Barbie Girl

by Heidi Acosta

  He remembers me. The last time I came to get money from my momma; he cornered me in the back room where he had told me I could find her. My nose still burns with the thick smell of his cheap cologne. He ran his disgusting fingers down my arm, making my stomach turn with nausea. “You’re a pretty girl, you could make me a lot of money,” his body pressing hard against mine. Thank goodness for the new waitress who stumbled in that back room, who knows what would have happened. “What’s up, Barbie?” My stomach turns at the sound of his voice.

  ***

  My stomach is in knots making me sick as I watch him touch my mother, the same hand that he used to sear my skin. I dress quickly, pulling on a pair of dirty jeans and a men’s white tank top. I feel like I can’t get out of here fast enough. I dress Everett just as fast before pulling him out the back door. I feel like I am going to lose the contents of my stomach at the sound of my mother laughing. How could she let that man into our house? Can she not see him for what he really is?

  Everett squeezes my hand tight as we make our way to his elementary school. “Listen buddy; don’t go home with anyone but me. Okay?” I get down on my knees, and try to get him to look at me, but he will not. He has never made eye contact with me, always looking around me. I pull him in to a hug, relishing in the feel of his small body in my arms. He looks nothing like me. He is fragile like my mother, smaller than most boys his age. I kiss his sandy blond head before letting him go. I will kill anyone who would try to hurt him. I let out a heavy sigh that feels like it has been lingering in my chest for years. I doubt my mother will try to pick him up since she will be entertaining her guest. The thought of Everett being around that man makes me feel sick. “I will come and get you. Okay? I will always take care of you,” I promise him.

  I will have to cut school early to get him in case my mother has a change of plans. I cannot risk it. Whatever. I will miss English, just another class. I am teetering on failing, but it’s better than the alternative. I snag some chocolate doughnuts for us from the gas station next to his school before dropping him off.  

  Chapter 3.

  Unsolvable

  I tossed and turned all night with Barbie’s scheme running through my head. She is a loose wire, an unsolvable problem. She has the power to break me and I just put the fate of my reputation at the mercy of the craziest person I know. Okay, so I sound like a whiny girl, but that girl is a whack job.

  I stare at myself in the mirror. My toothbrush is hanging out of my mouth a steady stream of toothpaste drool falling to the sink. I was desperate. It must have been a moment of temporary insanity. That plea is good in a court of law, right? She caught me in a moment of weakness. She was wearing that revealing shirt, and I couldn’t think about what was right and what was wrong. It didn’t help with all of Third’s dripping sex talk either, that he continued with long after she left.

  “That’s it, Dylan. You are going to find Barbie and tell her that the deal is off,” I say to myself in the mirror. She is just too unpredictable. She could help me but is more likely to destroy me. I am in no position to be destroyed, and whatever little social life I have, needs to be preserved.

  I worked too hard for what I have. Determined not to get beat up through high school, I grew my hair out, started lifting weights the summer before ninth grade, and got a pair of contacts. Maybe I wasn’t one of the jocks or popular, but at least I stopped getting picked on. I am not attending any parties, but I am also not getting shoved up against lockers.

  I go back into my room and pull a rumpled gray shirt out of a pile of clothes on the floor. I smell it. Clean enough. I lace up my Converses. I am running late. Taking the stairs two at a time, I go into the kitchen and grab the gallon of milk, drinking straight from the jug. “Dylan!” my mother scolds. “Get a cup.” I grab a cup and pour it until it is threatens to spill over the edges.

  “Morning, squirt,” I ruffle Emmy’s hair. She sits at the kitchen island eating Apple Jacks, in a purple tutu and striped tights. Her hair sticks up in a brown halo around her head. She smiles at me revealing her two missing front teeth.

  “Breakfast, Dylan,” my mother says. This is not a question but a command.

  “Can’t. I am going to be late,” I say, backing out of the door. I am almost at my truck when I hear my mother’s voice.

  “Dylan,” she calls from the front porch. I groan inwardly and slam the rusty door to my truck shut. She trots out to my truck in her pink fuzzy slippers and matching bathrobe.

  “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

  I take the paper bag from her and kiss her on the check. “Thanks.” I am going to need my energy for what I am preparing to do.

  Who knows how Barbie is going to react to the announcement? “I can’t be your tutor.” I coach myself. I hope Jenny will tutor her. She needs the community service hours. I will try to talk to her before school starts. I back out of the driveway. My mother shouts after me, “I love you.” Did I mention my social life is hanging by a thread?

  ***

  “I don’t know, Dylan.” Jenny pushes her glasses back up her nose for the hundredth time. “I really would love to…um…help…but I have a lot on my plate this semester, besides…Barbie doesn’t really seem like the type of girl who wants a tutor.”

  I run my hand over my face. “I will owe you,” I plead.

  “Sorry, I really can’t.” Jenny sighs. “I wish I could help.”

  Yeah, right. Thanks for nothing. She backs up slowly toward the towering brick building behind her.

  I decide not to mention calling it off to Third. He is yapping about how absolutely rocking it is that Barbie is going to help me, which by association will catapult him into A-list popularity. Third is wearing a backward black baseball cap, and a new gold chain around his fat neck. “Bro, this is going to be huge.” He pumps a fist into the air. “When you are done with her, you care if I hook up with her?” Third is pulling up his pants as he walks.

  “Yeah, whatever man. She is all yours.” Now, how do I really make her not my problem ?

  The sight of Katie in my first period class eases my hesitation. She is why I am doing this! I want to be with her. I am torn between remaining in my present safety zone, and putting my fate in the hands of a freaking nut job. An uneasy feeling grows in the pit of my stomach. But I want to be with her. Katie glances over her shoulder and gives me a small smile. That brief smile is what I hold on to the rest of the day.

  Barbie walks into the lunch room like she owns it, and heads straight for our table. It is the second day of her making an appearance at our table. Normally the lunch room is not where she resides; she spends that period either hanging out by the boys’ locker room or getting high out behind the bleachers. I hope she doesn’t think we all are friends now. She looks like some street gangster, or a hooker Barbie. She has on a man’s white tank top with her black bra showing through thin fabric. A very hot pink panties strap peaks out from her ripped-up jeans which sit low on her hips. Her arms are covered in thick black plastic bracelets that clink together with each movement she makes. I guess I shouldn’t be shocked, but I am. Third, however, is in love, or lust, or something, all over again, “She is the G to my gangster.” He taps his chest in a mock heartbeat. I roll my eyes at him.

  “Hey, Lover boy.” She slides in next to me. All my senses are heightened. I am instantly in panic mode. The sense of self-preservation kicks in. Should I run or play dead? She leans over me and picks up a piece of pepperoni from my pizza and pops it into her mouth. That was rude. “I WAS going to eat that,” I tell her. She shrugs and takes another pepperoni. Manners are, not her forte. I think she gets a kick out of annoying me, because she is doing a pretty damn good job of it. Be strong, don’t look down. Look her in the eyes. I try to think about Katie. You are putting up with her for Katie. Beautiful, sweet Katie.

  “Here, you can have my pizza,” Third offers his slice. For him, that is like giving up one of his kidneys. Lunch is his f
avorite subject, apparently hers too. She accepts his pizza and devours it in three bites.

  “Aren’t you supposed to chew your food completely before swallowing?” I remark sarcastically.

  She turns to Third, “Thank you, my friend. Unlike some people, you are a gentleman.” She bats her eyes at him. Gentleman? Excuse me. She should know all about dealing with gentlemen. With the hand jobs she was rumored to be giving out.

  “I love you,” Third is looking at her with longing.

  “I tell you what. If lover boy here,” she gestures to me, “does not fall madly in love with me by the time this tutoring thing is over, I am all yours.” She winks at him, dissolving him into a melted puddle of goo.

  No wonder he thinks he is in love with her. I have never heard a girl talk to him this long before. This is the most attention he has ever had from the opposite sex. This is the guy that is turned down on a regular basis. Girls look at him with disgust. They only talk to him if it is to ask for notes from a class they missed or to take a picture of them making out with their boyfriends for their Facebook profiles. Barbie is making him feel special and that has him groveling at her feet. She is smarter than I thought which makes her all the more dangerous.

  “She is all yours, dude,” I say.

  Barbie rolls her eyes and changes the subject, “So I was thinking we need to come up with a plan for Mission Fire Crotch.”

  I choke on my Coke, spitting it out on to the table. “Don’t call her that!” I choke out. I glance over nervously at Katie’s table, hoping she didn’t over hear her vicious words.

  Third, however, falls out of his chair onto the floor. He is laughing so hard. “Fine what do you want to call it? Mission Lose Your Virginity?” She says completely unfazed by Third holding his stomach while rolling around the floor or the humiliation written on my face.

  “No ‘mission’ anything and I am not a virgin!” I snap. That’s a lie.

  “He is so a virgin.” Third pulls himself off the floor and back into his seat.

  “I can take care of that,” she winks at me.

  “Yeah, no thanks. Can you please try not to talk about Katie like that,” I try to snarl, but it comes out as more of a plea.

  “You can take care of that problem for me,” Third scoots closer to her.

  “Fine, you are no fun,” she pouts and reaches for my Coke. I grab it away before she can get it, and chug it down, setting the empty can back on the table. Ha, there. She glares at me, and then sticks her bottom lip out slightly.

  Third is up, “you want Coke?” She smiles up at him batting her thick, black eye lashes. At him “Please.” Third takes off, knocking into people on his way to the soda machine. I have never seen him move fast before.

  “Dylan, you need to loosen up.” She points a long finger at me. Me loosen up? I am loose. “Or else little miss stick-up-her-butt will never glance your way. Look, she has been sitting over there and not once has she acknowledged your existence.” She gestures over her shoulder.

  “I am loose.”

  She lets out a sound, that kind of sound like a pissed-off cat, “Really, you could have fooled me.” Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes.

  I glance over at Katie. She is sitting with a group of her friends, deep in conversation. “What do you have in mind?” I ask cautiously.

  She gives me a sultry smile and leans over toward me. “Tell me a joke.” She is so close I can smell her perfume. It is sweet like sugar or cotton candy. “Make me laugh,” she leans closer and I can see down her shirt. Her bra is black and lacey; her tan skin peeks out from under it. How am I supposed to make her laugh? I want to make her go away, not laugh. Just then the sweet note of Katie’s musical laugh floats over to me. I look back up at Barbie who is staring eagerly at me. I feel desperate; I will try just about anything to make her stop staring at me with those freaky eyes of her. So I give it a go. “Well…there was this mathematician and his friend, and they went to a bar…and then they asked the bartender for one eighth of a beer.” Barbie holds up her hands.

  “Stop. Please, before you hurt yourself,” she cuts me off. Fine, but now miss the punch line. She then does the most lunatic thing; she slams her hands down on the table, hard drawing attention to herself. She throws her head back and starts laughing, really laughing, deep-belly laughing, a husky sound that vibrates over me. People stop chewing and look in our direction. It is clear this is not helping. She is turning us into a freak show. My face is on fire. I try to quiet her. I even make the universal sign for be quiet, pointer finger to pursed lips, but she ignores it and continues to laugh. I want to make her go away.

  Third is back. He looks back and forth at us like we lost our freaking minds. I think I have. I have gone over to the dark side and I want back. “What’s so funny?” he asks me, taking a seat. I shrug. He looks at Barbie, who is still laughing. He must have caught on to whatever absurd motive she has, because he also begins to chuckle, which turns in to a belly-shaking laugh. When in Rome, I suppose. People are looking at us like we are crazy. Now I’ve had enough.

  “Forget it! The deal is off,” I say through gritted teeth. “I didn’t realize the deal included me looking like a fool in front of the entire student body.”

  Barbie stops laughing and looks right at me. “Look,” she gestures at Katie. I glance over and she is watching us. Katie Bloom wants to know what Barbie finds so funny in me. “You’re welcome. Now about that A you are going to get me,” she says.

  Barbie shares a free period with me. Who she must have slept with to get one into her schedule is beyond me, because it is painfully obvious she needs to be in a class. I have never once seen her in the library and that makes me wonder what she uses her free period for. “You are not paying attention,” I say annoyed. I had been trying to explain linear equations, but she is not getting it. She is gazing off with this dreamy look in her eyes. Great. She is high. “If you look at example 1A…” I push the book across the table to her. Frustration drips off me.

  “I don’t get it.” She shoves the book right back to me.

  She is not even trying. I rub my palms down my face. “We have been at this for almost an hour, what don’t you get?” I ask trying to be patient with her

  “The whole thing,” she gestures wildly around us. I need a new tactic to teach her. She is obviously not getting it the conventional way.

  I sigh, shutting the book. “We will try again tomorrow.” We still have thirty minutes to kill to next period. I dig out my homework to get an early start.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, leaning up against the table.

  “Homework. You should try it sometime.”

  She rolls her eyes, a favorite facial expression of hers. “Psshhh.”

  I glance up at her. “What do you usually do with yourself during this time?” I can only begin to imagine the diseases she spreads during her free time.

  A smile spreads across her mouth, “Make out with Tyler under the bleachers.” Her eyes are glistening.

  “Figures.”

  The smile fades from her face, “What does that mean?” She sits up and crosses her arms over her chest.

  “It just means you have a certain reputation around Central,” I say going back to my homework.

  “So, because a few people talk, you think you know me?”

  I laugh, “A few people? Try the whole school.”

  She leaps to her feet, knocking over her chair. The few students that are trying to study glance over in our direction, “You know what? Screw you and this whole fucking school.”

  I watch her storm out, realizing how that must have hurt. I am ashamed of myself and now feel like the biggest tool. I should have kept my mouth shut about her extracurricular activities. What business is it of mine with what or with whom she ‘does’ in her free time? I stuff my books into my backpack and chase after her. I need to make peace…before she does something crazy that I will regret. Images of Carrie flash in my min
d. I follow the sound of her plastic bracelets clinking together.

  “Hey, stop,” I call out, jogging as I try to catch up with her. Damn, she is fast. “Come on, I am sorry.” I match her pace, walking in step with her. She ignores me, pushing through the red metal double doors to the outside. Warm air slams into me.

  Chapter 4.

  Words

  I push through the front double doors. No one tries to stop us. Why should anyone bother? I am nothing but a troubled girl. A loose wire. People move out of my way when I walk down the hall like I am diseased. The air is hot and heavy, making the hair stick to my neck. “Come on, I already said I was sorry.” Dylan tries to keep pace with me. I shrug my messenger-bag strap up my shoulder and begin to braid my hair angrily to keep it from sticking to the back of my neck. I hate Dylan Knight I am done with him and this whole tutoring thing. “You know it is not like you try to portray anyone different. I mean, just look how you are dressed.”

  That’s it. He has gone too far. “Oh, I am sorry, maybe I should dress like I just came from a Trekkie convention, and then maybe people would like me and stop talking shit.” I pivot on my heels so I am facing him.

  “What’s wrong with the way I am dressed?” he asks, his brown hair falling in his eyes. Nothing is wrong with how he is dressed. It is actually kind of cute in an I-don’t-care, nerdy kind of way. He obviously put some thought into his look. The faded grey T-shirt Galaxy Hero written in faded yellow and green block letters, his rumbled jeans, with his scuffed-up chucks.

  “Nothing.” I sigh and start to walk away.

  “No come on. Talk to me.” He grabs my arm, stopping me from leaving.

  My throat aches with the words stuck in it. He thinks he knows me, just like everyone else at this school. They have no clue, how their words are like a knife cutting me deep. “You think you have everything figured out, that everyone has their place, that it is black and white, but you fail to see the gray in-between.” I am rambling so fast the words get broken and stuck in my throat.

  “You are not making any sense.”

  I let out a sigh. “Follow me.” I walk, not waiting to see if he follows.

  “I don’t see how bringing me out here under the bleachers proves anything,” he protests as we make our way underneath the metal seats.