Bonfire Boys

"Jesus Christ, Lyla, what is that hideous thing on your wall?"

15-year-old Lyla Byrne looked up from the holiday essay she was planning and glared up at the amused face that belonged to her erratic and completely mad father.

"That, old father," Lyla mused, "is a poster of Harry Louie, the lead singer of Bonfire Boys. He's not as much of a thing as you are."

"Bonfire Boys?" dad grinned, "What do they do, hold hands and sing around the campfire?"

Lyla violently dotted an "i" on her essay, nearly puncturing a hole into her paper, "no, dad. They are a world-famous band who does professional recordings in a professional studio."

"Don't you get all professional with me," dad snorted, "our home studio in the basement is as good as any professional recording studio. With your great voice we can record anything professionally and sell it for large sums of mon-ey. Without your perfect singing genes, you'll have an itchy scratchy voice like mine."

"Genes provide raw talent," Lyla said, "I want to develop my talent by singing with the stars."

"You mean you want to sing with this Harry Louie," dad pointed out sharply. Lyla snarled and stuck her tongue out, dad continued, "How old is this kid? 15? 16?"

"17," Lyla interrupted, "an age that you'd want to be at, right dad? Too bad you're not that age."

Dad threw a hefty punch on Lyla's arm, which seemed to have absolutely no effect on her. She shook her head, grinning, and turned back to scribbling on her essay plan. Dad remained where he is, leaning against the closed door, waiting.

After some minutes of silence, Lyla looked up at dad and frowned for a while when dad grinned. It was some time before the light dawned on her.

"You didn't come up here to criticise my Harry Louie poster, did you?" she drawled, turning her swivel chair around to face him.

"Nope, not really," he shrugged, "I never even knew this picture of the hideous monster was up here in the first place."

Lyla's dark brown eyes narrowed at her father, waiting for whatever he came up for.

"Well," dad began, fiddling with the door handle, "you know how you've always wanted a dachshund puppy?"

Lyla's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened, "NO WAY!"

Dad grinned and opened Lyla's bedroom door. In bounded a tiny little black Dachshund puppy. Its soft brown eyes gazed intently into Lyla's eyes before happily yapping and scrambled to her feet, licking her toes.

"Thank you so much, dad!" Lyla cried, leaping off her chair and hugging her dad around the waist. The little puppy danced, excited, around her feet.

"Not so old now, am I?" Dad mumbled, pushing Lyla off him, "give the little fella a nice name now, okay?"

"Bonfire!" Lyla gasped, eyes lighting up, "after the-"

"Just..." Dad interrupted, holding a hand up, "take good care of him. The pound wasn't very keen on him."

"I don't see why they shouldn't though!" Lyla cooed, lifting Bonfire up to her chest, "he's the cutest thing ever."

"He sure is," Dad said, "be careful though, we still need to get him checked out for rabies and lice and that sort of thing."

"Sure, sure," Lyla replied simply, before cuddling the little puppy.

"And, little Bonfire here is a small gift from me to you," dad said, scratching his head awkwardly, "because of... you know."

"Dad, I already told you," Lyla said impatiently, "I'm alright with it. Mom's death was over five years ago. If marrying again makes you happy dad, I'm happy too."

"Lyla, what do you really think of Gwen?" Dad asked sternly.

"She's a great cook," Lyla noted, scratching Bonfire's chin, "and she sings like an Angel. The recording studio isn't a complete waste after all."

"Good, so you like her personality," Dad recited, "do you like her as a person?"

"DAD! I've already told you this over 5 times; do I have to repeat exactly what I've already said before?" Lyla exclaimed, "well here goes: Gwen, to me, is a brilliant person to be a mom. She has most qualities that every child and husband will need. I, personally, already see Gwendolyn O'Doyle as the perfect mother for me, and the perfect wife for you. There. Happy? Please stop asking me."

"Good," Dad said, smiling, "you have convinced me."

"I have indeed," Lyla said, triumphant.

"Which means I can take little Bonfire back now, since you don't need a 'sorry gift'," Dad grinned.

"I hate Gwen and if you ever let her go into that studio of ours I will kill you," Lyla said quickly, clutching the alarmed puppy to her chest, "she cooks the most disgusting food ever and sings like an old witch!"

"Okay, keep the dog, just..." Dad said hastily, before Lyla began to laugh white Bonfire barked.

"I'm joking, dad," Lyla smiled, "I love Gwen, she's the best person ever and you're lucky to have her as your wife."

"Ha, Lyla," Dad said, "You always know when to stop a joke, don't you."

"Yes I do," Lyla said haughtily, before making stupid noises at Bonfire to make him whine and bark in excitement.

"You'd better calm that puppy down," Dad added, "I believe that Georgina is here to see you. That's her right there isn't it? It's so easy to recognise her; with her skirt so short I can even see her frilly pan-"

"Yes, dad, thank you. It's her," Lyla said loudly, as she pushed past her father to look out the window. A Chinese girl with wispy long black hair wearing a tube top with an immensely short skirt was skipping up to Lyla's bungalow.

"Ah, Gwen's gonna freak," Dad sighed, "under-dressed girls like Georgina aren't exactly Gwen's favourite."

"Oh, there's someone at the back door," came a sweet voice from the living room, "I'll go get it!"

"Ah shit," Lyla cursed, little Bonfire jumped up at the sudden rise of volume, "Gina walks too fast!!"

Dad grinned smugly as Lyla dashed clumsily out the door, with her new puppy following suit. Impatient mayday-like knocks sounded, and the sound echoed down the bungalow where Lyla was sprinting to the reception area as fast as she could.

"Coming," came Gwen's clear, calm voice, "just hold on."

"NO!!" Lyla hollered, thundering into the reception area and barricading Gwen's way to the main door by slamming herself against the wooden rusty door, "I'll get-"

The rusty hinges gave way, and the rotting wood back door (which was never used) cracked under Lyla's sudden collision into it. Before either Lyla or Gwen could even utter another word, the whole door collapsed. A large grey cloud of dust gathered around Lyla, who coughed and tried to fan it away.

When the dust settled, there stood Gina splattered with heavy make-up and wearing an outfit that practically screamed 'slut'.

"Hello Lyla!" she yelled happily as Lyla bit her lip and looked up at Gwen with a helpless, apologetic half-smile on her dusty face.