Author’s notes:

This bunch of craziness is posted in honor of my first Jixaversary! Thank you, CathyP, for allowing me to be part of such a talented bunch of authors. It’s truly an honor.

This story has no redeeming literary value whatsoever. No lessons will be learned, no issues will be discussed, and there will be no moral at the end of the story. This submission is solely dedicated to FUN!!!

I spent a lot of time this past summer with teenagers and was reminded of those days… those drama-filled days. Remember how it felt being a teenager? When one minute you loved someone, the next you absolutely hated them, and then five minutes later you loved them again? When a zit signaled the end of the world? When the alignment of the planets depended on that special someone asking you to “the most important dance of the ENTIRE year”? When you could run the entire gamut of emotions in fifteen minutes or less?

Well, here’s your chance to relive those days… if you dare! Please join us at The Cameo for “Confessions of Three Teenage Drama Queens”. And stay tuned at the end of our feature for the link to the Blooper Reel, an exclusive behind-the-scenes peek at this feature. *snort*

Friday evening, 7:03 P.M.

Helen Belden carried a wicker laundry basket full of clean towels to the upstairs bathroom. She’d just pulled them off the clothesline in the backyard where they had dried in the sun all day. As a result, they were springtime-fresh.

Brian and Mart were on a camping trip with Jim and Dan, and Bobby was spending the night with Larry and Terry Lynch. Though none of the boys would be at home this evening, Honey and Di were spending the night with Trixie at Crabapple Farm.

Helen knew from experience that it was best to have a fully-stocked linen closet during their sleepovers. The girls usually washed their hair at least once during the slumber party, possibly more depending on how many makeovers were performed. Additional towels would be needed in the morning when they took their showers. And, of course, there was always the possibility that a towel or two would be needed sometime during the night to mop up any liquids that were spilled during a moment of silliness.

It only took a few moments to get everything folded. Helen stacked the towels and washcloths on the correct shelf of the linen closet in the kids’ bathroom. Once she’d accomplished her task, she walked across the hallway to go downstairs. As she neared the door to Trixie’s bedroom, she smiled as she remembered slumber parties she’d had with her own friends years ago.

Those were the days, she thought with a grin.

She halted briefly outside her daughter’s closed door as an odd sound came from the room containing three excitable teenage girls.

Silence.

That’s strange, Helen mused. They’re awfully quiet in there.

Unable to suppress her curiosity, she leaned her ear against the door and listened closely. Why, I don’t hear a peep out of them! I wonder why.

Helen furrowed her brow in deep thought as countless possibilities danced through her mind. Are they hurt?

She sighed deeply, exasperated with herself for being such a worrywart. Of course they’re not hurt; they’d be crying or screaming or asking me to bandage something.

She turned to leave, but another possibility forced her to stand still and contemplate.

Maybe they’re listening to music with headphones, she wondered. After a moment of thought, however, she shook her head. No, I’d at least hear singing.

She worried her lower lip, determined to figure out the mysterious silence. Could they be taking a nap?

Helen peeked at her watch, and then scratched her head as she pondered the strange situation. They wouldn’t be asleep. It’s only seven o’clock. So what’s going on?

In spite of her constant frustration with her daughter’s curiosity, she knew Trixie came by that trait honestly. For as much as she hated to admit it, Helen was just as inquisitive as her fair-haired children. Knowing it would be impossible to forget about the mysterious silence, Helen decided to investigate.

She knocked on her daughter’s bedroom door. Upon hearing the muffled, “Come in,” she turned the knob and stuck her head through the doorway.

“Do you girls need anything?” she asked, studying Trixie and her two best friends. To her amazement, the normally exuberant teenagers were unusually subdued; somber even.

“We’re okay, Moms,” Trixie answered, her voice glum. She was lying on her back across her full-sized bed, allowing her head to hang upside-down over the edge.

“Dear, you shouldn’t lay like that,” Helen chided. “It’s making all the blood rush to your head.”

“I don’t mind,” Trixie said without much enthusiasm. “I think better this way.”

“What’re you thinking about, sweetheart?” Helen prodded.

“Nothing important,” Trixie mumbled, her sandy curls swinging as she shook her head slightly.

Helen stifled a smile and shifted her gaze to Honey and Di, who didn’t appear to be any more cheerful than their hostess. Honey was lying on her stomach across the foot of the bed, her head resting on her folded arms. Di resembled a contortionist; she lay with her back on the floor, but had her legs propped up on the bed, absentmindedly wiggling her feet.

“Honey, Di, are you girls sick?”

Honey briefly lifted her head and smiled weakly at her friend’s mother. “We’re fine, Mrs. Belden. Just a little tired.”

“Yeah,” Di agreed, looking up at Helen from her vantage point on the floor. “It’s been a long week at school.”

Helen’s gaze grew sympathetic as she took in the dark circles under Honey’s eyes and the tear streaks down Diana’s cheeks. They looked just as pitiful as Trixie.

Trixie wasn’t the only Belden adept at finding clues and solving mysteries. Her mother was quite proficient at gleaning bits and pieces of information and putting them together, much like someone would work a puzzle. And this puzzle was one with which Helen was familiar. After all, it hadn’t been so long ago that she was fifteen.

Helen smiled to herself as she recalled the various clues: a circle drawn around today’s date on the calendar with the word “dance” written inside of it; the boys going on the first camping trip of the season; the girls boycotting the aforementioned dance; an impromptu slumber party, and a trio of normally giddy girls who currently resembled mourners at a funeral.

She easily recognized the symptoms, and luckily for the girls, she had the perfect age-old cure.

“I’m in the mood to cook,” Helen remarked. “I thought I’d make some brownies, if the three of you would help Mr. Belden and I eat them.”

“The iced ones?” Trixie asked as she hung upside-down.

“If you’d like,” her mother answered. “And maybe some chocolate chip cookies…”

“The homemade kind?” Honey questioned hopefully, her hazel eyes brightening slightly.

“Of course,” Helen agreed. “And I made some fudge earlier today…”

Di’s toes quit wiggling. “Peanut butter fudge?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. That’s your favorite kind, isn’t it, Di?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Di responded, a faint smile parting her lips.

“Well, if you girls wouldn’t mind helping Peter and me eat these goodies, then I’ll go down to the kitchen and start making them.”

“Thanks, Moms,” Trixie told her, trying her best to muster a bright smile.

“Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Belden,” Honey and Di chorused.

After giving the girls a final smile, Helen exited the room, the only sound being the soft click when the door closed.

Friday night, 9:15 P.M.

Peter Belden quirked a dark eyebrow at his wife. “So why are we taking three huge plates of sugar-laden junk food up to Trixie’s room?” he questioned skeptically. “Those girls will be bouncing off the walls.”

Helen glanced at her husband, her smile secretive. “Sometimes a girl needs chocolate.”

Peter gasped in horror. “All of them? At the same time? Good grief, I’ll be lucky to live through this, being trapped in one small house with three young women all having their—”

“That’s not the problem!” she corrected with a laugh, playfully swatting his shoulder. “There are other times that a girl needs to overdose on chocolate.”

He merely shrugged his shoulders to show his ignorance on the subject. “Are they going to binge and purge?”

Helen cast him a reproachful look. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Peter explained earnestly. “I’m just trying to figure this out. I’ve never been a teenage girl before, so I don’t have any past experiences to go by. You’re going to have to give me a hint.”

Relenting at his sincere expression, Helen softened and affectionately wiped away a smudge of flour from his jaw. “You want a hint, huh?”

“Please?” he begged, his dark eyes twinkling. “I grew up with two brothers. I have no girl cousins. And I don’t have a feminine side. So even the playing field a bit, dear.”

Helen giggled as she straightened the apron he was wearing. “Don’t have a feminine side, huh?”

He grasped her hands and pulled her close to him. After gazing at her a moment with his soulful brown eyes, he whispered in a husky tone, “Please?”

“Okay,” she agreed with a breathy sigh. It was impossible to withhold anything from her husband when he looked at her like that. “I’ll give you some hints. A circled date on our calendar marked ‘Spring Dance’. Below ‘Spring Dance’ someone with messy penmanship scrawled ‘Camping Trip’.”

Helen looked at him pointedly, waiting for him to digest those facts and reach the logical conclusion.

However, Peter’s face remained clueless. “The girls are mad because they couldn’t go with the boys on their camping trip?”

Helen exhaled loudly, shaking her head. “No, dear. I’ll give you another hint. Impromptu slumber party?”

“It’s a good time to have a sleepover because the boys aren’t here to change their channels?” Peter was obviously grasping at straws.

The wrong straws.

“I haven’t heard one single peep out of the girls the entire evening,” she informed him, her brow creased in worry.

“You mean they aren’t squealing and giggling and shrieking and singing?” he gasped.

“Not a bit.”

Peter raised his eyes to the heavens. “Thank you, Lord!” he exclaimed joyfully, waving his hands in praise.

Helen didn’t know whether to laugh at his antics or to be annoyed by them. Thankfully for her husband, she chose to laugh. “Oh, stop!” she commanded with a chuckle. “Now Peter, you have to admit it’s strange that they’re being so quiet.”

“Why, yes,” he conceded, “that is strange. I’d even go so far as to quote Trixie: It’s downright… mysterious.”

“So have you figured it out yet?” Helen asked with a saucy grin, obviously enjoying the fact that she had the upper hand with him.

For a moment, Peter tried to imply that indeed he had solved this mystery. He sputtered some unintelligible phrases and did a lot of hand gesturing, but in the end, he threw his hands up in total surrender and admitted, “I have no idea.”

“You still haven’t figured it out?” she exclaimed in disbelief. “The dance, the camping trip, the sleepover, the pouting?” She tapped her foot and looked expectantly at her watch.

“No, I still don’t get it.”

“Of course you don’t,” Helen told him curtly. “You’re a man. You fail to pick up the clues we women so carefully leave for you.”

Peter scratched his chin thoughtfully. “So this is my fault…?”

Helen looked at her husband in amusement. She grasped his hands and brought them to her lips. After kissing them, she shook her head disparagingly at him. “No, sweetheart. It’s not your failing per se that I’m ranting about; it’s the failing of men in general. More specifically, it’s the failing of three certain teenage boys…”

“Bobby’s not a teenager,” Peter corrected, still not getting the point.

“I’m not talking about Bobby.”

“So this isn’t Bobby’s fault?”

“No, dear,” Helen said with a patient smile.

“Thank God,” Peter muttered under his breath. “Finally something’s not his fault.” He paused for a moment, then inquired curiously, “Well, then who’s the third one?”

“Jim.”

“Jim isn’t ours.” Confused as he was, of that fact, Peter was certain.

“I know that, dear,” Helen stated, her tone patronizing. “But Trixie is.”

“But Trixie isn’t a teenage boy.”

“But she is a teenage girl, dear.”

Peter’s shoulders slumped as he rubbed his throbbing temples. “My head hurts,” he mumbled. “I’m totally confused now. All day long I deal with percentages, spreadsheets, interest rates, mortgages, taxable income, nontaxable income… That I can understand. But the ramblings of an emotional woman?” He snorted and raised his hands in despair. “I’ll never understand those as long as I live.

“Can you give it to me straight, Helen?” he asked with a pleading smile. “Just pretend I’m Bobby, since I feel about six-years-old right now.”

Helen laughed and threw her arms around her husband’s neck. After placing a kiss of promise upon his lips, she answered his question. “There was a dance at school this evening. The girls wanted to go.”

“So why didn’t they?” he asked with an unconcerned shrug.

“Because the boys didn’t invite them.”

“And they had to be invited to the dance by the boys to be able to go?”

Helen wanted to ask her husband if he had consumed a lot of lead paint chips as a small child, but she bit her tongue. “No, they didn’t need an invitation, but they wanted one.”

“Why? What’s the difference?”

Helen sighed wearily. “The difference is that Trixie, Honey and Di wanted the boys to escort them to the dance. Sort of like a group date. But the boys never asked them to go; they went camping instead.”

“Maybe the guys didn’t know about the dance,” Peter suggested in defense of his fellow men. “After all, Brian and Jim are in college now. They can’t keep up with all the Sleepyside Junior-Senior High news.”

“Oh, they knew,” Helen informed him. “Trixie made sure that Brian knew and Honey made sure that Jim knew. Besides, Mart’s the one who wrote the article in the school paper about the upcoming dance, so he definitely knew. And I’m sure the girls hinted around for the boys to ask them.”

“So Brian, Mart, and Jim didn’t take the girls to the dance,” Peter stated with another shrug. “Big deal.”

“Peter, it is a big deal to the girls,” Helen insisted, her tone gentle, yet reproving. “According to Trixie, it’s the last big dance of the school year, aside from prom.”

“They could’ve gone anyway,” Peter brought up. “They’re pretty girls; I’m sure some other teenage punks invited them.”

Helen snorted at her husband’s terminology. “They didn’t want to go with some other punks; they wanted to be escorted by our punks.”

“But our punks decided to go camping instead?” Peter summed up with a smirk.

“Exactly.”

“And that’s why, at this very moment, my daughter and two young ladies whom I consider daughters are moping upstairs?” As hard as he tried, Peter couldn’t contain the glee he felt.

“Peter!” Helen’s blue eyes blazed as she scolded her husband. “You aren’t supposed to be happy.”

“I can’t help it,” he admitted, unable to suppress the grin upon his face. “You expect me to be upset that my fifteen-year-old daughter is NOT in a dark gymnasium, slow dancing with Jim, who until now could do no wrong in her eyes?”

“There are chaperones at the dance, dear.”

Peter’s response to that statement was a defiant snort. “Yeah… five chaperones for 200 kids. Each chaperone only has to keep an eagle-eye on 40 kids. That makes me feel a lot better.”

Helen placed her hands on her shapely hips and glared up at him. “We’re not talking about some average teenage boy, Peter. We’re discussing Jim.”

“I know we’re discussing Jim,” Peter argued. “And forgive me if I’m downright giddy that his freckled hands are nowhere near my baby girl’s backside.”

“Jim respects you too much to act like that,” Helen disagreed, shaking her head in exasperation. “He’s far too honorable.”

“Honorable boys have hormones, too, Helen,” Peter insisted. “I was honorable myself once, and—”

His wife interrupted him with a snort of disbelief. “You were never as honorable as Jim.”

Peter squared his shoulders indignantly. “I was, too.”

“You were not,” Helen quarreled. “Andy was the honorable one. Hal was the ambitious one. You were…” A secret smile played on her lips as she finished, “…the charming one.”

“The charming one, huh?” Peter wrapped his strong arms around his wife’s waist and lowered his head to nuzzle her neck. “You know, I can still be charming…”

“You certainly can,” Helen murmured huskily, running her hands along her husband’s muscular back. “And after we take this chocolate up to the girls, maybe you can give me a private demonstration of your charm.”

“That would be my pleasure,” he told her as he placed light kisses along the sensitive part of Helen’s neck.

“Good thing Jim’s more honorable than charming,” Helen commented with a giggle. “You’d have to get your shotgun.”

“And thankfully Brian has a responsible head on his shoulders,” Peter chuckled. “He reminds me of Hal at his age.”

“And Mart…” Helen abruptly stood upright, leaving her sentence unfinished. “What about Mart?”

Peter merely winked at his wife, his dark brown eyes twinkling with mirth. “Why, he’s got his father’s charm, of course,” he informed her with a mischievous, and very appealing, grin.

A grim expression passed over Helen’s face as she realized how true that statement was. Mart may have inherited the Johnson’s fair coloring, but personality-wise, he was a carbon copy of his father. His utterly charming father…

“Well, maybe it is a good thing that the boys went camping,” Helen gulped nervously. “It’s much healthier for them to camp in the fresh air, miles away from Sleepyside… instead of slow dancing in that dark, crowded gymnasium.”

Peter’s gaze narrowed as he read his wife’s obvious thoughts. “So why did the boys go camping instead of taking the girls to the dance?”

“I have no idea,” Helen admitted, “but right now, I’m just glad they did.”

With a deep chuckle, Peter removed the apron he had worn while helping his wife in the kitchen. “Come on, woman. Let’s deliver this to the girls, and then I have something I need to show you in the barn.”

Helen’s sandy brows rose slightly. “Oh, really? And just what do you need to show me?”

“Oh, somethin’,” Peter teased. “I promise that you’ll like it.”

“Word of honor?” she asked tartly.

“Word of honor,” he repeated, an impish sparkle in his eyes. “It’s guaranteed to charm the pants right off of you.”

Helen giggled at her husband’s innuendo. “Peter…”

“What?” he queried. “I’m allowed to charm you now. I have a license. I got it about twenty years ago, and I’ve been putting it to good use ever since.”

9:34 P.M.

Several minutes later, Helen stood outside her daughter’s closed bedroom door. “Knock, knock!” she called, her hands laden with goodies.

“You may enter,” Trixie called from inside.

“If you want your chocolate, open the door!” Helen ordered with a roll of her eyes. “My hands are full.”

Helen heard the faint squeak of bed springs followed by clomping. A minute later, an obviously unhappy Trixie opened the door, and then immediately trudged back to her bed.

“Are you girls hungry?” Helen asked brightly, setting down two large platters of baked goods.

The tantalizing aroma of freshly-baked brownies and chocolate chip cookies wafted through the room, eliciting smiles from the gloomy girls. “Yummy-yum-yum!” Trixie exclaimed as she gazed longingly at the plate of iced brownies.

“Those cookies sure smell good, Mrs. Belden,” Honey replied politely, sniffing the air.

“Where’s the fudge?” Di, already on the brink of tears, looked totally crestfallen at the lack of peanut butter fudge.

“I’ve got it right here,” Peter called, as he entered the room carrying not only the fudge but also a two-liter of cold cola, complete with plastic cups perched on the top of the bottle.

“Dad!” Trixie exploded, tears pooling in her china blue eyes.

Peter jumped stiff-legged at the sudden screeching of the familiar term to which he was referred. “What?” he asked, terrified by the horror-stricken expression on his daughter’s face.

“No boys allowed!” Trixie cried as she jumped up from her bed in protest.

Peter chuckled, not realizing that he was in imminent danger. “Why not?”

“Boys are mean!” Trixie thundered.

“Boys are gross!” Honey exclaimed, her chin quivering.

“Boys have cooties!” Di shrieked.

“But I’m not a boy,” Peter rationalized. “I’m a man.”

“You used to be a boy,” Trixie argued.

“And once a boy, always a boy,” Honey pointed out with a pout.

“So in other words, there’s no hope for you,” Di summed up, crossing her arms in finality.

“Can’t I come in for just a little bit?” he pleaded.

“Nope,” Trixie said with a toss of her sandy curls.

“Forget it,” Honey declared, with a shake of her head.

“No way,” Di refused firmly.

“But I have caffeine and fudge.” He hopefully held up the aforementioned objects as a peace offering.

“Well, maybe you can come in for a little bit…” Di began as her violet eyes focused on the fudge.

“DI!!!” Trixie and Honey screamed in unison. “You can’t back down!”

“But he has my fudge,” she whined pitifully. “Trixie, you get your brownies, and Honey, you get your cookies…”

Trixie expressed her frustration with a loud huff. “Fine,” she snapped. “If you want to be a sell-out, I guess I can’t stop you.” She turned her attention to her father. “Dad, slowly put down the fudge and back awaaaay from the room, and nobody’ll get hurt.”

Peter shook his head in bemusement, a confused smile on his face. “Trixie, you’re being silly. I’m your father; why aren’t I allowed in your room?”

“Because, as a man,” Trixie began snippily, “you possess that nasty, vile, loathsome…”

“Stupid, gross, inconsiderate…” Honey added.

“Idiotic, uncaring, insensitive…” Di supplied.

“Y-chromosome,” Trixie concluded. “Therefore, you are hereby sentenced to eternal banishment from the Beatrix Helen Belden Kingdom.”

“But my paycheck provides the roof over the Beatrix Helen Belden Kingdom,” Peter pointed out dryly.

“Typical man response,” Trixie sniffed indignantly.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Honey observed.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Di muttered.

Peter, bemused by the girls’ actions, just laughed and threw his hands up in exasperation. “You ladies just need to pick your lips off of the floor and straighten up. There are more fish in the s—”

His insensitive comment was left hanging as he intercepted the warning glare his loving wife was shooting at him.

“Didn’t you need my help, dear?” she commented casually, with a quirk of one sculpted brow. “In the barn?”

“The barn?” Peter repeated, not picking up on Helen’s subtle rescue attempt.

“Ye-es,” Helen drawled out slowly. “Remember in the kitchen, you said you needed my assistance in the barn…?”

Peter coughed as he choked on the image that flitted through his mind. “O-oh, yes, sweetheart,” he stammered in between coughs. “That barn! I-I-I needed you to get your hairpin and take a look at that… that thing we talked about… the lawnmower… err, the motor… uhh… and the milk pail…”

After clearing his throat, he replied in a deep voice, “I’ll be in the barn.” He set the soda and the platter of fudge on the dresser beside the rest of the goodies, and quickly made his getaway while he was able.

“Do you girls need anything else before we go?” Helen asked cheerily, a blush on her cheeks.

“We’re fine,” Trixie answered with a grimace. “You may proceed with your repair of the milk pail.”

After a final giggle of embarrassment followed by a wink, Helen turned on her heel and trotted out of the room and down the staircase.

9:57 P.M.

The girls’ spirits were buoyed slightly by the intake of the extremely fattening, yet highly delicious, sweets that Helen had provided. As they munched on brownies, cookies, and fudge and slurped their cola, Trixie, Honey, and Di mustered the will to chat a bit.

“Gleeps!” Trixie exclaimed, with a roll of her eyes. “Moms and Dad are sure embarrassing. They can act so stupid sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” Honey asked as she licked a glob of chocolate off her fingers.

“That ‘going to the barn’ bit was really lame,” Trixie snorted.

“I think they’re kind of cute,” Di admitted with a giggle.

“You would,” Trixie muttered.

“Well, I think they’re cute, too,” Honey declared, picking another cookie off of the platter.

“Cute?” Trixie gasped and clutched her chest, feigning a heart attack. “You’ve all gone stark raving mad!”

“I think it’s sweet how affectionate they are,” Honey commented between nibbles of her cookie.

“Yes, it’s wonderful that they still love each other so much after all these years,” Di agreed with a dreamy sigh. “It’s very romantic.”

Trixie’s lip curled in disgust as she leaned over her bed and pretended to throw up.

“C’mon, Trixie,” Honey giggled, “don’t you think they’re cute?”

“Just a teeny tiny little bit?” Di prodded.

“No! I think they’re gross.” Trixie shivered to illustrate her point. “You know, I used to think my mother was a wise woman. However, after watching her fawn over Dad like that…” She shivered again.

“What’s not smart about that?” Honey queried.

“Duh!” Trixie exclaimed. “Dad’s a guy, and we don’t like them anymore. Remember? ”

Honey smiled sheepishly. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. I was too busy thinking about how cute your dad is.”

“Honey!” Trixie exploded, clutching her short sandy curls in her fists. “What’s wrong with you?”

“We’ve been over this before, Trix,” Di told her matter-of-factly. “Whether you like it or not, your dad is hot. And more power to Moms if she wants to exercise her marital benefits.”

Honey hooted with laughter. Trixie closed her eyes tightly, clutched her curls, and shook her head vigorously. “EWWW! Now you have all these yucky thoughts stuck in my head!”

Di shrugged, and then asked bluntly, “What? Like them doing it?”

Trixie collapsed in a mass of hysterical shrieks, causing Honey to collapse in a fit of laughter. In order to shield herself from hearing any more offending comments, Trixie buried her head under her pillow.

“Please stop talking about Moms and Dad!” she begged. “If I hear anymore, I’ll puke on both of your pillows!”

Di giggled as she listened to her sandy-haired friend’s pleas for mercy. Once Honey had calmed down, her hazel eyes met Diana’s violet ones, and they both looked at Trixie. Soon both of them were dying laughing again, and it wasn’t long until they had fallen off the bed, landing in giggling heaps on the floor.

From under Trixie’s pillow, a Fran Dresher-like voice whined, “Fee-ling nawww-shus. Getting diiiiizzy.”

This only served to create more giggling hysteria on Di and Honey’s parts, who were laughing so hard that they forgot all about the pain in their backsides resulting from falling on the floor.

Once Honey and Di had calmed down and reclaimed their positions on the bed, Trixie peeked out from under her protective shield. She assumed a stern look and pointed her stubby index finger at Di. “Don’t ever, EVER bring that up again,” Trixie lectured. “Good grief! I came close to spewing mushy brownie-vomit over both of you.”

Honey wiped a few tears caused by her laughter. “I don’t see what the big deal is, Trix. You know they’ve done it before.”

“Realistically, yes, my parents may have done it once or twice,” Trixie admitted reluctantly.

“Well, not that I’m some big mathematician or anything, but odds are that they’ve done it at least…” Di paused dramatically to tick off Belden children on her fingers, “four times.”

Trixie shot her a threatening look. “I have chosen to believe that after scrogging once or twice, they decided they didn’t like it, and elected to conceive me and Bobby by artificial insemination.”

Honey and Di both wheezed with laughter, desperately trying to catch their breaths.

“Surely you don’t really believe that,” Honey gasped.

Trixie defiantly crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air. “That’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.”

11:12 P.M.

Several cookies, countless brownies, and innumerable pieces of fudge later, Trixie, Honey, and Di’s mood had lightened slightly. After every single crumb had been devoured, the three depressed teenagers decided to go downstairs to scavenge for more sustenance.

“Let’s see,” Trixie murmured as she pilfered through the refrigerator. “What do we have to eat in here?”

“A more appropriate question would be: What don’t we have to eat in here?” Honey corrected. “There are enough leftovers in here to feed an army.”

“What’s this?” Trixie carefully opened a large Tupperware© bowl. “Hmmm… Anyone interested in cold mashed potatoes?”

Honey wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Gross. How can something so yummy when it’s warm look so yucky when it’s cold?”

“Ix-nay the ashed-may o-pay-atay-oestay,” Di stated, her thumb and index finger firmly clamping her nostrils shut as she looked in the big container filled with the leftover potatoes.

Trixie snickered. “I didn’t know Di was bilingual.”

Honey scrunched up her pert nose. “What does ‘ix-nay the ashtray oil of olay’ mean anyway?” she asked.

“She said ‘nix the mashed potatoes’ in pig Latin,” Trixie explained with a giggle.”

“Well, I think ‘ix-naying’ them would be the best for everyone,” Honey announced. “I think they’ve been in the fridge for a while. We could destroy a small country with them.”

“I think you’re right,” Trixie agreed as she gingerly placed the lid back on the bowl and placed it back inside the refrigerator.

“I wish we didn’t live so far out in the boonies,” Di complained. “I’d give anything for a pizza right now.”

Trixie placed her hands on her hips and turned to her ebony-haired friend. “We have all this food in here and you want takeout?”

“Mmmm,” Honey murmured, licking her lips. “Chinese would be good.”

“Unbelievable!” Trixie rolled her eyes in disbelief. “I guarantee that the food in this refrigerator is better than you’ll find in any fancy restaurant.”

“But what about the service?” Di asked with a grin.

“Ah, we guarantee the finest service here at Réfrigérateur Belden,” Trixie assured in a thick French accent. “Even our wealthiest patrons declare our cuisine the fairest in the land. Absolument délicieux!”

“Absolument délicieux, huh?” Honey questioned in a skeptical tone. “Well, I suppose we’ll grace Réfrigérateur Belden with our presence.”

“Merveilleux news, my little chickadees,” Trixie encouraged. “And will you be having an appetizer?”

“Ooh!” Di squealed as she pulled out a long stick of pepperoni. “This looks yummy.”

“But of course, Mademoiselle,” Trixie agreed enthusiastically. “The spicy pepperoni will make a lovely appetizer. And for your main entrée?”

“Leftover fried chicken!” Honey squealed in delight. “Yummy-yum-yum!”

“Ah, so you’ve chosen the poultry for the pièce de résistance,” Trixie said, continuing to imitate a French waiter. “Tres bien. And what shall you choose as your vegetable?”

“Pickles,” Di insisted.

“The sweet or the dill?” Trixie inquired, holding up both jars.

“The dill!” Honey and Di chorused.

“Magnifique!” Trixie held her fingers to her mouth and kissed them. “The kosher dill pickles are how we say… par excellence.”

The giggling girls carried the food to the large kitchen table.

“What about dessert?” Honey asked.

“We just ate iced brownies, chocolate chip cookies, and fudge,” Di informed her.

“And your point is?” Honey demanded.

With a flourish, Trixie yanked open the freezer. “Mademoiselles, may I recommend the Moose Tracks® ice cream? It is the crème de la crème of all desserts, n’est-ce pas?”

“Since when do you know French?” Honey asked with a giggle.

“Since I started watching the Travel Channel,” Trixie informed her tartly. “Mart—”

Tears pooled in Di’s eyes at the mention of that particular name, so Trixie wisely rephrased her statement.

“A-certain-person-who-shall-remain-nameless was watching a show about restaurants in France,” Trixie explained, “and I picked up a few things.”

“Really?” A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Honey’s lips. “Well, in that case, I have a question for you. Qu'y a-t-il pour boire?”

“Huh?” A look of total confusion distorted Trixie’s features.

“Qu'y a-t-il pour boire?” Honey repeated. After giggling at Trixie’s obvious bewilderment, she translated, “What do you have to drink?”

Trixie immediately assumed her French waiter persona. “Ah, mademoiselle wishes to have a beverage. May I recommend a fine strawberry-flavored carbonated soda? Pink, bubbly, and aged to perfection.” She opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a two-liter of Strawberry Blast.

Honey studied the bottle carefully, and with a perfect French accent, responded, “Très bien.”

Trixie quirked a sandy brow at her. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“That’s a yes,” Honey replied, getting three glasses out of the cupboard and filling them with ice.

“Are you sure we want Trixie to have strawberry pop this late?” Di asked incredulously as she watched Honey pour the soda into the glasses. “You know how hyper it makes her.”

“Good point, Di,” Honey said as she handed Diana a glass of pop. After pouring some in her own, she replaced the lid on the two-liter bottle.

“Hey!” Trixie yanked the soda out of Honey’s hands and reopened it. “As owner of this bottle of Strawberry Blast, I’m allowed to consume as much as I want, no matter how hyper it makes me.”

“Now, do you own that pop, or does your dad?” Di queried, trying to keep a straight face.

Trixie merely stuck her tongue out at her. After taking a long swig of soda, she sighed in contentment. “Ahhh. Nothing like Strawberry Blast. When I’m a grownup, I’m going to drink all the strawberry pop I want, whenever I want,” she declared defiantly.

Saturday morning, 12:03 A.M.

“Ugh,” Honey moaned, tossing her spoon in the now-empty carton of ice cream. “I feel sick.”

“Me too,” Trixie agreed mournfully, rubbing her swollen stomach.

Di groaned. “I think it was the pickles that did it.” A very un-Diana-like belch erupted from the violet-eyed beauty.

“Well, you’re the one who dared us to drink the pickle juice,” Trixie told her crossly.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Di replied with a shrug.

“What do we do now?” Honey asked. “I’m bored.”

“Wanna watch movies?” Trixie suggested.

Honey slowly rose from the table. “What’s on?”

“I dunno,” Trixie answered. “We can go in and see.”

“Do we have to?” Di inquired, a pitiful expression on her face. “Can’t we just veg out here?”

“Nope,” Trixie informed her as she pulled on Diana’s arm to force her to stand.

The girls waddled into the living room and crashed onto the couch. Trixie picked up the remote, turned on the television and went to the channel that showed the current program listings.

“HBO’s showing ‘A Perplexing Existence’,” Trixie half-heartedly commented.

Honey sighed. “I can’t speak for Di, but I’d rather not watch that.”

Di nodded in agreement. “Me neither. I’m just not in the mood for Matthew McConaughey.”

“I agree,” Trixie said glumly as she scrolled through the options. “So what do we want to watch?”

“ ‘Bitter Analogies’,” Di read. “What’s that about?”

Trixie hit the information option and read a synopsis in her best news reporter tone. “ ‘Bitter Analogies: A love struck woman comes to the conclusion that the man she loves does not love her in return. After much heartbreak, the despondent woman ponders suicide, joins a nunnery, and eventually chooses a life of solitude’.”

Trixie scrunched up her face. “So… Whaddaya think? Is that something we want to watch?”

Honey sighed wearily and yanked the remote from Trixie’s hand. “I don’t want to watch it; I’m living it!” She turned off the television and set the control on the coffee table. “What else is there to do?”

“We could listen to music,” Di suggested.

Trixie rose from the couch and walked over to the Beldens’ stereo system. She opened one of the cabinet doors, in which they stored several CDs, cassettes, and even a few ancient records.

“What’re you in the mood to listen to?” Trixie asked, looking at their options. She held up a CD to see if it met her friends’ approval.

“ ‘Top 40 Greatest Love Songs’?” Di wrinkled her nose. “Gag!”

Trixie put that CD back and pulled out another one. “How about this?”

“ ‘Kyle Deveroux— Dance Every Dance with Only Me’,” Honey read out loud. She shook her head emphatically. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you have anything silly?” Di asked. “Something pointless and utterly nonsensical that won’t make us think about your stupid brothers?”

Trixie’s face brightened and she snapped her fingers. “I have just the thing!” She dug through the cabinet and after much searching, triumphantly dug out a CD from the back. She opened the case and loaded the CD.

“This will be perfect,” she murmured with a smile.

12:29, A.M.

Di looked up from her task of painting Trixie’s toenails. “What are we listening to?” she asked, holding the lid of the polish in midair.

Honey, who had just selected the shade “Sands of Time” for her own nails, craned her neck in the direction of the speakers. Though she didn’t recognize the tune, her foot tapped to the beat of the catchy song, which closely resembled something one would hear at a beach party in the early sixties.

“I’ve never heard it before, but I like the music,” she commented, straining to make out the words. “It sounds like something you’d hear in a ‘Gidget’ movie.” Suddenly, her contemplative expression turned into a grimace. “What did he say?”

Trixie giggled madly as she watched her friends’ bewilderment. “I forgot about this song. But it is rather perfect, don’t you think?”

Di and Honey both hovered around the stereo speakers, their ears carefully listening to the lyrics.

As the chorus came on, Honey laughed. “Is he saying what I think he’s saying?”

“What do you think he’s saying?” Di asked, a perplexed expression on her face. “I can’t make out the words.”

Honey turned up the volume as the chorus repeated.

(She wants) She wants to see you again
(She wants) She wants to see you again
Slowly twisting (Twisting)
In the wind (Twisting)
Twisting twisting (Twisting)
In the wind

Di’s black brows knotted as she heard the words. “Twisting in the wind? What the heck does that mean?”

Meanwhile, Trixie and Honey had doubled over in a fit of giggles.

Trixie wiped away a tear shed from laughing too hard as she struggled to speak. “You know… Twisting… Like someone’s been hung.”

Di remained motionless, save for her long eyelashes batting. She still didn’t get it.

“In a noose,” Honey added, stifling a giggle.

Di’s face scrunched up in horror. “Ugh! That’s awful! What kind of trash are you listening to, Trixie?”

“It’s not trash,” Trixie insisted with a smirk. “It’s ‘They Might Be Giants’.”

“They might be whats-its?” Di prompted.

“ ‘They Might Be Giants’,” Trixie explained, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s supposed to be silly, not morbid. You’ll just have to listen to the whole song.”

Trixie hit the repeat button and started the song over from the beginning. She smiled as the happy Beach Boys-sounding, surfing-style music began.

She set your goldfish free
And now she's sighing
Blew out your pilot light
And made a wish

She doesn't have to have
Her dB's record back now
But there's not a lot of things
That she'll take back

Di smiled ruefully as the chorus began. “Where in the world did you find this CD?”

“Cap left it here,” Trixie replied with a giggle.

“That figures,” Di said with a snort. “This sounds like Cap Belden music.”

“But you have to admit that it’s funny,” Trixie said.

“It’s funny,” Di admitted, openly grinning as the second verse began.

She's not your satellite
She doesn't miss you
So turn off your smoke machine
And Marshall stack

She doesn't have to have
Her Young Fresh Fellows tape back now
But there's not a lot of things
That she'll take back

During the sixties-style guitar solo, Trixie hopped up and grabbed both of her friends’ hands. “C’mon!” she giggled. “Let’s dance!”

Trixie’s pleading, combined with the upbeat music, was too great a force to ignore. Honey and Di looked at each other, shrugged, and stood up. It wasn’t long until all three girls were dancing around, doing the swim, and hooting with laughter.

As soon as the song came to an end, Trixie hit the repeat button and the merriment started anew. In search of another dance floor, Trixie climbed on the sturdy couch and began bouncing around. Honey and Di quickly followed suit, and soon all three were hopping up and down, wildly flinging their arms like a trio of loons.

Hopped up on chocolate, sugar, caffeine, and carbohydrates, the three girls leaped from the couch to the loveseat and then back again to the couch. They bounced so high that, if they tried, they could touch the ceiling with their hands.

“She wants to see you again!” Trixie sang loudly as she jumped. “She wants to see you again!”

“Slowly twisting!” Honey joined in with a giggle.

“In the wind!” Di finished, clicking her heels together as she leaped in the air.

“Twisting, twisting!” the girls sang together at the top of their lungs, not caring if they were in tune or not. “In the wind…”

1:49 A.M.

The ensuing crash inevitably following a chocolate-induced high isn’t a pretty sight. And this crash was no exception.

“WHY?!” Trixie wailed, pounding her fists onto the carpeted floor on which she lay. “Why didn’t he ask me to the dance?”

Honey, hunched over on the loveseat with her head buried in her hands, looked up. Her hazel eyes were puffy and filled with tears. “I don’t un…derstand,” she gasped in between sobs. “I thought he… was respons…ible and…and… com… passionate.”

Di, curled up in the fetal position on the couch, cried uncontrollably. “But… I’m… su-supposed to be the… pr-pr-prettiest girl in Sl-Sl-Sleepyside. Oh, Mart! H-h-how could you do th-this to me?”

“M-Mart and Br-Bri-Brian are idiots,” Trixie stammered through her tears. “I can see wh-why they’d do th-th-this. But not J-J-Jim. He’s the m-most wonderful b-boy in the w-w-wor-rld.”

“Maybe they’re gay!” Honey wailed, her hazel eyes widened in horror.

Trixie clutched her curls at the mere thought. “Impossible!” she exclaimed.

“Maybe they really like Loyola Kevins, Linnie Moore, and Dot Murray better than they like us,” Di suggested weakly, big tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Okay, maybe they are gay,” Trixie muttered, thinking she’d rather have Jim prefer guys over Dot.

“They’re not gay,” Di hissed. “Besides, they’re not nearly sensitive enough to be gay.”

“True,” Honey murmured. “And they also wear way too much flannel to be homosexual. I think gay men wear more rayon.”

“That’s right,” Di affirmed wisely. “They’re just idiotic and inconsiderate heterosexual men. They probably forgot about the stupid dance.”

Trixie shook her head. “I called Brian every day and said something about it so that he would say something to Jim.”

“And I did the same thing with Jim so that he would do the same thing to Brian,” Honey sniffed. “It was obvious that that was their cue to ask us to the dance.”

“It was as plain as the noses on their faces,” Trixie muttered.

Di sighed wearily and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I made sure to tell Dan that I wasn’t sure if we were even going to the dance or not, so that he would be sure and tell Mart so that Mart would be sure to ask me to go with him.”

“How could they not pick up on our hints?” Trixie sobbed. “We made it so obvious! Are they that stupid?”

“It was as plain as the noses on their faces!” Honey lamented. “They just didn’t want to go with us!”

Di nodded her head in agreement. “We couldn’t have been any clearer! I just know that Dan told them to ask us.”

“I need chocolate,” Trixie gulped.

“Me too,” Honey agreed with a sniffle.

“Me three,” Di whimpered.

2:19 A.M.

“Scalpel?” Honey requested, holding out her open palm. Once the object was placed in her hand, she resumed her task.

“Tomato juice?” Trixie took the glass of red-colored liquid that Di offered her.

“Nail polish?” Di asked. She smiled gleefully as Honey handed her the bottle of “Magenta Madness”.

“Just a little more off the top,” Honey murmured as she appraised her hair-cutting skills.

“This tomato juice isn’t working,” Trixie complained. “I wonder where Bobby’s red magic marker is.”

“Where does Moms keep her blender?”

Trixie and Honey both looked up at their violet-eyed friend in horror.

“What’re you going to do?” Honey gasped.

“Nothing,” Di replied innocently. However, the mirthful twinkle in her eyes belied her innocence.

“Now, Di, as much as I can’t stand my almost-twin, I really must protest if you’re planning to put him in Moms’ blender,” Trixie chided sternly, pointing to the Ken doll Di held. “Moms makes really good smoothies with that blender, and I’d hate for Mart’s non-bendable legs to break it.”

Di frowned and held up the blond Ken. After glancing around the kitchen, her eyes fell upon the stove. “How long does it take plastic to melt to a liquid state?”

Trixie scrunched up her nose. “That might get kind of stinky. Especially when ‘Mart’s’, or should I say, Surfer Ken’s, unruly mop begins burning.”

Honey grinned and held up a darker, freshly-shorn Ken in one hand and a handful of black hair in the other. “Cut if off first. Even if he survives the lava, none of the other Barbies will want him since all his lovely hair is gone. Mwah-ha-haaa!”

“Gimme that scalpel,” Di ordered with a giggle. “Goodbye blond curls. Hel-LO bald head.”

Trixie sighed wearily as she examined her Ken doll. “I just can’t get his hair to turn red,” she complained. “Why don’t they make redheaded Ken dolls?”

Honey rolled her hazel eyes. “You and your red hair fetish. You’re really sick.”

“Can’t you just pretend that Ken’s hair is red?” Di asked as she scalped Surfer Ken.

Trixie shook her head mournfully. “I just can’t project my anger on a Ken that doesn’t have red hair. Don’t they make a ‘Ron Howard’ Ken or something?”

“His freckles came out pretty good, though,” Honey commented as she appraised Trixie’s handiwork with a brown eyeliner pencil.

“Why, yes. Yes, they did,” Trixie murmured, pleased with the realistic marks on “Jim’s” cheeks. “I even put some on his hands. See?”

“Wow, Trix,” Di said with a smile, “that does look good. Can I borrow that pencil?”

“Sure,” Trixie agreed with a shrug. “Why do you want it?”

Di held up Surfer Ken close to her eyes. “Mart hates his freckles, so I thought I’d give him a few thousand more,” she explained as she began her task.

“Do you like Brian’s jewelry?” Honey inquired, obviously pleased with her work as she held up the Ken for her friends to admire.

Trixie nodded in approval. “That tack makes a very nice nose ring, Honey.”

“Thank you,” Honey said sweetly. “I thought it would compliment all the tattoos I drew on his legs.”

“Oh! That gives me a great idea!” Trixie hopped up from the kitchen table and ran over to one of the drawers in the cabinets. After a bit of digging, she triumphantly held up two stickpins, both with pink heads.

“Let’s see how Jim looks with his ears pierced,” she giggled.

Di looked up and quirked an eyebrow. “Earrings, huh?” She immediately went over to the drawer and sifted through its contents until she pulled out two stickpins. “And bless my soul if they aren’t purple!” she exclaimed in delight.

“Do they have any yellow ones?” Honey questioned hopefully. “Before I melt Brian, I’d like to give him some earrings to accentuate the nose ring.”

“I didn’t see any yellow ones,” Di told her, “but I did see some red food coloring in there, Trix. Maybe that will color Jim’s hair. ‘Cause right now he looks more like Ben than Jim.”

Trixie wrinkled her nose. “As tempting as the thought of making a Ben voodoo doll is, I can only torture one man at a time, and today is Jim’s unlucky day. Besides, we already did that once.” She walked back over to the drawer and began looking through it. “So where’s that red food coloring…?”

2:51 A.M.

Honey yawned as she nestled onto the large recliner in the living room, her desecrated Ken/Brian doll tucked securely in her arms. “Is anyone else ready for bed?”

“Bed?” Trixie exclaimed, her face scrunched up in disgust. “Why, Honey Wheeler! It’s not even three o’clock in the morning. The night’s still young! Isn’t it, Di?”

Not hearing a reply, Trixie nudged her ebony-haired friend who was beside her on the couch. “Isn’t it, Di?” she repeated a bit louder, elbowing Diana in the arm.

“Huh?” Di sat upright and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “Did you say something, Trixie?”

Trixie rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. “What’s wrong with you two? We have at least two more good hours of giggling and gabbing ahead of us, and you slackers are falling asleep! Shame, shame!”

Di stretched and attempted to become more alert. “What’s on TV?”

Trixie reached over and grabbed the remote that she had laid on the coffee table earlier. “I dunno. Let’s see.” She flipped through the different stations, not seeing anything of interest on any of the Beldens’ 120 channels. Finally, a passing glimpse of Ewan McGregor caught her eye and Trixie ceased her flipping to gaze longingly at her favorite actor.

“Ewan,” she sighed dreamily, “oh, Ewan. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.”

“Hmmm,” Honey commented. “ ‘A Perplexing Existence’ must be on again. Oh, here comes the pool scene. Hel-lo, Tom!”

“I just love this part,” Di murmured as the Matthew McConaughey character entered the scene.

“I thought we didn’t want to watch this,” Trixie reminded them. “I can change the ch—“

“NO!” Honey and Di protested loudly.

“I mean, I don’t mind if you don’t mind,” Honey stammered.

“After all, there’s nothing else on,” Di added sheepishly.

Trixie merely shrugged and placed the remote back on the coffee table. “Fine with me.”

The girls sat in silence as they watched their favorite movie. As the characters portrayed by Ewan McGregor, Tom Welling, Matthew McConaughey, and Orlando Bloom went about doing honorable, responsible things, the girls’ minds went back to four certain young men, three in particular.

“I wonder what the boys are doing now,” Honey commented, her tone wistful.

“They’re probably snoozing in their sleeping bags,” Di replied. She smiled slightly as she thought about Mart curled up cozily.

“I hope they wake up and find themselves in a patch of poison ivy,” Trixie said with a scowl. “Well, I don’t know about you girls, but I don’t want to waste my time thinking about those losers.”

“I wonder if they’re not wasting their time not thinking about us,” Honey remarked, looking out the window at the softly falling rain.

“Humph!” Trixie snorted, tossing her curls in a flippant manner. “I could care less what they’re thinking about. As far as I’m concerned, Jim Frayne can… can…”

“Can have Dot Murray?” Di suggested.

Trixie’s cheeks grew red, and her china blue eyes closely resembled sapphire fireworks. She turned to face Diana, an angry expression on her face. Instead of speaking, she merely cleared her throat with a loud, “A-hem!”

Di contritely covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry,Trix. I forgot that that name wasn’t allowed to be uttered in this house.”

“That’s fine, Di, but don’t let it happen again.” Trixie attempted to smile. “However, that wasn’t exactly what I was going to say. As far as I’m concerned, Jim Frayne can find somebody else’s curls to tug. No matter how many fond glances he casts my way, I’m finished waiting for him.”

Emboldened by her friend’s passionate speech, Honey threw down her Brian/Ken doll. “You’re exactly right, Trixie. Why, there’re lots of boys I could’ve gone to the dance with! This is the last time I’ll ever sit around and wait for Brian Belden to invite me to some stupid event.”

“I’ll bet Peter Kimball would’ve been happy to come to Sleepyside and escort you to the Spring Fling,” Trixie announced. “Not to mention the hoards of boys in town that would simply die for an opportunity to ask the beauteous Madeleine G. Wheeler out on a date.”

Honey stood and gallantly bowed to her friend. “Why, thank you very much, Beatrix H. Belden. And I could say the same thing about you. I’d be willing to wager a large sum of money that the handsome Tad Webster would be ever so pleased to escort you to an extra-curricular activity.”

Trixie nodded. “Yes, Tad is nice…”

“And if you prefer tall, dark and handsome, I’m absolutely positive that a certain good-looking basketball player from Iowa would catch the quickest plane to New York for the chance to spend an evening basking in your beauty.”

“Why, you’re so very kind, dear Honey. Ned is rather cute,” Trixie gushed, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. Eager to remove the attention from herself, Trixie looked at Diana. “And who would be the first in line to go to the dance with the prettiest girl in all of Sleepyside?”

“Hmmm,” murmured Honey thoughtfully. “My guess would be the handsome, sullen artist. I’ve heard several rumors that the fine Nicholas Roberts is pining away for a certain violet-eyed friend of ours.”

“Ah, yes.” Trixie nodded her head knowingly. “Methinks you’re right, Honey. And what a wonderful match the creative Di and the artistic Nick would make.” She paused momentarily and looked at her ebony-haired friend. “So what you do think about that, Di? Shall we give Mr. Roberts a call in the morning and do some detective work?”

Di sighed sadly and shook her head slightly. “Nick’s a nice guy, but he’s not my type. I prefer someone with a sense of humor.”

“Bob Hubbell?” Honey suggested. Trixie snorted at that comment, making her honey-haired friend look up in surprise. “What?”

“Nothing,” Trixie replied. She covered her mouth to smother a giggle.

“What?” Honey repeated, a bit more pushy-sounding this time.

Trixie buried her face in her hands, failing miserably in her attempt to stop laughing. “Nothing.”

“WHAT?!” Honey demanded.

“Well, it’s just that I think Bob Hubbell might like boys better than girls,” Trixie stammered out in between giggles.

Both of her friends doubled over, intermittently laughing and shrieking. When she could speak, Honey gasped out, “You’ve got a good point there, Trix. Sorry, Di. As many admirers as you have, Bob probably isn’t one of them.”

“That’s okay, girls,” Di tittered. “Bob’s not my type either.”

“So what is your type?” Trixie queried.

“A sense of humor is a must,” Di answered. “And I prefer guys with blond hair.”

“You know, Ben’s coming in for a visit soon,” Honey informed her. “He still asks about you.”

Di shook her head. “Ben’s nice, but he’s not… my type. He’s not… Mart.”

“I’m sure there’s some sarcastic comment I could make right here, but seeing as how it’s late, I’ll have to take a rain check,” Trixie said with a yawn and a grin.

“Oh, c’mon, Di!” Honey prodded. “Wouldn’t it be fun if we all went on a triple date with Peter, Tad, and Ben? I’m sure we’d have loads of fun.”

Di shook her head adamantly. “I’m sorry, Honey. I know Ben’s your cousin, and he’s a nice guy, but he’s just not…”

“Normal?” Trixie interrupted.

“No,” Di giggled.

“Tolerable?” Trixie suggested with an impish grin.

“He’s just not Mart,” Di finished quickly, before Trixie could offer further opinions.

Trixie’s brows lowered as she thought carefully about what Diana had said. “And is not being Mart a good thing or a bad thing? Because right now, I’m at a loss over which is the lesser of two evils…”

Honey shook her head. “Mart’s not evil; Brian is evil.”

Trixie snorted. “No, Honey. Both Mart and Brian are evil; however, neither can compare to how evil Jim is.”

“What about Ben?” Honey asked tartly.

Trixie hooted with laughter. “Ben is the epitome of evil! Di, if my only two choices for a date were Mart and Ben, I think I’d find the nearest convent.”

“Ben’s not so bad,” Honey declared, although a bit unconvincingly. “Once you get past the childish pranks, the spoiled attitude, the condescending manner…”

“Yeah, Honey,” Trixie snickered. “Keep right on talking. You’ve just about talked Di into it.”

Di cast a disparaging glance at her curly-topped friend. “Ben really isn’t so bad once you get to know him, Trix. He’s just insecure, and his arrogant persona is all an act. If things were different, I’d probably go out with him.” After a labored pause, she whispered, “But the only boy I really care about is Mart.”

Immediately, the mood changed in the room. It wasn’t only what Diana said, but how she said it. The wistful look in her violet eyes perfectly mirrored the longing in Honey and Trixie’s hearts for Brian and Jim.

“And even as sweet as Peter is, he can’t compare to Brian,” Honey admitted in a soft voice. “Brian’s just perfectly perfect.”

Trixie nodded glumly, and after wiping a tear that had made its way down her cheek, she added, “And no matter how stupid he is, Jim’s still the most wonderful boy in the world. I hate him.”

“But not as much as I hate Brian,” Honey added.

“Well, I hate Mart the most,” Di argued.

In unity, the three girls sighed loudly. Trixie picked up the remote from the coffee table and snapped off the television.

“I need chocolate,” she announced.

“I vote we raid the fridge,” Honey proposed.

“I’m right behind you,” Diana added glumly.

3:32 A.M.

“Is there anything left?” Di asked as she watched Trixie rummage through the refrigerator.

“I’m sure I can find something,” Trixie assured her, handing Honey the large Tupperware bowl containing mashed potatoes.

A wicked grin appeared on Honey’s face. “Ladies, I have an idea…” She beckoned her two friends closer to her and whispered her diabolical plot in their ears.

Trixie, after hearing Honey’s idea, merely shook her head in wonder. After a labored pause, she turned to her honey-faired friend, a shocked expression on her face.

“Madeleine G. Wheeler, I must say that I never expected you, of all people, to think up such an evil scheme,” Trixie replied.

“Is it a bad idea?” Honey asked nervously.

“No, it’s perfectly perfect!” Trixie exclaimed with a maniacal giggle. “I love it! What about you, Di?”

“I’m just jealous that I didn’t think of it first,” Di tittered. “But are you sure you want to do this, Trixie? You’re mad at Jim, not Mart and Brian.”

“Oh, pshaw!” Trixie chortled. “I’m always up for torturing my dopey brothers. They deserve whatever evil we bestow upon them. We’ll get Jim next time.”

“If you’re sure…” Honey said with a mischievous smile as she readied their supplies.

4:53 A.M.

After participating in Honey’s diabolical plot, the girls had fallen asleep in the living room. Trixie snoozed on the floor in front of the fireplace, a blanket wrapped around her. Honey was snuggled up on the loveseat, the mutilated Ken doll secure in her arms. Having chosen the longest straw, Di got the plum spot on the couch.

The faint clicking of the front door made the three girls bolt awake. Just as they opened their mouths to scream, a tanned hand with long, skillful fingers turned on a lamp by the door.

“Brian!” Trixie sputtered indignantly as she shielded her eyes from the bright light. “What’re you doing here?”

“Trixie!” Brian, startled from the unexpected sound of his sister’s voice, jumped backward and, in the ensuing chaos, slammed against his younger brother.

“Watch out!” Mart yelled, pushing Brian out of the entryway. “We’re getting wet out here!”

Brian ignored his brother’s urging, and calmly removed his wet boots and windbreaker. Mart, anxious to get inside the warm house, climbed over him and stood on the carpet as rainwater dripped from his soaked clothes.

“Dude, you’re flooding your mom’s house,” Dan scolded, taking Brian’s spot as he moved aside. “Take off the wet clothes before we need to build an ark.”

“Fine,” Mart snorted, still unaware of his audience. He hurriedly removed his jacket and began unzipping his jeans.

“Stop!” Trixie screamed. Though her eyes had adjusted to the light, she kept them shielded, fearing she may see more of Mart than she wanted.

“What the—?” Mart yelped as he fumbled to re-zip his Levi’s®.

Dan, who had already pulled his tight-fitting black jeans down a bit, got twisted up in the waistband and fell to the floor in his haste to pull them back up. Dan’s wiggling ankles banged against Mart, knocking him off balance, and Mart collapsed on top of his friend.

Jim, who had already removed his wet coat, shoes, and shirt outside, poked his red head through the entryway. After casting a disparaging glance at the two clowns, he calmly stepped over them and asked, “What’s wrong with you two?”

Brian smiled as he watched his best friend fumble with the button of his jeans. Before Jim could pull down the wet denim pants, Brian pointed to the seating area of the living room. “We have an audience.”

“Good grief!” Jim cried, carefully re-buttoning his pants before the waistband slipped down past his treasure trail. “Trixie, what’re you doing down here?”

Trixie glared at him, the coldness in her blue eyes icy enough to convince the devil to don a snowsuit. “We’re having a slumber party,” she informed him.

The boys looked around the room and spied Honey and Diana, neither of them appearing any friendlier than Trixie. Mart and Dan had managed to stand upright and redress without exposing too much of themselves, thanks to Brian and Jim’s careful shielding.

“What are you doing here?” Trixie asked, not looking as if she really cared. “I thought you were having your little… campout.”

“It’s too rainy,” Brian explained. “We tried to stick it out, but the wind just about blew away our tent. We decided to come home.”

“Pity,” Trixie murmured with an indignant toss of her sandy curls.

“What a shame,” Honey yawned.

“A travesty, really,” Di muttered with a roll of her violet eyes.

“Is something wrong?” Jim asked nervously. “You girls seem a bit… on edge.”

“We’re fine,” Trixie snapped, her nose wrinkled as she looked at Jim.

“Perfectly perfect,” Honey added crisply, her hazel eyes shooting daggers at Brian.

“Just peachy,” Di said as she glared at Mart, who was raking a hand through his short blond curls in an effort to dry them.

Mart shrugged his shoulders, oblivious to the girls’ anger. “We weren’t having a good time anyway.”

“That’s the truth,” Dan agreed with a snort. “These bozos worried the entire time. They wouldn’t let me have any fun.”

Honey, the most tenderhearted of the girls, asked, “Why were you worried?”

Brian, Mart and Jim shuffled around nervously, but Dan quickly stepped in with an answer. “Aw, they were worried that you were sore at them for skipping the dance. Before it started raining, they talked about coming home to see if you wanted to go, but I convinced them not to.”

The indignant expression melted off of Trixie’s face and was replaced by one of surprise. “You did?”

Dan nodded. “Yeah. Di told me you girls weren’t even sure if you wanted to go to the dance. I told the guys that if they invited you, you might feel obligated. And since I didn’t want to go to this shindig, I convinced them to go camping instead.”

“You did?” Honey clarified, her light brown brows raised in shock.

“Yep, I sure did,” Dan declared proudly, unaware that he had done a very bad thing. “Like I said, they almost backed out at the last minute, but I hid the keys to Brian’s jalopy. I knew you all would be upset if they showed up at the last minute and guilted you into going to the dance with them.”

“You did?” Di violet eyes blazed as she glared at Dan.

Dan nodded again, still having not figured out that he was in deep trouble. At this precise moment, his situation was more precarious than it had ever been during his gang days. He had no inkling that at this very moment he was in danger of losing life, limb, and/or any possible future generations of Mangans. “Indeed I did.”

“Why, Danny, I don’t know how we’ll ever be able to thank you,” Trixie managed to say through clenched teeth.

“It was nothing,” Dan crowed, as he cast an arrogant glance in his friends’ direction. “I’d do anything to help my three favorite girls.”

Jim tenuously walked over to the fireplace where Trixie was laying. “So you’re sure you’re not mad at me, Shamus?” he inquired, his emerald green eyes shimmering with worry. “I was afraid that you’d be disappointed that I didn’t ask you. I really wanted to, though.”

Trixie blushed to the roots of her sandy blonde curls. “Oh, I could never be mad at you, Jim. But if I had gone, there’s nobody I would’ve rather gone with…”

Likewise, Brian walked over to the loveseat and leaned over to lift Honey’s chin so that her hazel eyes met his brown ones. “Are you mad, Hon? Because I would’ve gladly taken you to that dance, if you’d wanted to go.”

Honey giggled in a charming manner. “Oh Brian, don’t be silly. You boys need time by yourselves, and who wants to go to a stupid dance anyway? Although if I did go, I’d want you to take me…”

Meanwhile, Mart had approached the couch and knelt down to talk to Diana. “You’re not sore at me, are you, Di? I really wanted to ask you to go to the dance with me. In fact, I had an invitation all planned out when Dan convinced me that you didn’t want to go.”

Di smiled her loveliest smile and batted her long eyelashes in her most beguiling manner. “Of course I’m not mad, Mart. We had such a fun evening here, and I wasn’t really in the mood to get all dressed up. But if you had asked me, I would’ve been proud to have you for an escort…”

“See, I told you they didn’t want to go,” Dan announced. “And you guys were worried that they’d be sitting around moping.”

The girls giggled nervously.

“Us? Mope?” Trixie questioned in an amused tone. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh, I knew you girls wouldn’t be moping,” Dan told her with a grin. “I was actually more worried about Trixie retaliating in some evil way.”

“Danny, I can promise you that Trixie didn’t think up a single plan of revenge,” Honey answered, an innocent smile on her face.

“Ah, that’s my girls,” Dan said, giving each of them a wink. “I may not be able to identify every tree in the woods, or diagnose mysterious illnesses, or recite Shakespeare, but I know women. And I knew you girls wouldn’t act like a bunch of drama queens.”

Di feigned a look of surprised horror. “Us? Act like drama queens? Surely you jest, Daniel.”

“So these three nitwits worried for nothing,” Dan chuckled as he nodded at his friends. “Well, I’m tired, so if you three worrywarts will excuse me, I’m going to get out of these wet clothes, steal some of Mart’s sweats, and climb into his warm, cozy bed before he can. See ya in the morning.”

“Wh—” Mart began, but before he could finish a slender hand had covered his mouth. Another hand gripped the neck of his wet T-shirt and kept him beside the couch.

“Good night, Dan,” Di replied sweetly. She kept her hand clamped firmly over Mart’s mouth.

“Sweet dreams,” Trixie instructed, a congenial smile on her face. She grabbed Jim’s arm with one sturdy hand and kept him by her side.

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Honey added with a giggle as she grasped Brian’s hand, prohibiting him from leaving.

Once Dan was out of sight and Di’s hand was removed from his mouth, Mart turned around and looked at Diana inquisitively. “Hey! Why didn’t you let me stop him? He’s going to steal my bed.”

“That might not be a bad thing, Mart,” Di said, struggling to keep a straight face.

“And Brian, you might want to change your sheets before you get into bed,” Honey instructed, a faint blush on her cheeks. “But wait until Dan’s already in bed, please.”

“And Jim, it’s a good thing that I don’t have access to your sleeping quarters,” Trixie said with a giggle.

Brian, Jim and Mart looked at each other, hoping one of them could offer a clue to the girls’ mysterious babbling. However, since each one of them wore the same stupefied expression, they remained clueless.

“We’d better go upstairs now,” Brian said, reluctantly releasing Honey’s hand. “We’ll see you girls in the morning.”

“Night, Shamus,” Jim whispered as he gently tugged his favorite curl.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow, but I must bid thee adieu, fair Diana,” Mart declared as he looked at the raven-haired girl tenderly.

The girls watched as Brian, Jim and Mart climbed the stairs leading to the second story of the house.

“Jim really is the most wonderful boy in the world,” Trixie sighed dreamily after he was out of hearing range.

“Jim may be wonderful, but Brian’s perfect,” Honey gushed, a wistful smile on her face. “Perfectly perfect.”

“Well, in my candied opinion,” Di replied with a wink, “Mart’s the most wonderful and perfect of them all.”

The three girls closed their eyes and snuggled under their blankets. Before they could go back to sleep, however, a blood-curdling scream rang through the upstairs, followed by Jim, Mart and Brian’s laughter.

“I think Dan just found the mashed potatoes in Mart’s bed,” Trixie giggled.

“Serves him right,” Honey said with a yawn.

“And he should be thankful we forgot the cold, congealed gravy,” Di added, a happy smile on her pretty face.

Exhausted from their traumatic adventures, the three teenage drama queens closed their eyes and fell asleep, each one dreaming of their respective princes.

Credits:

Thank you again to the Queen of Fanfic, CathyP, for keeping the dream of Jixemitri alive. I can’t tell you how honored I am to be a Jix Author. It’s an honor and a privilege, one I don’t take lightly.

Thank you to all the readers who have commented about my story, whether by e-mail or by posting on the Jix Message Board. You’ll never know how much each and every comment has meant to me this past year. I’m the kind of author who thrives on positive feedback, and each of you have inspired me to keep on writing!

Thank you to my fabulous editors, Steph H, Kathy, and Kaye. Not only do I depend on your editing expertise, I depend on your friendship. Each of you has a special place in my heart. You’re not only trusted grammar coaches, you are special friends! {{{HUGS}}}

I greatly enjoyed my slumber party days, and I wanted to relive them, if even for a little bit. And after writing this, I really want to go to another one.

For the record, it is very comfortable to lie on the floor with your feet propped up on the bed. *G*

I ‘dore Peter Belden. Can’t you tell? =D There’s nothing more attractive than a handsome man with a sense of humor. I base Peter on my own hubby because I see him being very funny. Any man who is not afraid to play in the rain HAS to have an awesome sense of humor.

I have no proof that Andrew Belden was actually the honorable one, Peter Belden was the charming one, and Harold Belden was the ambitious one, but that’s how they are in MY universe.

The fact of Peter Belden’s hotness has been disputed by Trixie often in this universe. *shaking head sadly* She just can’t admit that her dad is F-I-N-E! *wink*

Kaye kindly provided the French translation for “my little chickadees”, but I decided that Trixie wouldn’t learn that phrase on the Travel Channel. But in case you’re interested, it’s: “mes petits chickadees”. So now you know. J

Strawberry Blast is my name for Trixie’s favorite beverage. And yes, Trixie’s comment about drinking as much as she wants when she’s a grown up is a blatant reference to my Glimpses into the Future story, “Wasted Away in Strawberry Pop-ville”.

Yes, I’m ashamed to admit that once I did drink pickle juice at a slumber party. It seemed like a good idea at the time…

“A Perplexing Existence” is a movie of my own creation, and it is a running gag throughout my present and future universe. It stars Ewan McGregor, Tom Welling, Matthew McConaughey, and Orlando Bloom. Any similarity to those men and the male Bob-Whites is extremely intentional.

“Bitter Analogies” is another Cameo creation. I wouldn’t recommend it. It sounds like a real bummer. *G*

“Top 40 Greatest Love Songs” is my own creation. And so is Kyle Deveroux. I couldn’t think of anybody real that I wanted to make fun of.

“Gidget” is a famous series of movies in the sixties. (They were made in the 60’s, right?)

Kyle Deveroux may be imaginary; however, They Might Be Giants is a very real band. They write and perform extremely funny songs, and I am in awe of their talent. Their songs are right up my alley… they’re silly, different, and very nonsensical at times. Hey, anyone who can write a song about a thermostat, a nightlight, and a letterbox is a genius. J This story was originally titled, “Twistin’ in the Wind“, but I found out there is a country song by that title. And since my hatred for country music is infamous, I HAD to change the title. *VEG*

Transforming Ken into a voodoo doll may be an autobiographical account, but I’ve chosen to plead the Fifth. And even if that was based on real-life, it wasn’t MY ex-boyfriend who we wanted to torture. But it might have been my idea… =D

Barbie and Ken are Mattel products. And no, they never made a Ron Howard Ken, much to Steph H’s chagrin. However, Rachel does have surfer Ken, and he does look a lot like Mart. In fact, when she plays Trixie, he is cast as the middle Belden boy. Jim is actually played by a redheaded GI Joe doll. His legs are kind of wonky, but he’s quite supple. *VEG*

Peter Kimball, Tad Webster, Ned Shultz, Ben Riker and Bob Hubbell are all characters the Bob-Whites have met. They are the property of RH.

Tupperware© makes fabulous products for storing leftovers. I wish I could afford them. I have the lovely Gladware® collection. Not nearly as durable…

Levi’s® are an actual brand of jeans, and according to “The Gumshoes” story, they are Mart’s brand of choice.

The line about “future generations of Mangans” was kindly provided by the lovely Kathy (Kayrenee). I thought it was so funny that I swiped it (I had her permission, of course!). I wanted to be sure and give her the credit for that stroke of genius.

And a story wouldn’t be complete without a bit of curl tugging and fond glances. =D Hope all you Jim and Trixie fans enjoyed that.

And last, but certainly not least, please go to the Bloopers Page to check out the outtakes from this story. I was working on these right up until the last minute. Frankly, I wasn’t feeling very funny at the time, so I hope they don’t bomb.