put your head on straight
“It’s Raquelle’s time to shine.”
Your mirror parrots your reflection back at you. Your eyes are gleaming, your smile is radiant, your glee … immeasurable. This party is about to be the greatest success to mark Malibu and you're sure of it. Well, that’s how you thought it would go.
It starts off shaky.
Your guests are treated with a view of you in your designer swimsuit. The black streaks of your zebra print slashing across your body, the white portions winking brilliantly in the rays of golden hour. The timed confetti cannons behind you fire with a bit more gusto that you were expecting and the sudden canon fire of coloured paper makes you jump out of your high heels.
People watch you trip down the short flight of stairs. All wobbly knees and deer-caught-in-headlights eyed but you make a miraculous recovery just before the edge of the pool. As soon as you gain your footing you spin around and flash your audience a smile. They return back to their drinks and chatter.
~
By the time night comes you’ve downed so much virgin fruit punch trying to look busy that if you even breathe too hard you might gag. Which, of course, means that the walking talking embodiment of your mania has to arrive - only Barbie’s timing could be so perfect.
It seems that Barbie takes no time trying to pick you out of the crowd.
There’s something a little different. You try to shake it off. Maybe it’s because you haven’t seen her in person for a while (a while being one week), or maybe it’s actually because she’s not wearing her signature pink bathing suit. And it makes your mind enter a mental tailspin - you think she’s coming for your gig, because she’s in a high waisted bikini and it’s black. Black being the new pink is your thing.
“Ryan,” you whisper-call for your brother, making your way behind a potted plant near the drinks table. He’s hopelessly distracted talking to someone. You watch as he pulls a sharpie out of nowhere and signs the poor recipient's arm. “RYAN.” You now whisper-scream at him and he finally pays you some attention.
“Hey, succulent,” he says. “Pachira,” you correct him. “Barbie’s here. I need you to go and be a weirdo or whatever and distract her.”
“What are you doing?”
The sudden sound of Nikki’s voice scarring the diva out of you.
“Ohhh my gosh, is this a secret party? A party within a party?” Teresa squats down to hide with you. You give up. The plant isn’t big enough.
“Raquelle is hiding from Barbie,” Ryan says and starts throwing together a concoction of different soda’s into one very overfilled red cup. He offers the girls a drink but everyone just grimaces.
“Raquelle…” Nikki says, with a pinch of pity and a whole dumping of judgement. “If you didn’t want to see her why, oh why, did you invite her to your pool party? A pool party you made me help you set up. Those are hours I will not be getting back.”
She’s got you. Oh, she’s got you good. You think about it for a moment… you can’t come to an answer. It seems like another mystery to the questions hanging above your head, and you keep drawing blanks. Everything used to be so clear cut, you were so sure of every Barbie-fuelled decision you’ve made but now you can’t even think straight.
“Everyone, I have an announcement to make.” You stand up, channeling an ego driven confidence only you could manifest, and you get ready to make your announcement. “I’m about to throw up. If you need your esteemed host, Raquelle, please hold yourselves together until I get back. I know it’ll be hard, but please do your best.”
You lock yourself in your 1959 Malibu Way mansion and you try to catch your breath in your bathroom. The muffled sound of poolside music mocking you. How did you let it get to this?
~
The number of people dwindles down to single digits as it nears midnight. Ryan is by the food buffet gorging on some free hot dogs before you force him out, and the DJ is packing up before the last song finishes. When everyone leaves you find yourself standing by the steps of your pool, your restless reflection wavering as you enter. Exhaustion weighs on your shoulders and you float on your back, ears slipping into the deafening silence of the water.
A moment of tranquility you finally find in the suburbian darkness and winking stars. You’re so lost in just existing that you close your eyes and let the current of the water push you and your many pool floaties. An especially large ripple of water nearly washes over your eyes, and you feel yourself drifting further out into the pool.
You feel a pair of hands gently touch your shoulders and you open your eyes - heavily lidded and sleepy - to see Barbie next to you, floating with the help of a fluorescent pool noodle. She smiles. Her lips move. You can’t hear her.
The split second you register what’s happening and who's in front of you - you panic. You can swim, but your body seems to not care and your arms start flailing. Colourful pool lights replaced with a white out of bubbles as you struggle to find your composure.
For the next few seconds, you’re rescued by Barbie. A humiliating process you will not be recounting.
“Barbie, why must you personally victimize me,” you gurgle out. You can make out the black of Barbie’s swimsuit, shifting blobs of all sorts of colours from your pool lights. Your eyes only open a little bit against the sting of chlorine. The grids of the overflow drain digging into your back.
“Oh my goodness, Raquelle, I am so sorry for startling you. Good thing I used to work as a lifeguard.”
Yeah, you remember. One of the many summer jobs Barbie disappeared for when she started to pop in and out of your life. You hold back from mentioning that detail. “That’s great, Barbie.” You try sitting upright, but it’s an effort with your burning sinuses. Barbie comes back with a towel and you wrap it around yourself to keep warm against the night breeze.
“Nikki told me you were sick,” Barbie says. “I got worried and wanted to check up on you. I didn’t see you all night.”
“That’s very neighbourly of you. But as you can see, Barbie-kins, I’m fine now.” You squeeze the ends of your hair with the towel. “Well, as fine as you can feel after swallowing a bunch of pool water.”
Barbie laughs and you don’t feel as horrible as you would about it.
“You know what you’re in need of? The most amaze slumber party to get you back on your stilettos.”
“Barbs, I’m going to be bu-”
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She interrupts and you’re a bit caught off by it.
“W-well, if you insist. I’ll have to talk to my manager about clearing my schedule.” You do not have a manager, and you did not have any plans. Usually, most of your plans are centered around Barbie-thwarting, but since you haven’t been on any sort of vindictive streak... you’ve got the time.
Barbie looks pleased with your answer. “Tomorrow then,” she says. “I’ll see you here at six.”
“We’re having it at my place?!”
“Yup,” she says and giggles a bit to herself. Barbie gets up and fixes up her hair and outfit a touch before leaving. “Toodles, Raquelle.” And all you could do was watch her leave.