tripped over his ears.

Clint stood up beside Ruby, towering over her.  “Then I’m coming as well!”

I narrowed my gaze at the boy.  “Why?”

“To piss you off.”

Well this was going to be an interesting one hour ride.

۞♀ͼӁ∞Ӂͽ♂۞۞♀ͼӁ∞Ӂͽ♂۞۞♀ͼӁ∞Ӂͽ♂۞۞♀ͼӁ∞Ӂͽ♂۞۞♀ͼӁ∞Ӂͽ♂۞♀ͼӁ∞Ӂͽ♂۞

“Stop touching me!”

“You’re the one who moved closer!”

“Can you two shut up?!  You guys are like damn 7/11.  Ya’ll mouth’s are always open.”

My lips drew to a pout and I crossed my arms, elbowing the Chocolate-stealing-whore.

“I told you to stop!”

“Well you’re in the way!”

“If none of ya’ll shut up, I swear I’m gonna stop this car and smack both of your ass’s!”

I rolled my eyes.  “We haven’t even moved yet.”

It was true.  Every since we stepped into Ruby’s Corvette convertible, my anger level has been through the roof.  It didn’t help for the fact that I was squished against Clint since Ruby had the front and back seat occupied with boxes and papers.  “It’s all your mom’s shit I still have yet to organize,” she told us as we uncomfortably squeezed in the back.  Of course that wasn’t the problem.  It was him.

“Can we just get going now?” Clint sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“Hey!  Black mama is the driver.  Not you, petty school boy,” Ruby scowled, moving her rear view mirror.

The only upside of this moment was that Ruby saw right through the Chocolate-stealing-whore.  She knew his lies, and little covers.

You see, there are three types of your average boys.

The Good boy, the Bad boy, and the S.O.A.B.S.

When categorizing Clint, he would be placed as a S.O.A.B.   This is an acronym for Son of a bitchy Satan.  These cursed boys had been blended with the curses of a Good and Bad boy, because Satan was just too damn bitchy to pick one.  Sure, they seemed innocent, sweet and kind to most people, but the smarter people (that would be me) saw right through those characters.  Oh no, these boys were naughty, cruel, mean, cold-hearted bitches that loved to torture short girls by eating their secret stash of chocolates!

Yes.  I might have over-exaggerated a little on the end part, but what can I say?  I hated S.O.A.B.’s.  Especially this one.

“Could you stop!” I whined, the sides of my legs pressed against the door.

“Stop what?!”

“Breathing!  That way you’ll die, and I can throw your body out the window!”  Okay, I didn’t say that last part, but you could tell how furious I was. 

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