Barbie Girl (Baby Doll Series) (20 page)

“So bring the midget with you, he can play with my little brother Bilbo.”

Third raises his eyebrows, “Your brother is named Bilbo.”

She glares at him. “You’re the one to talk Bartholomew Norbert the Third.”

His mouth drops open and I grip onto the locker to support myself from laughing. “How did you know my real name,” he pales.

“
Google.”

“Google?”

“Yes,
Google
, as in the
World Wide Web
.” She rolls her eyes. “You don’t think I am going to hang out with you without a background check. You might be some psycho gang member,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Third shakes his head in disbelief. “I am not the one that looks like she ate death for breakfast,” he banters back.

“Whatever Mr. Alabama state fair hog dog champion eater.”

His mouth drops again. I laugh as we leave listening to them banter back and forth.

Third parks the van outside one of the largest houses on the block. “Holly bat shit Robin,” Third uses one of Roxie’s phrases. Roxie lives on the wealthy side of town in a gated community, we had to practically give blood to be let in by the security guard. We walk up and ring a door bell, which plays a song instead of just a ding.

Third’s eyebrows shoot up. “I was not expecting this. I had more
Addams Family
envisioned in my head,” he says. Everett fiddles with the button on my shirt.

“Oh great you’re here,” Roxie pulls open the door, and pulls us in. she looks out of place in the vast white foyer that we now stand in. Her long black hair and all-black attire seem out of place against the bright white, crisp feeling the house has.

“Are we going to get arrested? We are not breaking and entering,” Third eye balls the marble statue in the middle of the foyer.

Roxie frowns, “No, this is my house.” She points to a portrait above the landing. Two women pose with a blond girl with the same brown eyes as Roxie’s.

“Great we are going to jail, the queen of death sacrificed that little girl and we are now the suspects of a murder.” Third throws his hands in the air dramatically.

Roxie sticks out her tongue. “Well no one invited you anyway,” she says leading us through the massive house.

“Hey, you did. Didn’t you get the memo we are a package deal. Wherever she goes I go.”

I roll my eyes and shrug my shoulders; it has been that way lately.

“Well come on let’s go get this movie started. I hope you like popcorn? I wasn’t sure what you would like so I made a couple of different kinds. Oh and here is Bilbo,” a little white fuzz ball comes scampering in sliding across the floor.

“Your little brother is a dog?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Yes,” she picks up the little fur ball who is going mad trying to lick her.

“This is really twisted,” Third says. “The dog is your brother?”

She looks down at her black sock covered feet. “I really wanted you to come and hang.”

I feel sorry for her. Her sarcastic witty self-gone. I roll my eyes, “Come on let’s get this epic movie marathon going.”

A smile spreads across her face. “I also picked up some candy.” Good because I really need some sugar right about now.

Roxie didn’t buy some candy she bought the entire candy isle at the grocery store, and has popped about a million different type of popcorn. We set Everett up with a snickers and art supplies, next to Legos. Bilbo takes up next to him hoping that Everett will drop a few skittles.

“This is sick,” Third gestures to the small movie theater we are sitting in.

“Yeah my Moms work a lot so they try to make up for their absence with lavish materialistic things,” she sighs, popping a milk dud in her mouth.

“Moms?”

Roxie shovels a handful of duds in her mouth. “Yeah, as in dos,” she says around a mouthful. “Hi test tube baby,” she waves.

“That is really hot!”

Roxie throws a handful of popcorn at Third.

“Perv.”

I laugh slouching down in my chair and settling in to do something normal. Watch a movie with my friends.

“That was the most effing stupid movie I have ever seen,” Third proclaims as the credits roll.

“Was not. Barbie you liked it, right?” She looks at me pleadingly with dark lined eyes and pouty black lips.

“Epic!” I stretch out.

Come on let’s go up to my room.

“What the—”

I hold up my hand cutting him off. Roxie’s room looks like she took decorating advice from Mrs. Cruz. The same Pepto-Bismol pink color covers every inch of the room. On her walls hang posters of every current pop boy band and Taylor Swift. Okay.

“What the freak show?” Third takes in the room. I am just as shocked.

She beams at me, “Let me guess, you were you expecting black walls and bad poetry written in sharpie on my walls?” she asks.

Yes
. I shake my head and mouth the word no too stunned to speak.

“And spider webs, perhaps an altar to the devil.” Third says jumping on to her floral bed spread. Everett crawls up next to him with Bilbo.

“This is even more sick and twisted than I expected.” He leans back discarding some of the lace decorative pillows to the ground.

“Pleassse,” she rolls her eyes, she plugs in her iPod and Taylor starts singing in the background.

“So what I am not
the
typical Goth
girl
. I like country and pink. Looks can be deceiving.” She looks at me and smiles.

We all lie on her bed listening to Taylor sing songs that sound like she wrote for me.
Until
we go home.

“That was really weird, right?” Third says to me as he drives me home.

“A little,” I admit. “It is like she is this whole other person.” I sigh. “Sometimes people are not what they seem.” I think about Dylan how I thought he was someone else. “I mean you thought I was this sex-crazed girl who did crack in the girls’ bathroom.”

He frowns. “You don’t?”

I lean over and hit him in the arm.

“Ouch,” he rubs at his arm. “Well, you thought I was some pervert who was trying to get a glimpse of what you keep under your shirt.” He points out.

“You were,” I gasp.

“I think I like her,” he blurts. Now that is just weird.

The next few days we fall into an easy routine. We go back inside for lunch after some coaching from Third and Roxie. I try my hardest to ignore the laughter or how Katie drapes herself over Dylan or the fact that they hold hands everywhere they go. Thank god he doesn’t kiss her. I think that would be the final knife that will kill me.

We spend our weekends and afternoons studying and hanging out at Roxie’s house. Her moms are both super nice; I think they are relieved she has living breathing friends. They both work most of the time at a hospital in Birmingham. So her house is empty most of the time. My mother has not tried to make any more family dinners, or try to off herself. For the most part Ronnie ignores me and Everett when he is around. Thankfully.

The halls of Central are a buzz with the end of the school year approaching. Black flyers with metallic blue writing litter the hallways announcing prom. This year’s theme is midnight in Paris. How original.

“We are going,” Roxie shoves the flyer in my face.

“I am not a masochist.” I take the flyer and toss it on the floor with the others. It is bad enough that I have to see Katie and Dylan’s sickening public display of affection. I sure as hell was not dishing out fifty bucks to watch it.

“Yeah, well I am. Justin going to be there and he is dating a girl from Jordan. I have to check her out. I bet she is skinny. She bites her lip deep in thought.

“We are not going!” I grab her hand and pull her to Math.

Third paces nervously by my locker, he wipes at the beads of sweat that have formed on his forehead. He looks clammy like he might puke. He fiddles with the top of his buttons on his shirt. I open my locker, “What’s wrong with you? You look like you are going to hurl.”

He rubs his hands together. “I spent half the night awake,” he confesses. This has to be about Roxie, he has been acting weird around her lately. He confessed he liked her the first night we hung out with her, but mums been the word from him since.

“If you are going to lose your lunch do it over there,” I point to the garbage can. “I cannot afford another pair of shoes.” I exchange my algebra book for my English text book.

“I am not going to be
sick;
I need to ask you something?”

I turn and look at him, “If you’re coming to me about Roxie just remember my track record with relationships.”

“No it is not about Roxie,” he leans against my neighbor’s locker. “We have been friends for a while now.” I nod my head.
Yesss
. “And I think you are really great. You mean a lot to me, I consider you one of my best friends.” He swallows hard before dropping to one knee. He retrieves a wrinkled card from his back pocket and a small teddy bear. “Barbie, will you go to prom with me?”

I look down at him; we have grown a small audience around us, his blue eyes start to dart around nervously. “Of
course I will go with you Third,
” Relief floods his face. I know I told Roxie there was no way in hell I was going, but how can I turn down Third. He has been through too much because of me. I owe him. I help him back up and he hugs me. “Of course I will go with you, but what about Roxie?” I ask.

“Okay, you were not my first choice, but she is complicated. I want to go with someone who is not trying to get with this.” He gestures down his body.

I smile, “That might be hard to do,” I let out a dramatic sigh.

“I never said it would be easy. But please try your hardest. I just don’t go giving up to anybody who tries.” He winks and I poke him in his side.

“Now don’t go thinking I am a cheap date. I expect the whole shebang, flowers, dinner and dancing.”

He holds up his hand sucking in his round
red cheeks. “I wouldn’t think anything less. Shall we?” He offers me his arm and I loop it through his. We are joined by Roxie who loops her arm with Third’s other arm. We are like a really dysfunctional version of
Three’s Company
.

June

I am Broken…

It has been a few weeks since I caught Barbie in Third’s bed. That tightness on my chest has not loosened
up;
it actually feels tighter each day. Like I am having a panic attack; I feel like I can never get enough air in my lungs. I sound like a desperate high school girl. I should not be pouting like a little girl, over someone who did not return my feelings. The odds of high school
relationships working out are
probably like one in a billion. And I have Katie who has discarded her sweater, and sits in a very thin cami. I should be excited. Her hips rock slowly back and forth as she bites on my ear. My shirt lies on the floor as she explores my
stomach;
she rakes her nails down my chest. I try to be here in the now and pay attention to what reaction from my body Katie is going for. But this image of Barbie keeps popping into my head. She had her arm lopped in Third’s. They were with that weird chick, which I guess they hang out with now. But Barbie… I was frozen watching her. She had her head tilted slightly back, the way she does when she finds something really funny. Her hair was in those damn braids that drive me crazy. She seemed really happy. Not that I didn’t want her to be happy no matter what happened between us, I am not one of those assholes that want her to be miserable over me because we are broken up. She just seemed to get over me so quick. Hell maybe there was nothing for her to get over. I wanted to be the one to make her laugh. I hated the possessive feeling that washed over me as I watched her. I shake my head trying to think of Katie wh
o is leaning over me in her bed, g
iving me a full view of her cleavage.

Katie brought me home after the first night we hung out. She had no hesitation in introducing me to her parents. She wanted me to be a part of her life. No secrets. Her parents are strangely okay with her having a guy in her bedroom with the door shut. When she tried that at my house my mom lost her wig. She sat us down pulling out pamphlets on STD and teen pregnancy.

“What’s wrong?” She pulls away.

You’re not her
. “Nothing, I am just tired,” I lie.

She scoots off me pouting. “You are a teenage boy. I am your half-naked girlfriend. And you are tired?” She grabs her sweater off the back of the chair and begins to button it up. “You are thinking of her,” she accuses.

Yes, and dream about her, and obsess over what she is doing, and who she is with. Maybe I am turning into one of those weird stalkers. Hell, the other day I went to the candy store and bought a bag of cotton candy just so I could smell her, but it was all wrong, too sweet. I grab for my shirt and pull it on. I need to get a grip. “No, really I’m just tired.” I rub the palms of my hands over my face.