Page 2 of She’s a Doll

I crouched down and picked it up. It looked OK. Well, apart from the spiderweb crack forking from one side of the screen to the other. But that had happened six months ago when I’d been playing fetch with Cookie, phone in one hand, stick in the other, my brain incapable of making a good decision under pressure.

I cupped my hand around the screen, shielding it from the sun’s glare. The number pad was there, and when I thumbed in my pin, the familiar forest of app icons popped up, mostly normal, apart from the shock of magenta and cyan pixels down the side.

That was new.

But, just like the certificate, it was fine. A little glitchy and gross, but fine. It still worked. And even if it didn’t, I could get a new phone once I found a CEO to hire me, which would surely be soon, what with me being adequately competent and all.

There were two new messages.

Krissy: Where are you? I’ve got a 15% off coupon at that new thai place. Swing by.

Ginger: Hey Lucy!!! You’re still coming this arvo right? I’ve just finished getting everything ready. It took all morning, please don’t judge. Don’t forget to dress to impress!!

Guilt crept up my throat.

I hadn’t told Krissy I was going to Ginger’s. I didn’t want to admit to Krissy that one of the girls we’d been dedicated to hating in high school had been sliding into my DMs. Which was stupid. We were all grown up, right? Year-eleven drama shouldn’t matter now.

Except maybe it did, because my thumbs were already typing out the words I’m sorry, I can’t right now. Catch up tomorrow? I got a read receipt from Krissy, but no reply.

Be there soon! I sent to Ginger. Then, as an afterthought, I followed it up with a heart emoji, the same sort she’d sent me.

I didn’t tell either of them that it was my graduation day.

2

An hour later, I stood outside Ginger’s house.

It looked like a five-year-old’s drawing of a house: acid-green hedge, triangular roof, and two box-shaped windows positioned on either side of the door, like eyes. I met their glassy stare as I walked along a winding garden path, awkwardly tugging at the fabric on my thighs, six-pack of Cruisers clutched to my chest.

I’d driven home from the library, ditched my certificate, stripped off my Harry Styles shirt⁠—rip⁠—and did as instructed: dressed to impress. I figured there’d be nothing more impressive than the outfit that won me second place in the cosplay competition a couple of years ago. Novice division, but so what?

Top hat, tails, and a bow tie that was so big it tickled my chin. The pants were tighter than I remembered. The vest was too, squeezed around my middle like a corset, pushing my boobs up and everything else down. But the effect must’ve been a good one, because Ginger’s face split into a wide, earnest sort of smile as soon as she opened the door.

“Oh my God! You look amazing!”

“Thanks,” I said, even though I was quickly sweating through the layers of my too-small three-piece suit. “You look good too.”

“Good” was an understatement. Ginger looked like something out of a perfume commercial. Skirt long, eyelids shimmery, and curly blonde hair exploding out from behind her headband.

Back in high school, I’d barely ever talked to Ginger. I told myself it was because she was one of the cool kids, and I wasn’t, and that meant I shouldn’t want to talk to her, that actually I should hate her a little. But the truth was, I didn’t hate her. I never had. It wasn’t popularity that kept us apart in high school; it was my backbone, or lack thereof. I wasn’t brave enough to talk to her then . . . and, if I was being totally, one hundred percent honest, I wasn’t sure I was brave enough now. She’d been the one who’d started messaging me, out of the blue. A bouncing notification icon that I thought must’ve been a mistake the first time I saw it.

Hey. You still live in town, right?

Right, I’d answered. Then, because that had seemed too abrupt, too mean, I’d followed it up with a I love it here! which she’d laugh-reacted to, even though it hadn’t been a joke. We’d been pinging each other every day for over a month now. A Did you see the new Nicole Kidman movie? here, a Why does servo sushi taste the best? Is it the bacteria? Is bacteria spicy? there.

“What are you holding?” she asked now.

“Oh. I . . . um . . . didn’t know what to bring. I hope this is OK.” I held up the six-pack of fizzy strawberry Cruisers. A.k.a. sugar, water, food coloring, and vodka. I didn’t normally go for Cruisers. When I went to the bar with Krissy, I’d just get a beer, which was a little Homer Simpson, but whatever, it was cheap.

Beer didn’t seem like Ginger’s vibe, though. She was pink and glittery, like the pen she used to sign her name in my yearbook. So I bought the pinkest, glitteriest drink I could find.

“Lucy,” Ginger said, eyes widening, voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s a tea party.”

I hesitated. “Yeah. I know. That’s the . . . the theme . . . right?”

She kept staring.

“Right?” I said again.