Barbie Girl (Baby Doll Series) (17 page)

He kisses me as if he is dying in the deser
t and I am a glass of cool water. H
e
is
my
savior. My body is alive, humming with anticipation of his next move. Each touch is so slow and gentle, it is almost painful. My body longing for more, driving me crazy, I want him to touch me everywhere. He makes me want to do things I have never done before. I have never been touched like this. I used to be so scared to feel anything, I needed to be numb, but with Dylan I want feel everything. I want to be alive to feel and the pain because with the pain I know will come the cool soothing that he gives me. Every part of me is buzzing as he leans us back against the cold metal scorching my hot skin. I wrap my legs around him pulling him closer. I run my hands across his firm chest. I feel like I cannot get close enough. Damn me for wearing these skinny jeans. I fiddle with the button his hand stills over mine.

“I need to ask you something.” He breathing comes in deep gasps.

“I didn’t just bring you out here to study,” he places his hand over mine stilling it.

“W
hy you evil, evil genius, you, b
ringing me out here so you can have your way with me,” I tease.

“You figured my master plan out.” He does an evil laugh. I pull on his belt loops bringing him closer.

“Actually it was all mine,
I knew you could resist me.” I reach up and nip at his bottom lip.

He grabs my hands bringing them back to his chest.
Thank you G
od
.
Mowing lawns does a boy good.
I run my hands over his tight chest. He hovers above me, his arms flexed under him, leaning over I kiss his biceps. For no other reason other than being in his arms makes me feel safe. I almost forget what waits for me at home. He lets out a deep moan from the back of his throat. “I need to ask you something,” his face hardens and my stomach flips. He is going to tell me he does not want me anymore, and why would he. “Barbie,” my throat burns with the sting of tears in my eyes. “I never properly got to ask you but…will you be my girl?” He leans his forehead against mine. The tears now fall. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest.

“Are you crying?” he tries to look at me, but I keep my face tucked under. I am happy. I nod, afraid of how my voice will sound if I answer him. “Why?” He shifts us in one swift motion so I am sitting in his lap. I keep my head tucked under his chin. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I shake my head, “It is not that… It is… You make me happy,” I say in a broken whisper.

He hugs me tight to his chest. “You make me happy.” He tightens his arms around me. I want to stay this way forever
. Wrapped in his arms. Just him and me. My worries so far behind me. I only know how I feel with him.

May

My choice is you…

“Mrs. Starr,” a tall thin lady with long brown hair, waves her hand frantically in our direction. Her willowy
arm looks like it might snap at any moment. She calls my name again over the sounds of the starting bus engine. I look away trying to pretend I do not see her frantic waves. Too late I hesitated too long. She steps in front of a bus and nearly misses becoming a hood ornament to a big yellow bus. She does not stop; she keeps coming, jogging in her black leather heels. I stop and wait for her to catch up to us. I mean she practically died, I can at least see what she has to say. “Oh good you heard me, I was afraid I was going to chase you all the way home,” she says breathless. She seems crazy enough she probably would have.

“Well you caught me,” annoyance laces my voice.

“That I did, Mrs. Starr,” she holds her hand out for me to shake. I don’t. After a moment she lets it fall to her side. I am in no mood for whatever this lady is offering, she must be fresh meat right out of college; she is not much older than me. She wears an eager expression, and her clothes are pressed and reek of a department store. Unlike the other faculty members
with their rumpled cheap clothing. A
n ever present coffee in their hand, a look of retirement not that far away in their eyes.

“Well I wanted to introduce myself. I am Everett’s new teacher, Ms. White,” she says her red-painted lips spread into a smile.

“Uh huh.” I know, I have seen the many letters she sent home in his backpack. “I was just trying to meet all the parents of my new students,” she whips a hand down her black pencil skirt. “I tried calling but it seems your phone is out of service… Is there a good time I can talk with your mother?”

How about never
. “She is really busy; she works the night shift at the hospital, and sleeps during the day. You know being a single mom and all… Look I will let her know that Evie has a new teacher.” I turn to high tail it out of there before Mrs. Perky can try to interrogate me anymore.

“Miss. Starr it is really important that I meet with her. There are a lot of services that Everett should be getting. It seems like he is just getting the basic at school.” She digs in her pocket pulling out a glossy card. I take it from her and look over it. There is a picture of a red apple with her name and phone number on it. “Tell your mother to give me a call so we can go over these options for him.” I stuff the card in my back pocket.

“Sure thing,” I take Everett and get the hell out of there as quick as I can.

* * *

I tap on Third’s window, his blue curtains rustle before his round face comes into view. His brows shot up into his thin blond hair. He opens the window, “Barbie? What are you doing?”

Momma has been worse than ever. I thought she would slow down after she nearly died. It only seemed to increase her habit use. She has been so out of it lately, worse than normal. I have been calling out of work for her claiming she had the flu. She has been spending the nights stumbling around the house searching cabinets and closets insisting I have pills hidden. Tonight she yanked Everett out of bed shaking him so hard. Screaming at him to tell her where I hid the pills. If I had some I would have given them to her just to make her stop.

“I didn’t want to wake your parents.” I shift from one foot to the other.

“Oh. What are you doing here? It is midnight,” he says confused.

“My mom went to work and locked us out…accidently.” The words tumble out, “Do you mind if we hang out until she gets back to unlock the door?” I lie; it is so natural to lie sometimes I almost believe them myself. He glances behind me at Everett who is spinning in a circle. “Come around to the front I will open the door for you.”

Not only does Third answer the door, but so does his mother in her slippers and her fuchsia moo moo. Her
hair is a
bright
Crayola red hair
with
pink foam rollers. Embarrassment burns on my cheeks. “Come in, you poor things,” she hurries us in. “Third told me how y’all been locked o
ut. You poor babies,” s
he pulls me into her chest hugging me tight. She smells like cheap rose perfume and chocolate cookies.

“Yeah I forgot my keys.”

She shakes her head,
“Third said that your m
omma is in an emergency surgery,
”
s
he clucks.

I look at Third who shrugs as if saying, “What?”

“Here, sit down. I’ll get y’all something to eat, to help settle the upset.” We go into the kitchen where she starts pulling out frying pans. “I hope you like grilled cheese; they are Bartholomew’s favorite late night snack.” I smile and suppress the laugh at Third’s real name.

“Love them,” I reply.

After a healthy round of grilled cheese, Everett falls asleep on the pullout sleeper in the living room. I sit on the end of the bed knees to my chest.

“Can I ask you something? Why did you come here and not to Dylan’s?” Third sits next to me on the end of the bed.

“I don’t know. I guess I was embarrassed.” How do I tell him about my life, what if he would not want me
anymore?
“I have seen you at your worst, so I guess it is easier for you to see me at my low point.” I lean my chin on my knees.

“So you want to tell me the real reason you didn’t want to go home? Something tells me that you are not the type of girl who has a problem breaking into places,” he says his light blue eyes accusing me.

“No. Not really.” How do I tell him that my mother is so high I am afraid of what she might do. I cannot risk Everett getting hurt. She would never hurt him on purpose, but tonight when she was shaking him she was out of her mind. I would have gone to Ms. Sophie’s but her daughter is in town and the last thing I need is her getting suspicious and making a phone call to the state.

He sighs, “Okay, but if you ever need to talk I will listen…so would Dylan.” He laughs to himself. “He would go postal if he knew that you were sleeping over at my house.” I cringe. “How
about we keep this to ourselves?
” I pat him on the leg.

“I hate lying to my boy, but I think you’re right on keeping this under wraps.” He pushes me with his shoulder.

“Thanks.”

I wake up to the smell of bacon. Yummm. Bacon. When I finally shut off my internal worrying I slept like a baby, so did Everett. I reach over and pull him tight to my chest. His small body fits perfect against mine. I push his hair out of his sleeping
face; he looks like his father, t
he sandy blond hair and freckles. Everett’s father was not one of a dirt bag like the kind of guys Momma usually likes to bring home. He was
cool;
he had a motorcycle and would take me for rides on the back to get ice cream. I thought that I might have a chance for a normal family with him. A dad and mom like a normal family. We would sit on the end of a dock near the ice cream parlor, our toes dangling in the water. He always got rocky road and me black raspberry. We would lick our ice cream, and just talk. He used to say how he wanted to name the baby when it was born, Everett after his grandfather who fought in the war and if it was a girl, Jane. I thought Jane was the perfect name for a girl. Normal. Then one day when I came home from school he was packing himself up, he pulled me into a hug and told me that he was sorry, but my mother was crazy. I stood on the porch next to my mother, with her pregnant swollen belly, and watched him drive away on his motorcycle.

Mrs. Cruz gives us a toothbrush to use. I try to scrub away yesterday’s makeup, but it just makes me look like a raccoon. I wet down Everett’s frizzy bed head. There is nothing I can do about his dirty clothes from yesterday. I hope Mrs. Perky does not notice he is wearing the same clothes. I doubt it.

I finger comb my hair in my first period class, giving up, I knot it on top of my head and try to pay attention, but my eyes flutter shut, a dull ache starts to throb behind my eyes. I shuffle between classes in a daze my head hurting. By the time the lunch bell rings my head feels like it wants to split open. I grab the brown bag of lunch that Mrs. Cruz made for me out of my locker and head to the cafeteria. I slide into my seat next to Dylan.

“Hey,” I lean over and kiss him on his cheek.

“Hey Baby…” he me back. “Are you okay?”

I rub at my temples. “Yeah fine,” e
xcept my head is pounding and I cannot seem to warm up. A side effect from wa
lking the four miles to Third’s,
I had to carry Everett most of the way. Now
every muscle aches. “Just tired,
” I give him a smile.

“Out late? What did you do?” He looks at me with those damn doe-brown eyes and I want to tell him the truth. “Everett had a stomachache and kept me up half the night.” I hate myself. He doesn’t ask anymore. He seems not to notice that I’m wearing the same clothes as yesterday. He slips his hand into mine and I lean against his shoulder. He feels strong and sturdy, I need him. I want to curl up next to him and close my eyes. I just need to take a little nap and I will feel better.

Third sits down, “Hey, Bee, you okay?”

God will people stop asking me that. He opens his lunch. “Why does everyone ask me that,” I snap.

Third stops riffling through his bag and Dylan stops eating his apple. “You just don’t look like you feel well is all,” he says.

Guilt fills me. I shouldn’t snap at him after he has been so nice. “Sorry, I guess I really don’t feel so well.” I reach up and feel my forehead it is clammy. Maybe I just need to eat; I pull out the ham and cheese sandwich, chips and a homemade chocolate chip cookie, delish.

“That’s funny. You and Third have the same lunch,” Dylan says.

“Weird,” Third agrees.

I push my lunch toward Third, suddenly not hungry. Guilt of lying to Dylan has my stomach rolling. I lean back on Dylan, he is so warm.

“Maybe you should go to the nurse. If you are not eating you really must be sick,” Dylan says.

“No, I will be okay I just need to rest my eyes for a moment.” They feel so heavy. I close my eyes.

I must have dozed off, because the bell is ringing and Dylan is shaking me awake. I try to stand but my feet feel weak under me. I stumble forward.

“I am taking you to the nurse,” Dylan grabs my elbows and steadies me.