Starch: The Desperate Teen Matchmaker

By Lew Moll

Jeff, a.k.a. Starch, has problems. His Aunt Lucy has come for a visit because his mom is ill and he’s forced to bunk with his nerdy younger brother, whom she favors. He also has a crush on his best friend’s sister, but his insecurities prevent him from seeing that she may be attracted to him too. His problems escalate big time when he learns that his mom will need a kidney transplant. Adding to his fears is the fact that his father once dated Aunt Lucy. That sends his imagination into overdrive. Horror of horrors. If his mom can’t find a donor kidney, Aunt Lucy could possibly end up being his stepmother! Anxious to prevent that from ever happening, Starch tries to match his aunt with his history teacher.

When his matchmaking appears to fail, he becomes even more desperate and answers an ad in the Personals Column of the town newspaper and signs his aunt’s name. And that act of desperation brings comic results that he never expected.

978-1-59431-755-2 Young Adult / Teen / Romance

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Chapter 1

The early morning sun streaming through the bedroom window nearly blinded me. I blinked my bleary eyes, groped for my jeans, and grunted grumpily. I'd gotten up on the wrong side of the bed again. Wrong because it belonged to my younger brother, who lay twisted like a stale pretzel beneath the blankets. "Get up, Melvin!" I yelled.

When the little nerd showed no signs of life, I picked up my pillow and whacked him on his spindly legs.

Melvin let out a loud snort and the bed rocked. He must have thought he was back in the cradle again, for his eyes never even blinked open.

I gave up. Let the nerd be late for school! I was tired of being my brother's alarm clock.

Checking the time, I groaned and dressed more slowly than if I were going to the dentist to have a tooth yanked out. Why go downstairs any earlier than I had to? Aunt Lucy, the woman responsible for my bad moods lately, would be making who knows what for breakfast. And I'd bet my baseball glove that she'd find a way to make my life more miserable today than she did yesterday.

When I finally sat down at the breakfast table, there wasn't a friendly face to be seen. Dad had already left for work. Aunt Lucy was standing by the open kitchen window. She inhaled deeply to fill her lungs with Gladbrook's morning breeze. It ruffled her dark hair, and if she hadn't been my aunt, I might have thought she looked just as pretty as my mom. They were sisters, and I had to admit grudgingly that they did look alike. But, boy, were their personalities ever different!

Just as I yawned for the third time, she slammed the window down and marched back to the kitchen table shaking her head disgustedly.

"Pooh! That's the trouble with your small country towns like Gladbrook--no zoning laws to protect people's noses from that awful pig farm a half mile away. The odor makes you feel like you're being poisoned. It's a real health menace and something should be done about it. I can't understand why you people put up with that terrible smell."

Totally pleased that her nose was offended, I said, "You can only smell it when the wind is blowing hard from the north. But you get used to it after a few months."

"Not me," Aunt Lucy said, her jaw jutting out stubbornly. "There ought to be a law against it. Maybe I'll propose one to the Gladbrook City Council."

Yeah, you do that, I thought. And while you're at it, why don't you consider a law against aunts coming to visit and kicking a guy out of his room and making him bunk with his brother? That's a hundred times worse than pig odors.

My Aunt Lucy Benton had tooled into town in her black Mercedes a week ago. Mom hadn't been feeling well and Dad called her to let her know that Mom would probably have to go to the hospital for some tests. My aunt must have burned rubber to get here faster than a slingshot firing at a tin can. But there wasn't any reason to break a speed record getting here. Mom would be all right, I told myself. She was just having a few tests and there wasn't any need for Aunt Lucy to worry about her sister and make my life miserable at the same time.

Boy, would I ever be proven wrong about that!

I drank my orange juice slowly because I knew what was coming next. Cooking wasn't one of Aunt Lucy's skills--maybe because she'd never been in a kitchen long enough to practice on something as easy as macaroni and cheese. The bowl of oatmeal in front of me sported some lumps the size of golf balls. I figured if I froze them, I could sell them to some guys learning to play golf. Trouble is, if they sliced them into the duck pond, the poor birds would either suffer a direct hit or die from indigestion.

Keeping one eye on the old bell-shaped clock on the shelf above the kitchen window, I smashed the oatmeal lumps with a fork and slurped them down glumly. And while I was on the road to an upset stomach, my aunt started grilling me.