Poseur #4: All That Glitters Is Not Gucci by Rachel Maude Page B

in a bad mood ‘cause your
     stinky-ass va-jay-jay’s stuck inside a flipper? Well, you can chillax, baby girl! Prince Eric saves you in the end and then
     you get to go on land and trade in your seashell bra (which I’m sure you fill in nicely by the way) for one of your hideously
     moronic t-shirts.
    Say hi to your crab(s) for me!!
    Love,
    Miss Divalish to You
    Melissa hit send. Then she read her e-mail over, cackling aloud at every jab. Well, that was that. She closed her Mac and
     took her biology book out of her pink Juicy tote to do some real work. But when she tried to read a page of bio,she failed miserably. She stared at a diagram of the stages of mitosis, but fluorescent Satan’s crooked smile was all she
     could see. Melissa couldn’t handle it. She had to know if he’d responded. Melissa popped open the computer once again, and
     sure enough, he had already replied.
    Dear John Mayer lover,
    Uh, yeah. You need therapy.
    Ariel
    Melissa clicked the reply button.
    I need therapy? This from a dude who considers making fun of mentally ill homeless ladies the epitome of a good time?
    Send. Melissa drummed her tan hands on the gold-trimmed princess desk, jaw clenched. Then she hit refresh. Nothing. Then she
     hit refresh again. Nothing. Then the response came:
    You’re right. You’re obviously too cracked-out crazy for therapy. Maybe you’d like to be featured on our next t-shirt?
    “Eew, sick!” called a voice from the doorway. “I thinkthis milk has gone bad.” Melissa turned to see Marco holding a quart of buttermilk in one massive mitt and a bag of Pirate’s
     Booty in the other.
    “Marco, that’s buttermilk!” Melissa scolded, slamming her computer shut again. “You are not supposed to drink that. It’s for
     Emilio Poochie! I give it to him as a treat when he’s good.”
    Marco ambled toward the princess desk, slow and sultry, trying his best to smolder, and knelt down in front of Melissa so
     they were face-to-face. “And what treat do I get when I’m good?”
    “Marco Duvall,” Melissa chided, “I do not walk onto the basketball court while you are in the middle of a game and try to
     get sexy with you, do I?”
    “No,” Marco replied with a sly smile, “but I wish you would.”
    “This!” Melissa continued, motioning to the space around her executive desk with her tan, smooth hands, “is
my
basketball court. I’ll let you know when it’s halftime.” As Melissa huffed and puffed, her perky double D’s jiggled and bounced
     inches from Marco’s still-smiling face. Well, that was something at least….
    She had told him long ago that she was “waiting for marriage,” and Marco respected her for that. He could wait. But weren’t
     there, ya know, other things they could do to pass the time till then? They’d been dating for four months, afterall. Marco was one of the best athletes at Winston Prep, but when it came to Melissa, he had yet to round second base.
    Marco sighed. “Kiss?”
    Melissa leaned forward so he could see straight down her V-neck to her black lace La Perla push-up bra and planted a quick
     peck on his lips. Marco rose, placated for the moment, and headed back to his nest on the overstuffed bed with his Pirate’s
     Booty and buttermilk. He unpaused the Tivo.
    “Li-ssa!” sang an approaching voice from the white marble staircase. “I got good ne-ews!” Seedy Moon appeared in the doorway
     beaming.
    “Yo, Mr. Moon, how goes it?” asked Marco.
    Seedy’s smile dissolved at the sight of Marco and his buttermilk mustache reclining against his daughter’s ornate cream and
     gold Louis XVI headboard. “Whattup, Cafeteria,” he muttered, before turning back to Melissa. “I said I have good news, baby.”
    “What is it, Dad?” sighed Melissa. “I am really busy right now.”
    “Well, you’re gonna want to hear this, trust me. I paid a little visit to Lena today, and with some excellent acting if I
     do say so myself, I managed to convince her to become