Page 5 of The Beginning and End of Everything
"Aw, Mrs. Blaine. She'll smack my arse."
"Someone needs to, boy,” she said on her way back to the kitchen.
I smiled at Brandon. "Told you video games are bad for you."
With a glare, he grabbed the brunette Barbie my mother had given me on my eighth birthday.
“Be careful with her,” I said, but he was too busy trying to undress her to listen.
"Does she have boobs?"
The Velcro ripped, and the sparkly dress dropped to the floor. Brandon wrinkled his nose when he glanced down at the nude plastic. “Gross.”
Enraged, I shoved to my feet. Brandon held the unclothed doll above his head, laughing as he waved it around.
“Stop.” I jumped to grab the toy, but he dangled it out of reach.
A wicked grin—one that warned something awful was brewing in Brandon’s head—tugged at the corner of his lips. Then he ripped off the doll’s head and tossed it to the floor. It bounced over the carpet before rolling to a stop beside my foot.
A storm of emotions swirled inside me when I bent to retrieve the decapitated head. I stared at the doll’s bright smile, her pretty brown waves, remembering how soft my mother’s voice had been when she told me she thought the doll looked like me.
Of course, I would have been angry had Brandon ripped the head off any of my other dolls, but I wouldn’t have been hurt. He’d just unknowingly destroyed the last present my mother had given me. Clenching my fists, I focused on how much I hated him to keep from crying.
“I can fix it, Poppy,” Connor started, stepping to my side while Brandon doubled over in laughter.
But what I wanted more than my doll fixed, at least at that moment, was retribution. I wanted Brandon O’Kieffe in trouble. In major, butt-spanking trouble.
I gritted my teeth, sucking air deep into my lungs, then I belted out a scream so shrill it felt like sandpaper in my throat.
Connor and Brandon’s hands flew to their ears. In point five seconds, Mrs. Blaine darted around the corner. “What’s going on now?” She knelt in front of me, placing her soft hands on my arms. "Poppy? What’s wrong?"
"Brandon…" I sniffed back tears and forced my lip to quiver because that always worked on my father. "He tore off my doll's head, then threw it at me! Because he…" I gulped in air for dramatic effect, and then I let the tears fall. “He hates me!” I buried my face in Mrs. Blaine’s shoulder, inhaling the delicate scent of fabric softener.
“He doesn’t hate you.” She hugged me tightly, swept my hair from my face, then kissed my forehead. On a jilted breath, she pushed to her feet and grabbed Brandon by the ear.
Connor stood wide-eyed in the background while his mother marched a wincing Brandon right in front of me.
“Give Poppy her doll back.”
He held out the headless Barbie, glaring at me like he wished he could rip off my head instead.
“And tell her you’re sorry.”
“Aw, Mrs. Blaine, I was just playing. I didn’t—”
She tugged harder on his ear to make her point. “Sorry, Brandon. Tell her you’re sorry.”
“Ow.” His nostrils flared. “Sorry.”
Shaking her head, she mumbled “heathen” on her way from the room.
Connor scrubbed a hand through his hair and took the doll from my hands, while I glared at Brandon, hoping he felt my anger burn through his skin.
"There." Connor gave a proud, ear-to-ear grin when he handed back the Barbie, her head turned the wrong way around and shoved to her shoulders.
“Thanks.”
An awkward silence settled over us while I pulled Barbie’s head back into place and smoothed out her hair. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Connor rock from his heels to his toes, hands clasped behind his back. Brandon was still in full self-pity mode on the couch. I hoped he would stay there and leave us alone for the rest of the day.
