My Milkshake Brings All The Boys To The Yard

Billie Joe was sulking. Last week, he’d realised that he had no money, not really. His mum wouldn’t give him any, apparently, as he was fourteen, he was perfectly capable of earning his pocket money. Fuck that, he thought, I’ll earn money with no patronising help from her. And so he’d set up a home-made lemonade stall, in the front yard.

It had been going really well, he’d gotten more than the pittance that his mum would have given him for washing the dishes, and he was having fun, too! But then, that Tré kid three houses down decided that it was a good scheme. He’d started a milkshake stall, with all different flavours.

That was yesterday, and today Billie Joe had been sitting for an hour, at least, with no customers. He could see Tré’s stall. Tré had customers. Billie Joe carried on sulking. He could see Tré keep looking at him.

“What kind of a name to call yourself is Tré?” He mumbled to himself, annoyed. “We all know damn well his real name is Frank. And why is he looking at me?”

Just then, as the customer went away with their milkshake, Tré went into his house. Billie Joe sighed, happily. Maybe he’d gone for lunch. But then Tré came back outside with a CD player. Billie Joe was openly watching now, as curious as he was pissed off.

The music that came out of the speakers caused Billie Joe to snort in shocked amazement. He couldn’t believe that Tré was that arrogant. Or that he had that song on CD.

“My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and they’re like, it’s better than yours! Damn right, its better than yours, I could teach you but I’d have to charge!”

He could barely believe his eyes and ears. Tré was doing a weird little dance. He did not believe this guy. He stood up to go over, knocking his chair over in the process.

When he got to where Tré was dancing, right next to his stall, the guy stopped dancing. He grinned; he had a really funny grin. Billie Joe just scowled; he didn’t have a particularly funny scowl.

“Ah! Billie Joe! I’ve been wondering when you would get your ass over here!” He picked up a glass of pink milkshake with a post-it-note on it that said ‘BJ’, “I wanted to give you your free strawberry milkshake.”

He handed Billie Joe the milkshake. Billie Joe took it, and asked Tré why the hell he had been dancing. The reply was that even if milkshake brought all the boys to the yard, it didn’t seem to attract Billie Joe. Or BJ, as Tré kept calling him.

“Why did you need to give me a strawberry milkshake?” Billie Joe asked, he still didn’t get this, “I mean… why?”

“Dunno,” Shrugged the other teenager, who had turned the CD player off, “You look like a strawberry kind of guy.”

Billie Joe decided that his neighbour was not only annoying but very weird. He giggled anyway. Tré was a funny guy, even if he was annoying. But why did he need to give Billie Joe a milkshake so bad?

Billie Joe put his milkshake on the table, and was about to ask Tré that very question. But he had lowered his eyes to put the drink down, and as he looked up, Tré kissed him out of the blue. He closed his eyes momentarily; before he had a chance to respond by either kissing back or pushing Tré away, the milkshake maker had pulled away anyway.

Billie Joe was blushing, and Tré was too. He was startled, and thought that Tré looked embarrassed. He barely knew what to say.

“Why… what…” Unchecked emotions bubbled in Billie Joe’s stomach, “Why did you do that?”

“Dunno,” grinned Tré, “I guess I’m a strawberry kind of guy too.”