Think I Want to Twist the Plot This Time

Part 4

"Think I Wanna Twist the Plot this Time"

"Better than telepathy

I'll show them what's inside my mind."

—"Maradona" The Chainsmokers

Honestly, it takes all of Barbie's willpower not to twirl back into the room with all her pent-up energy. But there's a slight spring in her step, especially as she realizes the nightstand light is on now, bathing the room in an intimate glow that's not too bright, but gives her enough to see everything.

And of course in the time since she's been gone, Oppenheimer's smoking yet again, sitting up in bed with that gaze that's both intensely focused and absolutely aloof at the same time. He has one knee up, the sheets draped tastefully over his lap. He reminds Barbie of a painting she once saw at The Getty—not like she can name the artist or piece off the top of her head, but there's just something about the way the light hits him, the smoke from the end of his cigarette dancing toward the ceiling.

She joins him back on the bed with a sigh, curling up to his side. But she looks up at him, and he seems a little more confused than anything, so she shrinks back a bit. "I'm sorry, I—hope this is okay?"

"No, it's..." He shakes his head and moves his cigarette to his left hand so his right can drape over her shoulders and draw her back in. "You're fine." He always looks like he's in his own world, but where that is, she feels like she wouldn't even be able to begin to understand.

"Where do you go, when you draw into that big brain of yours?" she asks, but it's more of a tease as she brings a finger up to playfully poke the side of his head. "Contemplating all the intricacies of the universe?"

He laughs, and she feels his thumb rubbing absently against her shoulder. "I suppose that's not too far-fetched. There are quite a few things on my mind right now."

"Name one," she presses, because talking to Oppenheimer is simultaneously one of the easiest, and most difficult things to do. But Barbie kind of wants the challenge now, wants to poke in his head because she's never met anyone who thinks or acts like this. And she's starting to like how he makes her really think, and how she just feels smarter and more like herself with him.

"Whether or not the universe is expanding." He taps his cigarette on the ashtray placed on the nightstand. "That is, if you believe in the Big Bang theory."

Barbie actually knows the answer to this, and knows science won't exactly prove it's how the universe started, but it might as well be true with what people learn over the next 82 years. "I think it's expanding," she says, resting her hand on his chest. She plays with the hairs there, fascinated because Kens don't have hair anywhere other than their heads. "Sometimes if I make a mistake, no matter how big, I like to think about what it means when we're just a tiny part of everything. And if it's really that big and only growing... does it really matter that much?" But she shrugs, feeling his sure, warm heartbeat under her palm. "I guess it's a little comforting, at times, to not be the center of the universe. We're just little specks of dust floating in our galaxy."

Because in Barbie Land, she was the center of their universe. Which meant keeping up expectations and making everything picture perfect. And when it wasn't, or she wasn't, she couldn't express it. She was the role model. All the Barbies, as wonderful and amazing as their occupations and lives were, looked up to her just for being the Barbie. Now that she's human, she can just... be. Be here, naked in the bed of a near stranger, talking about the universe.

"Or if you do something profound, it's barely made a dent in the grand scheme of things," he counters, but he doesn't sound too serious. It's all theoretical, right? His fingers continue to run up and down her shoulder.