Barbie Girl Page 9

  I sit down at our table. “Hey Barbie,” Third acknowledges me.

  Dylan nods. He is looking at me with a look of admonishment, as if nothing happened between us. As it was all in my head, the connection we felt, or at least one that I felt. He is just playing a role, a role that I gave him. I reach over and grab some fries off Third’s plate. So I eat when I am upset.

  “Girl, don’t you ever bring your own lunch?” Third snatches his plate away and hunches over it protectively.

  No. I never do. I cannot afford lunch. When I do get some money, I use it on things like milk for my little brother. “Dieting,” I sing.

  Third pushes fries back in my direction. “Please! You need to diet like my pinkie finger needs to diet.” I smile at him and pop a fry into my mouth.

  “So we are still on for this afternoon?” Dylan stares at the PB and J sandwich he just pulled out of his brown paper bag. Regret is written on his face. His mood swings have me backpedalling, trying to remember what I did wrong.

  “Yeah,” I answer nonchalantly, trying to not let my voice betray the hurt I feel. I reach for the other half of Third’s turkey sandwich. He sighs and hands it over, mumbling about dieting his foot. I do not want to be Dylan’s regret. I need to show him that the kiss was just part of our plan, that it did not mean anything…even when it means everything to me. I can pretend. Besides, I can’t have feelings for him. This is an act. It is all to get Katie. I have to remember Katie.

  “So,” Third says trying to fill the awkward silence that is obviously present. We both look at him. More awkward silence, “Don’t mean to bring this party down anymore, but Katie is walking over this way.”

  On cue, I scoot my chair closer to Dylan and slip my hand into his. He stiffens from my touch. Rigged.

  “Hi Dylan.” Katie stands in front of us, patting down an imaginary stray hair. Just once I want to snatch that perfect bun out of her head. See her undone, not the perfect act she puts on. “Mrs. Rita said to talk to you about getting in some extra stage time. She said that you might be able to stay after today and run the lighting cues for me.” She smiles. Her perfect, white teeth gleam.

  “Yeah. Of course. You don’t mind, Barbie, do you?” Dylan turns to me. Katie glances nervously in my direction. He is challenging me, seeing what I am going to do. No, I want to scream. “Right, babe? You don’t mind me giving Katie some help.” He searches my eyes. He wants to know if this is what he has been waiting for. If it could be the cue for him to work on what I have been tutoring him on.

  “No, not at all.” Jealousy is coursing through me. I lean over and kiss him on the check. “It is fine with me.” I say against his cheek, and I ache with the touch of him.

  “Great.” She smiles and walks back to her table. I hate her. Dylan gets up and leaves us without a word. I am forgotten. This is for the best, I tell myself. 

  Chapter 13.

  Haunted

  I sit in the same seat that I was in when Barbie walked into my life. I cannot seem to get a grip on things, on what I want. She is doing exactly what I was afraid of. She is screwing up my life. I always knew what I wanted, where I was going. Now I question everything. Exposing parts of me that I don’t want exposed. I thought I wanted Katie. Now I am sitting here comparing her to Barbie. Katie’s red hair hangs in a long pony tail and down her back. It is not as long as Barbie’s. It is not bleached with a stupid pink strip in it. Katie does not twirl a piece of hair around her fingers when she is nervous. What the hell, now I am actually comparing girls’ hair. I am turning into some kind of a teenage girl, I groan.

  “I know I sound horrible. I know.” Katie drops the script in her hand by her side.

  “No, you sound great,” I say, even though I didn’t hear a word she said.

  “I just can’t seem to grasp Juliet,” she sighs. “Maybe if you read the part of Romeo,” she suggests. .

  My heart slams in my chest.

  I stand and stiff-legged, almost robotically, move to the stage.

  “Here” She jogs over and grabs another script, flipping through the pages to the spot she was reading from.

  “There is a reason I am behind the curtains and not on stage,” I warn.

  She smiles. “I bet you will do just fine.” Warmth floods me when she smiles. This is right. Being with Katie is right. “Just start at the first passage.” She points to the spot on the page. The smell of jasmine makes me dizzy.

  I start reading in a mumbled monotone. “Let me stand here till thou remember it,” I read clumsily. “I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company.” Her words are delivered like a melody, clearing my confusion. “And I’ll stay to have thee still forget, forgetting any other home but this.” The words sound wrong coming from my mouth. But Katie sings into her next passage, running to the front of the stage holding her hand out to an invisible audience. “Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no farther than a wanton’s bird.”

  I drop the script to the floor, with the sudden thud causes Katie to turn and look at me. She wears a shocked expression. I cross the stage and pull her to me. I kiss her, needing her to erase the real girl I was seeing while Katie was reading. I need Katie to replace that girl. I kiss her, desperate for her to make Barbie go away. I need her to make me forget Barbie.

  ***

  Kissing Katie was amazing. There were no fireworks, just a warm burn in my chest. It felt right. I knew what I wanted and what was right. It is still Katie. I was lost in her. I had a glimpse into Katie’s perfect world. Until I started to see Barbie again. The way she laughs with her head tilted back, her huge eyes trying to capture me. The way she smells, the way she tastes. Kissing Katie did not help anything. It only made things worse. I know what I want now, and it is Katie. But Barbie is haunting me. I just need time and space.

  “Whatcha wanna do?” Barbie is lying on her stomach on Third’s bed. Her chin propped in her hands, crossed ankles in combat-booted feet swinging back and forth. Third is mesmorized.Barbie is the only girl who has ever touched his bed besides his mom. He is plastered in the corner, just staring.

  “It is Friday. Pizza and a movie. Predator. All three of them to be exact.” I answer without looking. I am stalking Katie’s Facebook page.

  “Pizza, yes! Movies, no!” She gets to her knees.

  “Who invited you anyway?” I swivel in my chair to face her. My bad mood is slowly rising. It is going to be impossible to ignore Barbie with her here. She commands attention. I have made up my mind that there will be no more holding hands, and no more tutoring during free period. I will use the excuses of needing to work on the lighting for the upcoming play.

  “Third did.” She shoots death rays at me from her eyes. I shut down the laptop. “We are supposed to be a couple. That’s what couples do, hang out, go to parties, get busy in their best friend’s bed,” she winks.

  I roll my eyes at her. “Well, we are not a real couple,” I point out.

  “Well what kind of boyfriend would you be if you let me show up at Byron’s party by myself when his parents are trying to rekindle their romance in Tennessee?” She hops off the bed and examines the poster of the girl in a skimpy bikini. “This is degrading,” she says.

  I snort; Moral judgment coming from girl who is wearing a skintight T-shirt dress that leaves little to the imagination, and a pair of red and blue -striped gym socks reaching to her knees. She glares at me again. I am about to explain to her why we will not be attending. Leading the list is a reminder of Bryon’s favorite game last year, was called how many juiced-up football players will it take to stuff a fat kid in a locker. Third pipes up, “A party?”

  A light goes off in Barbie eyes. Not missing the opportunity, she says. “Yeah with beer, music, and girrrls,” she sings, crossing the room to poke Third in the stomach.

  “See ya later, Mrs. Cruz,” Barbie says around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookies. Third’s mother was so excited that he was
going out that she packed us goodie bags and handed him a fistful of cash. She even gave him the keys to her new minivan. “Third, your mom freaking rocks,” she licks her fingers. “What the hell does she bake in these cookies? Little pieces of heaven? Crack?” She licks the side of her mouth that has chocolate stuck to it. “No, I think just sugar and vanilla.” Her laughter fills the car.

  Cars are lined around the block. We have to park a block away and walk. I watch nervously as a pair of senior girls stumble down the street. I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans. This is the first party I have been to that did not have a piñata and cake. “Now boys,” she drapes her arms over us as we make our way up the walkway. “The only piece of advice I have is to be yourselves, and try to have fun.” Now it is my turn to laugh. Barbie disappears after informing us that the beer is out by the pool. She probably went off to go find her drug dealer.

  I have only seen parties like this in movies, and I have to say they portray them quite accurately. Byron’s house is crammed with bodies holding plastic red cups, bad music pumps out through the speakers. There is a makeshift dance floor in the living room where girls are grinding with each other as if they moonlight as exotic dancers after high school and cheer practice. Light spills out onto the back porch where a few of the football team and cheer squad are skinny dipping. We make our way over to the beer. We give the kid three bucks for a foamy half cup of beer. We go back inside, not wanting to seem like pervs, but I do take a double take. Third’s mouth is hanging open, at real girl boobs that are not on a computer screen. Third’s mouth has not shut since our arrival. Barbie is dancing with a girl with short hair, rainbow-colored hair, and a dress shorter than Barbie’s.

  “Can you believe this?” Third shouts over the music head bopping.

  “No .Actually I can’t,” I say annoyed. I do not want to be here, drinking crappy beer, listening to even crappier music. This only confirms I should be with Katie. She would never come to some— “Dylan.”

  Katie wraps her arms around my middle. She has on khaki pants and a pink sweater. Her eyes are the same red color as the cup she holds. “Katie.” I am shocked. I have not spoken to her since we kissed. I have been trying to figure what is going on with me. We stare at each other an awkward silence adds to the tension between us. Does she regret the kiss? Or has she been thinking about it like I have?

  “I am going to get another beer.” Third slips into the crowd. “So what are you doing here?” I ask nervously.

  “The same thing you are.”

  I am the king of lame. “So did you come with Barbie?” She takes a step toward me. She is so close I can smell her perfume and it is over powering my senses. Did she always wear this much perfume?

  “Barbie?” I ask, my heart pounding from the closeness. She nods and I point to where Barbie is dancing on the dance floor. She has her hands above her head and shakes her hips back and forth in her way too- short dress. She swings her hair back and forth. A group of guys are staring at her, hoping to get a glimpse of something more. Possessiveness flares up inside of me. She is not only taking me to my first high school party, but she is also going to get me into my first fight.

  “Yeah,” I spit out. “I am here with Barbie.” She is supposed to be my girlfriend. A shiver runs through me. She is supposed to be mine.

  “She is…umm…interesting.”

  I glance at Katie out of the corner of my eye. She is looking at Barbie with disgust written all over her face. Barbie spots us and waves me over. I shake my head in defiance. She can keep dancing for those guys. She is not my girlfriend. She starts to dance over to us. Her eyes lock on mine and I am frozen, locked in place. I am like the praying mantis right before his mate chops off his head and eats him. Nature is cruel. I can sense Katie stiffen next to me. Barbie is killing me and it’s clear with the seductive smile she wears she is taking great pleasure in doing so. I am crashing and burning She has me drowning. I forget all about the rigid to me. I am transfixed on this odd creature in front of me. I can’t look away. This must be how the mouse feels before the snake strikes.

  Thankfully, the music changes to some pop song. She stops dancing and claps her hands. “You have to dance with me. This is my favorite song,” she squeals and pulls me out to the makeshift dance floor. Funny when I picture her dancing around her room, it is to death metal not a Britney Spears song. I have no choice in the matter. My body no longer mine to command. I follow her.

  Chapter 14.

  Dilemma

  The song is the most annoying song I have ever heard. Part of me asked Dylan to dance to make Katie jealous, to play my part. The other part of me was jealous watching him talk to her. I have been trying to give him space, to let my head clear from the current state of fog I have been drifting through. But feelings aside, I got asked today if I dumped Dylan. Not good for his rep if he wants to bag the hag.

  “Loosen up,” I say through a smile. Dylan is as stiff as one of the number two pencils he carries in his Star Trek pencil case. He spasms around in weird jerky movements next to me.

  “Excuse me for not being able to go on America’s next best dancer,” he says grumpily.

  “So You Think You Can Dance,” I correct him.

  “Huh?”

  I shake my head. “Never mind. Look, just relax. Here, give me your hand.”

  Now he shakes his head at me. “You have to ruin any moment I am having with Katie.” He does not seem upset. I give him a small smile. I resist giving into temptations to make crying noises at him, like a baby.

  “Why can’t you see the brilliance behind my madness? I have it all planned. You will have her by the end of the week.” I grab his hand and try to help him move. Once he stops fighting me he is not half bad, not great, but not that bad. I dance around him. “I can’t believe my eyes. Dylan Knight at a party dancing with a girl,” I poke him in his side. He fixes me with a look of contempt on his face. I dance around him. Getting him the attention of Katie. She is in the corner, giving me the stank eye along with her little minions. A small flutter of victory flutters inside me.

  The song turns to a slow dance. We stop, standing amongst couples coming together to dance. I look up into his deep chocolate eyes. The ball is in your court. What are you going to do?

  “It is a slow dance.” He tosses the ball back to me. His eyes bear down on me, challenging me.

  “Dylan…” I hesitate teetering on doing what my body screams for me to do and what my heart is pleading me not to do. I disregard both. “And I am supposed to be your girlfriend. You want to slow dance with me.” His face becoming a mask I cannot decipher. “Let me guess. You never slow danced before, either. Gissh” I try to change the somber mood between us.

  He looks at me. “Yes, I have.” Then he mumbles something incoherent.

  “What?” I lean in closer.

  “I said with my mom at my cousin’s wedding.”

  I burst out laughing, taking a step back.

  “I am not doing this.” He turns and tries to walk off the dance floor but I grab his hand and pull him back.

  “I am sorry! Okay, now will you just dance with me? Pretend like I am your mom,” I snicker. “Okay I am sorry,” I repeat. As his scornful look falls on me, I give him a grin. “Here,” I place his hands on my waist and wrap my arms around his neck. “It is easy. Just sway with me.” Katie is glaring at us from a distance. Those types of girls are all the same. They dangle the bait just out of their reach and they will be chomping at it, trying to get a bite.

  I lay my head on his shoulder as we rock back and forth. I close my eyes listening to the sound of his heartbeat. It is steady and strong.

  “Barbie?” my name rumbles deep in his chest.

  “Hmmm?” I say not wanting to move and break the slow current of electricity that is stirring within me.

  “Nothing.” He rests his chin on top of my head and pulls me closer. The song changes back into a techno beat, but we stay like that, swaying to the so
und of his heartbeat.

  “Holy shit balls!” Third drapes a heavy arm over us, pulling us into a sweaty hug. Third’s pants are hanging lower than normal. His Batman boxers are exposed for everyone to see. People clear away from him. He is soaking wet with sweat and beer. “Where have you guys been?” Third lays his head on Dylan’s shoulder and closes his eyes. “I love you guys,” he slurs. Great. Third has turned from geek who has not seen this much fun since he went to Comic Con. Except this time his fun was with beer and not trying to sneak into Stan Lee’s dressing room. I have seen this phase before often. It is the ‘I love you’ stage.

  “Do you know that if you drink beer in a head stand, it’s like you’re flying.” His eyes open and he spots me. Joy. “Barbie!” He leaves Dylan’s now wet shoulder and leans into me. I stumble under his weight. “I think you are the best. Dylan is a dumbass. He should forget about that… that…” he stumbles.

  “Katie,” I help.

  His mouth drops open like I am the smartest person, not just one finishing a drunk’s stammering statement. “Yeah, Katie,” he scrunches up his face. “Hey! Doyoulike…beer?” a sloppy smile pulls on his mouth. “Come flywithme….” He slurs.

  I am now almost supporting all his weight and my knees feel like they are about to buckle. Okay time to get this big boy moving, party over. “Sure,” I pat him on his stomach. “I like to fly.” Then what was bound to happens, does. He skips right over the flying phase, leans over, and pukes.

  Hauling Third outside is no easy task. We try to guide him over the cobblestone walkway without him falling. If he does fall, there is no way we are getting him back up. We make it to his mother’s minivan basically unharmed except for my back which I don’t think will ever be straight again.

  “Barbieee,” he slurs. “You are really cool, giiirrrlll…and…” I wait for another string of I love yous. He looks at me, his eyes glassed over. Shit. He vomits twice more on my shoes. Then he crawls into the back seat for the final phase, he passes out.

  Chapter 15.