Barbie Girl (Baby Doll Series) (18 page)

“No I think I just need to go home,” I argue.

Dylan frowns. “I have a test next class,” he says hesitantly.

“I will take her home,” Third offers.

“No I can—” Dylan argues.

“No go take your test. It is just a headache.” I reach up and kiss him on his cheek. I lean against Third and let him lead me out to the minivan.

“I don’t want to go home,” I whimper unsure of what I will find.

Mrs. Cruz takes one look at me and sends me straight to Third’s room. His bed is like a soft cloud and I pull the covers up to my chin. I fall in and out of a restless sleep; my body is licked by fire one moment then dipped in icy chills the next. A cold sweat mats my hair down to my forehead.

I dream of Dylan.
He dances in front of me with Katie in his arms. My heart breaks shattering around me in a thousand tiny pieces. I try to pick it up and put it back together. They dance around me laughing at the pieces in my hand. I try to stop them but they are just out of my reach. They fade away and I am walking down along a red dirt road, tall oak trees grow on either side of the road, moss hangs off their thick heavy branches. The sun sets, bathing everything it touches in gold. I have never seen anything so beautiful. It is silent. Numbing. There is only long winding dirt red road in front and back of me. I wish I could stay here forever. I stop to pick some purple flowers that grow along the side of the road when I hear it. Screaming. I can feel the screaming. It is in my skin, making it tremble. Piercing my bones. I start to run to find Everett, but my legs can barely lift they feel heavy, stuck. I need to keep going I have to help him. I try calling out his name to tell him I am coming, but I have no voice. I am panicked. I will my legs to walk, I try lifting them once more and I stumble to the ground. I claw at the ground trying to get to him. I can’t. I cannot save him
.

I wake with a jolt my heart racing. My hair is in thick mats pressed against my forehead in wet clumps. I take in deep gulps of air, and tell myself that Evie is fine. He is not lost and hurt somewhere it was all a bad dream.

The door cracks open and Mrs. Cruz sticks her head in. “Oh good you are up, how ya feeling?” She pushes the door open; in her hand she holds a tray with soup. The smell o
f chicken noodle fills the
room;
my
stomach
lets out a loud growl
.

“Hungry.”

She smiles a warm smile at me. My head is not hurting anymore, but my body still aches. I feel like I ran a marathon. “Good I thought that you would be starved since the last time you ate was yesterday.” She sets the tray down on the nightstand. Yesterday!

“How long have I been asleep?” I kick off the blankets and start to get up. “Everett—” All the things that could have happened to him play in my mind.

“He is fine honey. Barty went to pick him up from school. I hope you don’t mind but I bought him some clothes from the Wal-Mart, couldn’t send him to school in the same thing.” The bed sinks under her weight.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.” I feel like crying because no one has been this good to us in
a long
time. She pushes the hair back off my forehead, in a motherly way. My own mother never acted so motherly to me and here is practically a stranger showing me such kindness.

“It’s the least I can do, your poor momma, having to rush to your ailing grandmother.” She stands up. “You should give her a call when you get up. Let her know y’all are fine.” I sigh wanting to pull the blankets back over my head. Another lie. I feel guilty for deceiving Mrs. Cruz. She is such a sweet lady taking care of two troubled kids without so much as a question. “I am going to go and pick up some chicken to fry for the boys. Why don’t you take a shower in my bathroom?” She reaches for the door. “Oh and I picked these up for you at the Wal-Mart too.” She hands me a package of white underwear.

“Thanks,” I smile.

Mrs. Cruz’s bathroom looks like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol puked in it. Everything is the same pink down to her pink carpeted toilet seat cover. Who puts carpet on a toilet seat? There is lace sewed onto any piece of fabric. I look in the mirror, my skin looks pale and my eyes sit in dark pools under my eyes. My hair is dried to my forehead in stringing clumps. I peel my clothes off and kick them in the corner. I climb in the shower and get to work on my hair first. I shampoo twice with yummy lemon-smelling shampoo. I turn the heat up letting it hit every aching part of me. Comfort fills me, and I relax knowing that the mother hen and Third are letting me be sick, a luxury I am not often granted. I need to call Dylan and let him know that I am okay he must be worried when I didn’t show to school today.

I turn off the water and wrap a big fluffy pink towel around me and head back to Third’s bedroom. I am going to have to thank him for letting me take over his bed. I would not be willing to give up such a comfortable bed; it is like floating on a cloud. I pull a T-shirt from the stack of clean folded clothes on top of his dresser and a pair of the new undies from the bag Mrs. Cruz bought for me. Not the type I usually wear or size, but there is something about oversized granny panties when you’re sick. Comfort. I climb back in to bed and fall back to sleep. This time I dream, happy dreams, dreams of Dylan.

* * *

“I can’t find her anywhere. I drove around all night looking for her,” the sound of Dylan’s panicked voice wakes me. My heart is beating fast in my throat. How am I going to explain myself to him?

“Dylan,” Third’s voice is cut off again by Dylan.

“I have been calling you why the hell have you not answered,” he continues.

“Bro I need—” Third tries again.

“Is that Everett? What is Everett doing here?”

I push the blankets off me and try to remember where I put my pants, but my head is still clouded. I hear his heavy footsteps and I start to rise when the bedroom door swings open.

“Barbie?” Confusion, then anger flashes in his dark brown eyes. I sink back on the bed.

“Dude she was sick,” Third stands behind him. I can only imagine what this must look like to him. Me in Third’s bed wearing only a shirt, I need to tell him the truth, it has been too long. Too long that I have been hiding this part of me, I will tell him everything, and if he doesn’t want me then I will have to except it. I am so tired of lying. Dylan spins on Third.

“You are supposed to be my friend!” He shoves Third against the doorframe slamming his head against the sharp wood. “I told you how I felt about her.” He pushes him again.

“Dylan,” I yell. I am up grabbing at his raised fist. “It’s not what you think.” I beg him to listen to me. He needs to hear the truth. He shoves Third onto the floor and looks down on me, hurt filling his eyes.

“You,” he spits fury copious in his voice. “I should have expected this from you.” Anger curls around each word. He pushes past me.

I run after him grabbing onto his arm. “Dylan will you just please listen to me. You have it wrong,” I beg.

His lip curls up in disgust as he looks at me. He shrugs my hand off him and storms out the front door. I know I have lost him forever.

She runs after me, pleading for me to stop and listen to her. That is the last thing I want to do. I don’t want to hear the lies that spill so easy from her mouth. She lies to everyone with such ease why would I be any different. What I want to do is get the hell out of here before I go back in there and beat the shit out of Third. It all makes perfect sense, the way he followed her around like a lost puppy. An image of him touching her and red hot anger burns inside me.

“Dylan, please,” she catches up to me stepping between me and my truck door. “Will you just listen,” she shouts. Her hair falls in a tangled mess spilling around her shoulders; she wears his T-shirt and nothing else on the bottom. Her feet are bare; she looks like she just woke up or…

“He was my best friend Barbie,” I scream at her. “What could you possibly have to say to make this right?”

She drops her head. She cannot even look me in the eye. A new wave of anger surges forward and I ride it angry with her. “How about telling me why you are in there screwing my best friend!” I yell. My chest aches and rage swirls inside me leaving me confused and hurt.

She grimaces at my words. I loved her. I planned on telling her too. “Why?” I spit.

“Dylan I was sick,” she whispers her lies.

“So then you go home! Or you call me. You do not go and screw my best friend!” Her eyes fill with tears. Is she crying because she was caught or she feels guilty for doing this to me?

“I would never,” she wraps her arms around her waist and her blue eyes meet mine. How can she look at me and lie right to my face. I know what I saw. She seems small his shirt hanging off her frame. How can I hate her and love her so much at the same time?

“That is who you are. Why would I think you would change for me?”

She steps back hurt filling her eyes. I want to pull her back to me take away the hurt in her eyes tell her I believe her. That I am sorry we can work this out. But it is too late for that.

“You’re right. You knew who I was from the beginning.” She takes another step backwards. “It was me who was wrong about you. I don’t know who you are.” Tears fall from her eyes.

I pull open my truck door and spray gravel as I spin out of the drive way far away from her as possible.

I must have driven around for hours contemplating my next move. I drove back to Third’s street three times, wanting to go and demand they tell me the truth. How long had they been messing around behind my back? I try to think of any other reason she was in his bed wearing his shirt. Fuck. She even smelled like him. I punch the steering wheel until my hand aches. I should have been cautious around her; I should have expected this from her. Come on she was giving out hand jobs as if they were Halloween candy. Why would she be any different with me? She didn’t love me. I was just a game to her. A project. Well fuck them both. It really stings when I think about Third’s betrayal; I thought he was my boy, that he had my back. I never thought he would do this to me. We have been through so much together. Just the other day I told him how I felt about Barbie. That I love her, and he still stole her from under me.

Third comes in to his bedroom wearing
a striped button-up blue shirt,
“
h
ow you holding up?” He sits next to me. I pull my legs up to my chest wanting to pull in to myself. Tears burn at my eyes. “He was angry. He said things he is probably regretting right now. When you see him in school today… I bet he is going to apologize.” He gives me a weak smile. I want to believe him so bad, but I know better. I saw the hurt and betrayal in Dylan’s eyes. It does not matter how much I try, he will never believe me. He will never get over the betrayal he feels towards me.

“I am not going to school,” my lip trembles. “He believes all those rumors about me.” A tear escapes and I wipe at it angrily.

“I don’t,” he pats my leg that is still under the blanket.

“Why?” my voice cracks.

“Why? Because you are not any of those things. The girl I know is caring and puts the ones she loves above herself. That doesn’t sound like a girl who is busy getting high or handing out hand jobs in the locker room.”

I laugh around my tears. “Yeah I wouldn’t have time. Could you imagine the strength I would have to have in my hand to perform that many.” I laugh but the tears still fall.

“Besides I would know if that was true because I would have been the first in line,” he winks at me.

“Ew,” I punch him in the arm “that’s gross.”

He exhales the sadness bake in his face, “And he knows you are not that girl, he is just angry. He needs time to cool down.” I hope so.

I write Mrs. Cruz a thank you note. I don’t want to leave but I have to go home and make sure Momma is still alive. Besides Mrs. Sophie’s daughter has to be gone by now. She only stays a few days at the most. Third drops me off in front of my house on his way to school. “Hang in there,” he rubs the top of my head, before taking off. I relentlessly climb the steps to my house, bracing myself for the worst.

I feel like I walked into the twilight zone, this is not my house. Joni Mitchell plays from a small CD player in the living room. The smell of pine sol is so strong it itches my nose, has someone been cleaning. I continue to walk, apprehensive of my surroundings. Everett and I go missing for a few days and my mother cleans…unlikely. Perhaps the landlord finally made good on his promise and evicted us, and I am walking in on the new tenants. I follow the sound of someone singing along to “All I Want.” I find my mother in the kitchen, the floor littered in brown paper bags. She stands at the open fridge. I see a gallon of milk along with other items. Is that butter? “Mom what is going on?”

She spins around at the sound of my voice. “Baby Doll, you’re home. I was beginning to think you done run out on me like your daddy. She puts her cigarette out in the sink. So she went shopping?

“Isn’t this wonderful,” she spreads her arms out beaming. “Ronnie gave me money, he told me to go down to the
Piggly Wiggly
and fill up the fridge. He loves this stuff,” she holds up a package of sausage. Warning bells are going off in my head.