Free Imaginary Enemy by Julie Gonzalez Page A

had nothing to do. Carmella was off somewhere with Harmony, and Luke was at work. Mom was helping Dad with the marina’s budget, which meant they weren’t in the mood to be disturbed. There wasn’t anything worth watching on TV. Emma had joined a traveling soccer team and was in Baton Rouge for the weekend, and Madison and Samantha were at the dress rehearsal for their dance recital. So I made a break for the deMichaels’ through the rain.
    When Chord opened the door and Zander saw me standing there with my hair dripping, he said, “Thought you were too grown up to play with the little neighbor boys.” They all laughed, so I knew that my brother, the traitor, had spilled the beans about what I’d said to him.
    “Most of the ‘little neighbor boys’ are bigger than you, swampbreath,” said Chord, giving me a scathing glare.
    “And we don’t want to play Barbie dolls anyway,” said Sharp as he arranged cards in his hand.
    “I’m not here to
play
with you losers,” I lied shamelessly. “Mom sent me to tell you to come home, Zander. You need to clean your room.” Then I turned around and haughtily marched down the steps and back across the yard in the rain. I stomped to my room and yanked my Bubba folder out of my backpack.

    Dear Bubba,
    Those boys treat me like I’m invisible. Well, I’m not. I can see myself in the mirror. This whole thing has me staring at my hand—holding it up to the light and turning it just to make sure I’m really here. The silhouettes of my bones show through my flesh, so I know
    I exist.
    When I was little, I saw a cartoon on Tom and Jerry where a little duckling used vanishing cream to become invisible. Bubba, what I need is visibility cream. Can you hook me up with some of that? I’ll share it with you if you want.
    Soggy, lonely, and bored,
Gabriel
    P.S. Just for your information, I don’t play with Barbie dolls.

    I threw myself on my bed and stared at the ceiling. The Gothosaurs Aunt Jane had sent me still sat on the shelf over my bed. I rearranged them so that T. rex looked like he was about to take a bite out of Brontosaurus’s neck and Stegosaurus and Triceratops were butting heads. When I rolled off my bed, my feet landed in the large bin Carmella stored her Barbie dolls and their accessories in. I heard the snap, crackle, and pop of breaking plastic as my weight crushed the bright pink Barbie sports car Carmella was so proud of. One of the wheels popped off and flew from the bin, smacking me in the forehead.
    Suddenly, I was inspired. I rummaged through my backpack until I found the twenty-four-color set of Sharpie Ultra Fine Point Permanent Markers I’d gotten for my birthday. In the closet, I miraculously unearthed the sewing kit Aunt Jane had given me when I was eight. I swiped a tube of superglue from the kitchen drawer, along with an odd assortment of screws, washers, nails, thumbtacks, string, electrical tape, and the like.
    “Hello, ladies,” I said when I returned to my room and snatched the Barbies from Carmella’s plastic bin to line them up on my bed. “Are you fashionistas ready to play Barbie makeover? Yes? Great. Who wants to go first?” I picked up a voluptuous lady clad in a sequined magenta gown. “You? Awesome. Hmmm.” Holding her by the ankles, I pivoted her and evaluated her assets and flaws. “You want to go punk? No problem. We’ll start with the hair.”
    I grabbed a purple marker and colored random strands of her platinum hair. Added some black streaks. “I think a trim is in order, don’t you?” I took her silence as agreement and reached for the pinking sheers. “G.I. Joe will be delighted with your new look,” I said, piercing her pert little nose with a straight pin. “But your makeup needs retouching. It’s not bold enough.” I uncapped the Sharpie labeled
Blue Ice
and did her lips. Outlined them in black. Then I did her eyes.
    “Your clothes are all wrong,” I told her. “Not to worry. It’s nothing scissors and glue