Graphic by Ivory Morales/OutWrite
Content warning: homophobia
Barbie’s POV
I look out over the rolling waves and allow my eyes to rest on her.
She’s wearing a fitted white tank top, jean shorts, and her signature silver chain around her neck. Her dimples are on full display as she laughs at something her friend says, and her eyes capture the rays of sunlight and infuse them into her irises, brightening them beyond Technicolor. They’ve broken through to the sixth dimension, and I can’t look away, and I don’t want to look away.
When her friend leaves her side to go grab something, she scans the people on the beach, and her gaze stops on mine.
And my God, I can’t feel my feet. I don’t think my heart got the memo that today’s its day off because it’s working overtime, pumping and beating, faster and faster — my God, am I having a heart attack? I think I’m having a heart attack, this certainly feels like a heart attack, oh God, I’ve been staring for too long, haven’t I, but she’s still staring, too, so I think it’s okay to stare, my God, she has the most intense stare, what do I do, what do I do, what do I do, God, I feel so awkward, God, I just want to kiss her so bad —
And then the most miraculous thing happens: She flashes a soft, shy smile and waves.
I offer a small wave in return and flash a grin of my own, and I don’t know what comes over me, but my numb feet are moving forward like they have a mind of their own, each step bringing me closer and closer to her sparkling eyes and warm smile.
As soon as I’m a few steps in front of her, my brisk stride halts, and every part of my body seems to be operating independently from my brain because my mouth immediately blurts out, “Hi.”
The corners of her lips lift ever so slightly, and her dimples etch themselves further into her cheeks. “Hi.”
It seems the filter on my mouth is officially broken because I plow ahead before I lose my nerve. “I saw your soccer game yesterday, and you did so well! Whenever I try to play, I always end up tripping over my own feet, but you had such grace and agility on the field. You were absolutely incredible.”
Her sun-kissed cheeks bloom the prettiest of blush pinks, and her eyes crinkle in surprised delight. She starts bouncing from one foot to the other with this bubbly, nervous energy that seems to electrify the space between us. “Oh wow, thank you so much! That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. And I’m sure you’re great, but if you ever want any tips or want to practice, just let me know, and I’d be happy to help!”
Oh my God, are we flirting right now? Am I seriously flirting with her right now?
A small smile lights up my face. “I’d love that.”
Her eyes flicker to a point behind me, and the light in her eyes dims slightly. “I’m actually not so sure Ken would.”
I turn around to see Ken standing further up the shore looking in our direction. When he sees me looking, he waves excitedly, the goofiest grin lighting up his face, and he calls out, “Hi, Barbie!”
I put my hand up in acknowledgment and call back — much less enthusiastically, “Hi, Ken.”
I turn back around to see Julia watching me closely. What ensues is a few seconds of awkward silence before she asks, “So what’s the deal with you and Ken?”
I jerk my head back in surprise because that’s the last thing I expected her to say. “What do you mean?”
She rubs her hand behind her neck, her eyes shifting between him and me. “Well, he keeps going around saying that you’re basically an item, but I saw your face fall when you saw him. Did you get into a fight or something?”
I have to keep my wits about me, so I don’t show my absolute shock and budding hope at her question. Maybe — just maybe — there’s something here after all. Why else would she care so much about what Ken has to say about our relationship status — or lack thereof, for that matter? Note to self: smack Ken upside the head the next time I see him.
She seems to see my internal dialogue because she adds quickly, holding her hands out in a placating gesture, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”
Her nervousness melts my heart and grounds me in what I have to say next. “No, you don’t have to apologize. Ken and I aren’t dating — never have, never will. I am not in the least bit attracted to Ken.” I add more quietly, “There’s someone else.”
Her eyes brighten at that, fixing me with her signature intense stare, the question in her voice implicit when she says, “Oh?”
I nod slowly, staring right back at her and leaning in to nudge her shoulder with mine, creating a small cocoon for us. I whisper into her ear, “It’s you.”
The scorching, summer sun has nothing on the smile that illuminates her face, her eyes twinkling like starlight, her dimples on full display. “Yeah?”
I take a step closer, drawing us further together into orbit. “Yeah.”
She leans in ever so slightly, her eyes trailing down to my lips. “I have a little confession to make as well.”
I lean in, too, feeling heady with the giddiness bubbling and threatening to burst from my skin. “Which is?”
“I like you, Barbie.”
I close my eyes briefly to savor the feeling of those four words as they wash over me, the feeling of her breath on my skin. If I wasn’t having a heart attack before, I am definitely having one right now.
When I open my eyes, she’s looking at me with that intense stare in her eyes again, a question lingering, burning just beneath the surface. Her eyes drift back down to my lips again, and I can’t contain myself any longer.
In answer to her silent question, I stand up on my tiptoes and join my lips with hers. At first, the kiss is slow and gentle, but then she parts her lips and presses harder, twining her arms around my waist, pulling me in closer and closer until I can’t tell where I end and she begins. In this kiss, I taste sunlight and a fresh spring of dewdrops. In this kiss, I taste honeysuckle and all the splashes of vibrant color that paint the sky at sunset. In this kiss, I taste absolute, dizzying, glorious freedom. In this kiss, I taste joy with no strings attached.
In this kiss is absolute queer euphoria. I am free, I am love, I am light, I am a bird with no restraints flying and soaring above the Heavens, never looking back.
My God, it’s her.
It’s always been her.
Lyra’s POV
Walking into the living room, my mom takes one look at me sitting on the carpet, Barbie and Julia locked midair in a kiss. She halts in her tracks, looking back and forth between the dolls and me like she can’t decide who to focus her attention on.
“Lyra, what are you doing?” She asks hesitatingly, slowly walking toward me like she’s approaching an animal that she doesn’t want to scare off.
“I’m just playing.” I’m confused as to why she looks so scared. I don’t understand what’s wrong — she’s seen me play Barbies before. Besides, I’m in the middle of my playtime adventure at the beach where Barbie finally worked up the courage to talk to Julia and make a move! And yay, Julia returns Barbie’s feelings, and they were just kissing to seal their love for each other. What’s so scary about that? I want to tell her to not interrupt Barbie and Julia’s moment, but I hold my tongue because I know that’ll just make her mad.
“Well, why are Barbie and Julia kissing?” She’s standing right next to me, towering over me and looking down at my playtime set-up like she doesn’t know what to make of it.
“Because they like each other.” I stop myself just in time from adding “duh” because I know I’ll get in trouble for that. Seriously, what has gotten into Mom today? She’s acting so weird.
“No, that’s not right. Barbie likes Ken, sweetheart.”
“Well, why can’t she like Julia?”
“Because Julia is a girl —” At “girl,” Mom puckers her lips and scrunches her nose in disgust. “— and girls can’t like girls, right darling?” She looks at me expectantly, her eyebrows raised up in hope, and I don’t agree with her, but I want her to be happy again.
“Right.”
“That’s my sweetpea,” she says lovingly, patting my head and turning away to walk toward the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she says, “Lunch will be ready soon, so come to the table!”
“Okay!” I call out, setting down my dolls and heading over to the kitchen. I look back to see Barbie and Julia’s hands touching, and the sight brings a smile to my face.
My mom sees the look on my face. “What are you smiling at?”
“Nothing.”
Credits:
Author: Mary Nassar (She/Her)
Artist: Ivory Morales (They/Them)
Copy Editors: Dalia Villalobos Jimenez (She/Her), Bella (She/Her)