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It happened very slowly, and then all at once.
Bertha and Prudence were the first and only friends Lydia ever made in Peaceful Pines, excepting Beetlejuice of course, but he was so deeply ingrained in her life that thinking of him in the same terms as them was beyond her.
The girl had always had a difficult time making and keeping friends. She was the weirdo with a dead mom who dressed like a depressed psycho even though her father made a six-figure salary. Why would anyone want to hang out with her? The world was cold to her and so she was cold back, cutting herself away from the possibility of social interaction when possible and dispelling those who might have had the foolish thought of getting close with savage wit and brutal sarcasm.
Those were the things that Bertha turned out to like about her best. They were fast friends. Countless elementary school nights were spent camping out in the dusty old attic, telling giggling, gasping ghost tales, and filtering through the deceased Mr. and Mrs. Maitland's belongings. Bertha and everyone else in town thought they killed themselves. Lydia didn't think so‒ but that investigation and how it led to her meeting Beetlejuice was a story for another day.
Prudence was the last strange and unusual girl in their trio to move to Peaceful Pines. She and Lydia didn't immediately get off on the right foot, but Bertha adored her from day one, and Lydia loved Bertha, so they made it work. Prudence thought that Lydia's style was over the top, her methods idealistic and childish. Lydia thought that Prudence was a stick in the mud buzzkill that must have been somehow distantly related to Miss Shannon.
These were the opinions neither of them voiced out loud.
Of course, they thought good things about one another too. Without Lydia to stand up to Claire for them whenever the blonde came antagonizing, Prudence never would have developed the confidence she would need to eventually survive high school. Without Prudence's strict diligence on study nights, Lydia wouldn't have had the grades.
She wasn't sure exactly how or when it happened, but one day, they couldn't make it work anymore. A large part of her blamed herself, told her that if she hadn't blown them off so many times to hang out with Beetlejuice that this never would have happened. An even larger part knew that wasn't true. This was a long time coming.
From the very beginning, theirs was an arrangement of mutual convenience. If Bertha could have sat next to anyone else at the lunch table all those years ago, wouldn't she have? Besides, they started it. Before Beetlejuice was ever a thought in her head, they had already begun cutting her out.
It happened in baby steps; a missed invitation to a sleepover, forgotten birthday well-wishes, and the ever-depleting well of patience they kept for one another. Snapping over small, petty things and awkward silences became commonplace when they were all together in the same room. They were still good to each other on the surface from an outside perspective. After all, if Claire sensed discord among the ranks, she and her cronies would have honed in on it to hurt one or each of them. Their common enemy bound them together, but Claire had the consistency of Elmer's glue.
Suddenly, hanging out with them wasn't fun anymore. Really, it hadn't been for a long time, but Lydia was so in love with the idea of having close girlfriends that she was blind to that they didn't actually like her.
"Lil bitches," Beetlejuice would grumble to her after their falling out, as Lydia sobbed heartbroken tears into his jacket. "Yer too good for 'em, Lyds. Always have been. They know it too."
He was smart and Lydia trusted his judgment but also knew he was a filthy liar that would say anything to make her feel better. It all just hurt so much. For so long, Lydia had entertained the kind of ridiculous thoughts middle school girls were prone to‒ that they would go to prom together, get married together, have babies at the same time that would be best friends and grow up and marry each other too and all three of them and their families would live happily ever after, Beetlejuice haunting them all the while.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Ironically enough, Claire was the catalyst for all this destruction. Lydia was the object of her ire that day, as she so often seemed to be. Prudence and Bertha were fun to bully, sure, but the blonde had a discernible hard-on for torturing the goth third wheel.
"Nice hairpin, Lydia. Did you, like, dig it out of your garden?"
Claire had a way of saying her name that made Lydia want to change it to something else. Then again, everything Claire said sounded ugly. The hairpin she wore was a third-anniversary gift from BJ, a lovely little silver beetle with jade wings. Bertha and Prudence had both commented negatively on it in passing, but Lydia thought it was beautiful and that's all that mattered. She was prepared to brush this jab off as well, snap back at Claire with something quick and dismissive formulating right at the tip of her tongue, but as she turned to do so, the comeback died.
There. At the corner of Bertha's lips, she saw it before the tall, gangly girl could wipe it away. A smirk. Bertha was amused. She thought Claire was being very funny. Lydia's cheeks flushed dark with shame at the revelation, stomach curdling into knots. Claire kept talking, but Lydia couldn't fathom the words anymore, cruel thoughts running a mile a minute through her head. That small twitch of muscles on her friend's face was bringing her world crashing down around her.
No one followed after as she burst from the room, tears streaming in a hot rush down her face while she searched desperately for the closest hiding place. No one could see her like this. A janitorial closet is where Beetlejuice found her when she didn't meet him at her bike according to their routine. It was hours before he could get her to spill what was wrong, and only after plying her with eye-scream and bad horror movies and his absolute worst jokes.
"Bertha doesn't like me anymore." It came small and broken, barely audible as if a sharp blade plunged deeper into her gut with each damning syllable.
Beetlejuice blinked. Then scowled.
"Lyds, what're ya talkin' about? She never liked you!"
This was the wrong thing to say. The constant flow of tears the hapless ghoul had worked tirelessly to stem burst open again and he about ripped fistfuls of his hair out in frustration.
"NO! No! Stop that! That's not what I meant! I mean‒ fuck, Lyds."
The whimpering paused. Her eyes grew larger. Of course, she knew BJ had a creative vocabulary, but he usually made it a point to never break out words like that around her.
"Burp n' Prune… they're never gonna like you. They'll use ya, sure, cause you've got everything they don't. Yer gorgeous, n' kind, n' brave, n' talented, n' smart… Maybe if I was a nicer guy, I could admit that either o' those girls got one or two o' those things, but Lyds… You've got it all. Yer too much for 'em, babes."
Lydia was struck dumb. Beetlejuice usually disguised his flattery behind gross humor and wisecracks. Never before had he so candidly praised her virtuous qualities. The persistent growl of anger in his tone kept her from poking holes the way she wanted to. He kept on when she remained silent.
"Ya ever wonder why I don't rub elbows with more ghouls that're... y'know... like me? Course, I'm the ghost with the most, ain't nobody exactly like me, but I ain't the only prick with some tricks up my sleeve, ya get me?"
Actually, Lydia had chalked up his lack of friends to… well. Everything else about him that would push away potential friends, but remained silent to listen to his self-assessment.
"S'cause any o' those two-bit chumps would look like kibble next to me. Just like how everywhere you went with bucktooth and four-eyes, all eyes were on you."
Lydia may not have noticed this, but Beetlejuice did. All too well. He was never not aware of eyes on his babes.
"C'mon, babes. Don't ya see it? S'obvious. Claire always picks on you. Yer bitch teacher always puts you in charge o' projects. Who's that lil' boy Burp was crushin' on again? Weren't you the one that turned him down when he came sniffin'?"
The things he had to say pulled her in different directions. Lydia wasn't one to think ill of her friends… but were they her friends?
"I'm not…" she sniffled, wiping her splotchy face on an already tear-dampened poncho. "I'm not better than them."
A deep, rumbling sigh left him. He didn't hesitate to sweep her into his arms and settle back on the couch, Lydia cuddled up tight.
"You are. You even thinkin' that says ya are."
"Beej?" It came quietly minutes later when her tears finally… finally… stopped for good.
"Yeah, babes?"
"You're my best friend." There was a nervous beat. "And I love you."
As sweet as Lydia was, this was the first time she had been brave enough to voice her deep affection for him. He was touched further that she could find such strength in herself to do so at such a weak moment. Moved to his core, what could the coward do but return the favor?
"Love ya too, kid."