Page 1 of Barbie: Dreamscape

Perfect

My life is a dream.

Rose-colored enchanted birds wake me up every morning with a warm cup of tea. They pull back my sunset-tinged, spun-from-clouds (yes, actual clouds) comforter, help me up from my pillow (also a cloud, sunrise dipped), then carry me by the ribbons on the shoulders of my nightdress to the bathroom to get ready, where a bath is already running, pearlescent bubbles foaming and effervescing.

They do my hair, then an enchanted wardrobe helps me get dressed, then I have a perfect day at school with my perfect friends and we all have fun and then go to bed and do it all over again.

Everything goes exactly as planned.

Things are fair all the time.

Hard work is always rewarded.

Isn’t life great that way?

Things are so good, even my dreams are just reflections of my normal days: Getting ever-flowing sundaes at the ice-cream room in the cafeteria; taking a boat down the pink canals of Heartland to see the nightly fireworks; raising my hand in class and always getting the answer right; earning a 100% on a test to add to my You’re the Best! wall.

All things I do all the time.

But the dream I’m having this morning… it isn’t like my life at all.

It’s kind of… dark?

It takes place on Boxing Day, the most important day of my life, the pinnacle of everything I’ve worked so hard for, the culmination of my time at Swancrest Academy, when I get assigned my future role—and future happiness—by the all-knowing, all-powerful Fates…

It’s a moment I daydream about often. Me, standing in front of all of Heartland, getting a Fate no one’s ever seen before. Maybe even being the first person to get multiple.

But in this dream… the most awful thing is happening.

I keep getting Fates I hate.

In a loop. Over and over and over again.

It’s more of a nightmare, really.

First, the Fates assign me the role of Beekeeper, even though I’m deathly allergic to bees.

Next, I’m assigned Bookkeeper, which sounds kind of fun, but I have recently learned it does not mean keeping a bunch of books. At least, not the kind I’d want to read in my spare time.

Then, I’m handed the role of Doctor, even though I’m one of those people who faints when they see blood.

My subconscious, it seems, is very creative, in a torturous kind of way. In every one of these scenarios, I’m given a future that’s like squeezing my feet into any shoes that aren’t heels—

They just don’t fit.

And that’s how I know this dream isn’t real.

In real life, things always work out. Especially for me. This must be fake.

With that, I jolt awake.

My eyes open… and everything is as it should be.

“That was weird,” I say to myself, frowning, an expression I don’t often have use for.

Then, my wide-reaching smile—much better—overtakes my face. I bring my hands together excitedly.

“Is that… what nerves feel like?” My eyes widen. “Was I having… anxiety?!”