THE GOLD FISH: Fight! (3.13)

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Barbie was back to eating actual food.

If, that is, you considered a bologna and cheese sandwich and a bag of Fritos, actual food. And Barbie definitely did.

If there was one bright spot to giving up on her gold (pause) fish, she thought, it was that she no longer had to live on peanut butter crackers. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

So it was with this positive outlook that Barbie moved out of the cafeteria line and headed over to her regular lunch table, where another bright spot awaited her.

Erin, her face full of eager beaver ebullience, was just now waving Barbie over and elbowing Bev aside to make more room.

“Bump!” she called. “Over here!”

Barbie sank gratefully into the space beside her.

“Any progress?” Erin asked.

Barbie had told Erin everything. About Wesley’s death, about her falling-out with Bridge, about her regular front porch vigils.

Okay, Erin didn’t know everything. Barbie hadn’t felt the need to tell Erin certain things about her father. His tendency to sleep all day, his drinking, his gambling, the fact that he’d swiped her money to pay off a gambling debt. Some things were just too painful to share.

Erin’s father was a minister, for godssake. Barbie couldn’t imagine he was the kind of guy who raided his daughter’s jewelry box for cash. Even for a complete and total empath, it was doubtful Erin could relate. So those details Barbie conveniently kept to herself.

But she had shared everything about Bridge and Wesley. And like most good friends and all theater kids obsessed with conflict and drama, Erin followed these larger-than-life characters with keen interest and bated breath. She was invested.

“Nope,” sighed Barbie. “She’s still ignoring me.”

“Oh Bump, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

Barbie picked up her sandwich and took a bite.

“Nothing to say,” she said around a mouthful. “I just wish there was something else I could do. Besides sitting on my porch waiting for her to forgive me.”

Erin patted Barbie on the back. “You’ll think of something. I just know you will.”

Barbie sighed and nodded.

“Okay, well…” began Erin, “This probably isn’t the best time to tell you. But that Donna girl was here again. Something about you owing her a bag? She’s not very nice, you know. She definitely must have been absent when they passed around the manners. She’s a complete and total Philistine…”

Barbie, by the way, had no idea what a Philistine was, but had no time to dwell on it, because when Erin was on a roll, it was best to just keep listening. So she did.

“…right to cut her off,” continued Erin. “I mean, who actually asks for snakes on their pants? It’s so obvious. So on the nose. Like, ‘oh look at me, I’m sooooo scary!’ Has she never heard of nuance?! Clearly, she doesn’t deserve your art, but she just can’t seem to let it go.” She finally took a breath, giving Barbie an opening.

“So what did she say exactly?”

“Just that you better come talk to her…” Erin’s blue eyes widened in mock intimidation, “‘or else!’ Or else?! I mean, really? What’s she going to do, break your kneecaps?! She’s like a gangster in a bad movie. Does she really think she can threaten you? I told her you’d ‘gotten out of the business’ weeks ago, but she just won’t listen. I’ll give her points for persistence, though. That girl,” Erin pointed across the cafeteria at Pickles, who was just now glaring back at Barbie, “doesn’t know the meaning of the word Uncle.”

At the word Uncle, something seemed to snap in Barbie. She slammed down her milk, and with eyes full of daggers, clambered from the table and stomped off in Donna’s direction.

Erin immediately followed, literally skipping to keep up, thrilled to bits by the potential drama of a showdown.

At Barbie’s approach, Donna looked up eagerly.

“Listen, Pickles,” Barbie began. “I’m NOT making you a bag. I’m NEVER making you a bag. Or embroidering any more of your pants. Not for you or your dumb friends. Got it?”

The look of cautious optimism on Donna’s face faded and was replaced with cold scorn. “Why not? You afraid what your psycho friend Bridget will do to you?”

Barbie’s eyes narrowed. “Bridge has nothing to do with it.”

Donna looked around the table, bringing her cronies up to speed. “Barbie used to be her best friend, until Bridget went…” Donna paused to twirl her index finger next to her head in the universal sign of craziness, “cuckoo. Cuz she was hanging out with me.”

“No she didn’t!” protested Barbie. “And I was never hanging out with you.”

Donna ignored this particular detail and continued to address her friends. “Bridget is out of her mind, you know?” She turned back to Barbie with a sneer, “…just like her hippy brother. When he died.”

“What?!” gasped Barbie.

Donna looked around the table. “You guys heard about that, right? That older kid who crashed his car? Wesley Sullivan?”

Barbie’s fists tightened at her sides, and her voice gained a lethal edge. “Don’t you even say his name.”

But Donna was on a roll now, and wouldn’t be stopped. She turned to Barbie. “Wesley. Wesley. Wesley. You know why he crashed his car, dontcha? He was tripping. On LSD. Stoned out of his mind on some kind of psychedelic—”

In a flash, Donna was flung, mid-sentence, onto the sticky cafeteria floor, where Barbie proceeded to pummel the living daylights out of her.

Between punches, Barbie screamed. “YOU’RE. A. BIG. FAT. LIAR. YOU. DON’T. KNOW. ANY. THING.”

A ring of kids seemed to materialize out of nowhere to surround the two girls. “Fight, fight, fight!” they screamed in delight.

Barbie and Donna fought in what seemed like a cartoon tangle of skinny arms and denim clad legs. Within seconds, a smear of blood ran from one of Donna’s nostrils to her ear, and Barbie’s sweater hung from her shoulder in tatters.

The two girls might have gone on forever, if not for the thundering feet and shouts from an incoming teacher.

“STOP IT! STOP IT THIS INSTANT!”

In another flash, a quick thinking Erin pulled Barbie from the floor, threw her into the crowd of jeering kids, and collapsed dramatically on top of Donna.

“What the heck is going on here?!” screamed the teacher as he pushed his way through the crowd.

A lifeless Erin was now draped across the struggling Donna. “Get off me!” she screeched.

Erin’s eyelids fluttered, before finally opening. “Oh my,” she said breathlessly. “Oh my. I must have fainted.”

The teacher frowned skeptically. “Uh huh,” he said.

Donna shoved Erin aside. “I said. Get… off… of… me.”

Bev stepped forward from the ring of kids. “I saw the whole thing. Erin just fainted. She does that, you know. Weak heart and all.” She shrugged before continuing. “She just landed on top of Donna. It was an accident.”

The teacher turned his gaze to Donna, who was lurching to her feet. “Is that right?” he asked.

Donna swayed in place, nose bleeding, hair tangled, one eye starting to swell, as the entire cafeteria went quiet waiting for her to answer. Daring her to answer. Pleading with their eyes for her to answer the right way.

“Yeah,” she finally spat. “Of course it was an accident.” And with that she turned and stomped off.

“And you?” the teacher asked Erin. “Are you okay?”

“Well,” breathed Erin in response, running the back of her hand across her forehead, “I do still feel a bit peaked. But I suppose a cool drink would help…” She looked off towards the cafeteria drinks dispenser. “If you’ve got one handy?”

The teacher took her by the arm. “I think we can make that happen,” he said dryly.

As the teacher guided her away, Erin shot a look over her shoulder at Barbie -- who stood, still panting from her exertions, amongst the lingering crowd of onlookers -- and winked.

“And scene,” said Bev, elbowing Barbie in the side with a grin. “That was fantastic.”

It was the first time Bev had ever spoken to Barbie. In fact, it was the first time since Barbie had first laid eyes on her, that Bev had even acknowledged her existence.

So Barbie couldn’t help but grin back.

Next → Gifts (3.14)