Broken Dolls (5 page)

his week, on
Ella Rescue Squad
: our petite hero protects her love interest, Andy, by thwarting the great and powerful ghost, Ruze-go-moto!” I pretend to be the audience listening to the radio show and cheer and clap for myself. “Will she win? Will she lose? Stay tuned to find out!”

I hit the pause button on the recorder. I found it a couple of years ago, and the professor said I could use it to diarize. It’s dusty, and the tape inside looks worn and tired, but it’s a fun way to pass the time. It’s the size of a brick and the keys are sticky, so I have to push the record and rewind button extra hard.

Suddenly, I realize something. I record imagination time a few times a week, but I used to speak about my thoughts–thoughts I don’t think I have anymore. I want to know if I used to be as pessimistic and cynical as Lisa.

Ella Rescue Squad
can wait for now. I go towards a pile of old tapes and find the first one I ever used. It’s not heavy to carry, it’s just awkward. When I put it in the recorder, I press rewind, and the wheels spin until they hit the beginning of the tape. It plays automatically, and all it produces at first is static and crackling. I sit down and pull my legs to my chest, keen to hear its content for the first time. I’ve never listened before. Often the professor will just give me a new tape or I record over the old ones.

“What’s it do?” My voice says through the speaker. I laugh and shield my face in embarrassment. I. Sound. Horrendous.

“It’s a tape recorder,” the professor explains tenderly. “It… records. It’s doing it now. Say hello!”

“Hello!” my awful voice says.

“Now I’m going to leave you with it as I have an appointment,” the professor says, his voice getting harder to hear. “Press this button to stop, okay?”

“Okay!” I reply in unison with myself, remembering the first time the professor left me with this old clunker. The door closes in the distance, and the old me clears her throat.

“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say,” my voice on the recorder mumbles nervously. “I’m not happy, I suppose. The nightmares are getting worse–the one with the fire. I’m…” The old-me sighs and pauses. “I’m miserable.”

The recording stops there. I blink. I don’t remember saying that! I go to stand and fast-forward the silence, but my voice comes through again.

“I’ve never gone this far.” It sounds scared, but it’s just my terrible acting. I remember this imagination time. “Felicity, my human friend, has stowed me away and is taking me to…
the school library
. I’m not sure how I’ll fair with all the other kids! They’re so big and I’m so small, but luckily I’ve got my furry friend, Jack the Dog, to help me out!”

I roll my eyes and press stop. Why don’t I have any recollection of the rest of that first entry? And how soon afterwards did I record my next one, because I seem as chipper as a squirrel that just found his nuts?

The professor knocks on the door before entering, probably conscious of the time he walked in on my last imagination time and ruined it. I was so annoyed–I was just about to slay a dragon, and he barged in asking me what tie he should wear.

“You can come in.” I fold my arms, frowning at the recorder.

He enters with a cartoonish smile and motions towards the shoebox he’s holding. “I’ve got some clothes for you to choose from!” His face glows. “I’m so excited for you to meet my granddaughter. You’ll love each other!”

I reciprocate his happy expression. I can worry about the recorder later.

“She’s sitting downstairs at the moment.” He’s unable to contain his grin. “I told her I have a big surprise for her, but she has no idea that it’s you! We better hurry.” He rummages through the box. “What about the golden tutu?”

“No, no, it’s too much like the orange I’ve been wearing.” I wave it away, and the professor pulls another from the shoebox, holding it between his finger and thumb.

“What about purple?”

I shudder. It’s too much like Lisa’s eyes and fingernails. Lisa has officially ruined purple for me.

“I’m kind of over purple,” I say politely. “I was wondering if you have a dress instead of a tutu? I thought because I’m meeting Gabby, I should look my best.” I twirl towards the tissue-box and bounce on the padding.

The professor’s shoulders roll back when he readjusts his glasses. “But you’re a dancer.”

“I know, but being a dancer doesn’t mean I
always
have to wear leotards and tutus. Maybe it’d be nice to change it up a bit?”

The professor scoffs and dangles a pink leotard above my head, motioning for me to take it. “Don’t be silly, Ella. Put this on, and I’ll get Gabby.”

“Fine.” I sigh.

The professor grins and leaves the attic. I pull down the straps of my leotard, wriggle out of it and squeeze into its pink counterpart.

It’s a bit tighter. I mean, it’s not uncomfortable, but it looks funny. I have a huge wedgie that the tutu won’t hide. Great–that’s going to make a swell first impression.
Look, I’m a dancing doll ignorant to the bum cheeks hanging out back
. Just
great
.

The door squeaks, and the professor enters. There’s a child behind him, too difficult to make out from my angle. I perch down on the table edge, swinging my legs anxiously as the professor and Gabby walk closer.

Wait. It’s not ladylike to swing your legs, is it? I immediately cross them and place my hands in my lap. Gosh, I’m nervous. I’m meeting another human, and it feels way too surreal. I mean, this human is
real
. Not like the Felicity-human I made up in imagination time.

“Gabby?” The professor speaks to his granddaughter the way he speaks to me. “I’d like you to meet someone.”

He steps to the side and leads Gabby towards the table.

My mouth drops when I see her. She’s breathtakingly beautiful–you know, if I
could
breathe. Her hair is thick, crimped, and worn well below her shoulders. Her lips turn up even when she isn’t smiling, so her face always looks pleasant and welcoming. She’s pale, but I don’t think it’s from the lack of sunlight. Her eyes are heavy and dark, like she’s fighting the onset of a cold.

Oh my God. She’s looking at me. I instinctively don’t move; I just watch her in awe. Breathing and blinking come so naturally to her–she probably doesn’t even know she’s doing it.

I love her dress. It has blue and white stripes at the top, with navy at the bottom–kind of like a sailor. I glance at my humiliatingly tight leotard and cringe. Why couldn’t I look nice, like her?

“She’s pretty!” Gabby hurries up to me. “Is this the doll you said you were painting?”

I refrain from smiling.
She said I was pretty
! She leans over and rests her chin on the table, tapping my legs with her finger.

“It is. Her name is Ella.”

“Can I pick her up?”

“Not just yet,” the professor says, cautiously stepping closer. “Ella is a very special doll.”

Gabby’s eyes widen, and she stands. “Really? Why?”

Here it comes. The moment of truth. I really hope Gabby takes the news well. It’d be awesome to be friends with a human girl and not some psychotic goth doll.

The professor winks at me, encouraging me to move.

I smile at Gabby first, not wanting to shock her. She gasps and returns to her position with her chin on the table to view me better. “Cool! A robot!”

I uncross my legs and stand to curtsey. “Not quite, Gabby.”

“She talks, too! Wow!” She bounces on her heels, squealing with excitement. “Is she mine?”

“Ella is a real little girl, Gabby.” The professor squeezes Gabby’s shoulder with his hand. “She used to be like you, many years ago. Something happened, so I made her into a doll.”

“You can do that?” There is skepticism in Gabby’s voice, but she masks it with a giggle. She offers her finger to me, so I gracefully shake it.

“You’re not freaked out?” I ask quietly, too nervous for anything louder than a whisper.

Gabby shakes her head. “No way. Come on, let’s play! Have you ever been down the slide?”

I feel betrayed for some reason. The window up here only allows me to see the side of the house and part of the road, so I didn’t even know we had a slide. Why hasn’t the professor ever taken me there? “I’ve never left the attic,” I say, unable to maintain eye contact.

“Oh.” She shifts uncomfortably. “Well, there’s a first for everything! How about I take you?”

I nod and leap into Gabby’s palms, who laughs when I lightly scratch at her skin, trying to tickle her the way the professor tickles me.

“This is so weird!” Gabby chuckles, bringing me closer to nuzzle into me.

“Um, actually, no, we’re not going to do that,” the professor lifts me from Gabby’s hands and puts me back on the table. “You two can play here today.”

“Here? It’s so dusty and dark! Let’s just go outside!” Gabby demands eagerly, not tearing her gaze from me.

The professor stands taller, his jaw locked and his muscles tensed. “No.” His word is firm, vicious, final. He doesn’t say goodbye when he pulls the door behind him. It doesn’t slam, per se–the professor’s far too soft for that–but closes with just enough force for us to know that he’s mad.

Gabby points at her head and twirls her index finger in one direction. “Grandpa is crazy. A real control freak. But he’s boring. So tell me about you! What’d you like to do? I’m up for anything!”

I hesitate. That slide sure sounded good. “There’s not much to tell. What about you? Do you go to school? What food do you eat? What’s swimming like? Have you kissed a boy?”

Gabby throws her head back when she laughs, and small creases form beneath her eyes. “I’m only eleven! I had a boyfriend, but we only held hands, which was weird enough! You’ve never done any of those things?”

“Maybe…” I bite my lip, plastic against plastic. “If I did, I sure can’t remember.”

“Well, that’s horrible.” Gabby scans the room and strides towards the corner where the abandoned canvases and paint are.

“What are you doing?” I shimmy down from the table to follow her.

She picks up a blank canvas and kneels. “We’re going t–” She looks at the table, a worried expression crossing her face. “Where’d you go?”

I laugh and wave my arms wildly. “Down here.”

Gabby spots me and sighs. “Phew! Thought I lost you already! Okay, we’re going to make a bucket list!”

“A bucket list?” It’s a long walk for me to reach her, but when I do, I climb into her lap to see the canvas from her perspective. “What’s a bucket list?”

“Oh my God, you’re so cute!” she coos, stroking my hair. “Oh… darn, I’m so sorry. I have to remind myself you’re not a doll. You’re just like me, and I probably wouldn’t like someone petting my head all the time. Focus, Gabby, focus. Anyway, a
bucket list
is a list of all the things you want to do in your life before you, erm, kick the bucket. Start listing, Ella!”

“You wouldn’t like someone stroking your head all the time?” The professor always does it to me.

Gabby sticks her tongue out. “No way. It’s… now, what’s that word Dad used the other day? Condensing? No, condescending, maybe? Yeah, that’s it. It’d be
condescending
if someone kept petting your head like an animal’s. Am I using the right term?”

I readjust the ribbons on my ballet shoes, ensuring that the knot isn’t visible. “Yeah,” I push out quietly past a sudden tightness in my throat. “That’s the perfect word.”

“Cool. I’m trying to work on my vocabulary. Mom’s an author, so she wants to make sure I speak well. So many of my friends say things like ‘brung’ instead of ‘brought’, and it drives her insane. We’re off topic! First bucket list item?”

My mind flickers to a documentary on sharks I saw the other day. The water looked so refreshing. And oh, to be able to defy gravity! Swimming seemed like the closest thing to flying. “I want to go to the ocean.” I slam a palm against my lips. Did I really just say that?

“Great!” Gabby dabs the paintbrush in the used water the professor never cleaned out. She writes OCEAN in bold, blue letters followed by a fish. She’s not a bad artist. “What next? Mine is to put syrup on spaghetti!”

I laugh, even though I don’t really understand the context. I don’t know how outrageous it must be because I can’t remember tasting food.

“What now? You’re a dancer, so I bet you’d like to dance on a real stage?”

I nod viciously, vivid images of me onstage exploding in my mind. “That would amazing! I’d also like to pet a dog, or a cat. I’m suspicious of cats, but I’ll give them a go anyway.”

Gabby paints the face of a dog and a cat, their whiskers entwining around one another. “I’m going to say hug a lion cub. Or koala. Or seal! Heck, hug any wild animal. Your turn.”

I glance at the window outside and think longingly of hearing the birds chirp in the fresh air and not through a muffled dusty pane. “I want to go outside.” I feel almost disobedient for even suggesting it, but I don’t understand why I’m not allowed the freedom of my own backyard. The professor says he’s scared that I’ll break outside, but I don’t see how.

Gabby beams and lowers the canvas to the floor, then lifts me as she stands and gently puts me in her dress pocket.

“What are you doing?” I shriek. “Are you stealing me?”