When in Rome: Part 2

Bobby had pretty much zero interest in Europe. As far as he was concerned, it was Serena’s territory, a weird land full of art and culture and fancy coffee and other lame shit, where the only sport people cared about was, for some totally inexplicable reason, soccer. But if he was going to take the fight to his older sister, he would have to enter enemy territory.

And in the back of his mind, he had to admit getting out of Green Lake might be a plus: being “Barbie” around all his former friends and peers was a perpetual nightmare. They remembered him as a big basketball star, but now, thanks to a psychotic blackmailer and a hormone imbalance, they thought his secret ambition all along had been to turn himself into an ultra-feminine bimbo in short skirts and high heels.

At least in Italy he wouldn’t know anybody -- being taken at face value as a hot blonde was humiliating in its own right, but not as bad as dealing with the reactions of people who knew him as Bobby and thought he was “transitioning” by choice.

“Please have your passports open to the photo page!” the gate agent called, shaking him from his thoughts.

They were standing in line to board the plane. Bobby was pretty sure Serena always flew first class, but for some reason they were in economy plus. He suspected it was because his dad had been unwilling to buy Kimberly a ticket in the first place -- Bobby had been forced to play the diva and insist she get brought along.

Kimberly was the only other person, besides his anonymous blackmailer, who knew the truth of the whole “Barbie” story. She was also his only ally against Serena. No way was he going to Europe without her.

“Here, sweetie, I have yours,” his mom said, fishing his passport out of her purse. Bobby accepted it with a grimace, and his mom, misinterpreting his look of displeasure as one of nerves, was quick to reassure him. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I already spoke with the gate agent.”

Bobby was dimly glad about that, but he was mostly just dreading having to see his old passport photo. He’d gotten it renewed a couple years ago, prior to a family vacation to Mexico that had been cut short halfway through thanks to one of Serena’s shows getting rescheduled. Now he flicked it open with one long glittery nail, and was confronted by the sight of his fifteen-year-old self: short, dark hair, unplucked eyebrows, and not a hint of makeup, staring skeptically at whoever had been manning the camera.

A couple years ago, he had been busy working on his jumpshot, eagerly awaiting a growth spurt to take him to six feet, give him some muscles, and possibly even stubble. There was absolutely no way fifteen-year-old Bobby could have anticipated what was coming. The last time he’d been on a basketball court had been for a photoshoot, all dolled up in a skimpy cheerleader’s uniform, and his biggest “growth spurt” had been filling out his first bra. Bobby was still wishing he could somehow go back in time and warn his younger self when the flight attendant gently pried his passport out of his hand to inspect it.

“Have a nice flight, Miss Vickerson,” the woman chirped, emphasizing the feminine moniker as she returned the passport. “Love your shoes, by the way.”

Bobby gave a weak smile of thanks, but getting shoe compliments was definitely preferable to the debacle he’d suffered through at security -- the TSA agent had thought he was a chick who’d accidentally brought her brother’s identification to the airport, and his mom had been forced to explain, in a stage whisper that caught the ears of just about every person in line, that “Barbie” had recently come out as transgender.

Bobby shuddered at the memory as he followed Kimberly and his mom down the sky tunnel, pulling his bright pink suitcase along behind him. It seemed like he was the only passenger not entirely thrilled to be flying to Italy -- everybody around him was chatting excitedly and comparing travel plans. His mom was busy regaling Kimberly with some story about a guy named Eduardo, a story Bobby knew instinctively he did not want to hear.

To avoid the danger, he screwed his AirPods into his ears and started flicking through his music. Ally and Beverly had gotten ahold of his phone during lunch hour and completely messed up his Spotify preferences: he had to wade through a sea of ultra-girly pop to get to any music he actually liked. Tons of Ariana Grande, Cardi B, Selena Gomez...and they had also made sure to throw “Barbie Girl” by Aqua in there, too.

Grimacing, Bobby set about doing damage control as they slowly boarded the plane. By some quirk of seating, his mom and Kimberly had ended up seated together two rows ahead of him, which was a silver lining -- he wouldn’t have to listen to any more girl talk than necessary. He minced past them to his assigned seat, 15B, and was doubly relieved to find both the window and aisle seat empty. He would get to stretch out, relax, throw on a movie and temporarily forget he was on his way to Rome to strut around on a catwalk.

“Hey there, need a hand?” came a deep voice.

Bobby glanced back and saw a big, bear-like guy with a broad chest and bushy beard, pointing at his pink suitcase. It seemed like ever since he’d been forced into being “Barbie,” people thought he was incapable of doing anything for himself. Bobby was opening his mouth to say no when the guy reached down, plucked his suitcase off the ground, and slotted it easily into the overhead bin.

“Boy, what’s in there, bricks?” he asked jokingly, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow.

“Just clothes,” Bobby muttered, and immediately blushed, realizing the guy now thought he was one of those girls who overloaded their suitcase with every possible outfit, no matter the occasion. “Uh, thanks.”

He slid over into the window seat, but to his abject horror, rather than strolling on past, the barrel-chested guy plopped down into the aisle seat beside him, immediately spreading his blue-jean clad legs. Even worse, he put his meaty arm right down on the shared armrest, forcing Bobby to pull his own back instinctively -- he’d been “Barbie” long enough to know that any kind of physical contact, especially skin to skin, could easily be taken as an invitation he didn’t want to make.

“I swear these seats get smaller every flight,” the man sighed, seemingly oblivious to Bobby’s reaction. “Well, at least it’s only about eleven hours, right?”

“Right,” Bobby said weakly.

He curled up against the window with his waxed-smooth knees pressed together and his hands in his lap, gritting his teeth. If it weren’t for Serena being the face of SoGlam, he wouldn’t be doing this show. Which made his current seating arrangement Serena’s fault. Which made him even more determined to pull this thing off.

“Anything to screw Serena,” he said, repeating it under his breath like a mantra. “Anything to screw Serena…”

“What’s that now?” his seatmate asked cheerfully.

Bobby swallowed. “Um, it’s that new Cardi B song,” he lied. “Sooo catchy.”

“Uh-huh,” the man said. “Well, I’m just going to pop these shoes off and kick back. Hope that’s okay.”

Without waiting for confirmation, he did just that, revealing two very large and very sweaty feet. Bobby wrinkled his nose, scooting as close to the window as humanly possible. His seatmate didn’t seem to take the hint, instead somehow spreading his legs even farther into Bobby’s space. Grimacing, Bobby turned up the volume in his AirPods, wrapped his arms around himself, and settled in for a very, very long flight.

#

Kimberly wasn’t easy to impress, but she had to admit it: Rome was amazing. From the moment they’d stepped out of the airport, into a beautiful sunny day with just a hint of a breeze to cool things off, her head had practically been on a swivel. Everywhere she looked she saw a mix of ancient classical architecture with sleek modern buildings, fashionably-dressed people lounging outside cafes and gelato shops, talking animatedly with their hands, and -- she wasn’t going to deny it -- a lot of very, very good-looking Italian guys.

Bobby’s mom had elected to take a nap the instant they got to the hotel, but Kimberly, having slept surprisingly well on the flight, was fully energized for sight-seeing. Judging by Bobby’s somewhat zombified state at the luggage carousel, he hadn’t managed to get much sleep on the plane, but she’d persuaded him to at least come see the Colosseum with her -- their hotel was right in the heart of the city, up on the hill and only a ten minute walk away from the famous arena.

Or at least, it was supposed to be a ten minute walk.

“Come on, Barbie!” Kimberly called over her shoulder. “Hurry up!”

“I’m trying!” her ex-boyfriend squealed.

Kimberly turned all the way around, not quite able to hide her smirk. Bobby had been forced to master high heels over the course of his “girlification” in a way very, very few straight teenage guys ever would, but he’d also spent the vast majority of that time walking on nice even surfaces.

Now he was trying to navigate jagged cobblestones in five-inch stilettos, stride constricted by his short skirt, arms out for balance with his wrists flared prettily, inadvertently showing off his long manicured nails to the world. It was kind of adorable.

“You didn’t pack a single pair of flats?” she asked skeptically, already knowing the answer.

Bobby flushed. “My mom packed,” he grumbled. “So, no. Just wait up, will you?”

Kimberly, of course, had changed into a pair of trendy Jordan high-tops -- she hadn’t been able to resist rubbing it in a little. Bobby’s treasured sneaker collection had been declared off-limits ever since his “coming out,” and she honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him in anything but heels. Maybe at the barre class Serena had made him attend with her: Kimberly could picture a pair of cute pink women’s Reeboks that matched her ex’s skimpy work-out top.

“Here,” she said, doubling back and offering her arm.

Bobby glared at her.

“We have to be back in less than an hour, remember?” Kimberly said pointedly, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Barbie. Don’t be silly.”

Still pouting, Bobby reluctantly accepted the help, holding onto her arm with both of his to help balance himself as he picked his way across the dangerous terrain. Kimberly couldn’t help but thrill a little at the sharp role reversal. Back when Bobby had been her egotistical boyfriend, he’d had zero patience or sympathy for her when she wore impractical shoes out on their dates -- even though he’d clearly enjoyed the “sexiness” factor.

Now he was the one clutching onto her for support, and thanks to the deluge of female hormones and strict dieting, his once-wiry arms now felt about as muscular as a ten-year-old girl’s. Times had certainly changed.

The Colosseum was just rounding into view, surrounded by a swarm of tourists, when Kimberly and Bobby were ambushed. Two young men brandishing plastic swords and wide grins leapt out from behind the stone archway they’d been walking towards, making Kimberly flinch and Bobby give a slightly-too-deep shout of surprise that he immediately tried to turn into a more girlish squeak.

“English?” one of their attackers asked, jabbing the air with his plastic sword. Both of them were dressed up as Roman centurions, or at least, partially dressed: they had plastic helmets, red capes, and sandals, but Kimberly was pretty sure ancient Roman soldiers hadn’t gone around bare-chested. Not that she minded the view -- the guys were pretty ripped.

“Uh, yeah,” Kimberly said, raising an eyebrow.

“You no can pass!” the guy insisted, waving his sword. He winked. “Not without photo! One Euro for photo with Roman warrior!”

“Kimmy, what the hell is going on?” Bobby asked, in an extra breathy and feminine voice, no doubt trying to make up for his earlier slip. “Are they, like, mugging us?”

“I think it’s a tourist thing,” Kimberly said. “They dress up and charge people for selfies.” Normally she wouldn’t see much appeal to the little hustle, but the way both “centurions” were busily checking out “Barbie” put a smile on her face. “It would be great for your Insta,” she said. “Come on, Barbie. My treat.”

“Barbie?” one of the Italians echoed. “You are Barbie?” He exchanged an incredulous grin with his friend, then put both hands on his hips, swishing them from side to side. “I’m Barbie girl, in the Barbie woooorld…” he sang, accented but surprisingly on-key.

Bobby’s face turned red even as both centurions burst into laughter. “Yeah, yeah, get over it,” he said darkly.

“Forgive me, carina,” the singer said dramatically, dropping to one knee and clutching Bobby’s dainty hand in both of his own. “I only, how you say, kidding?”

“Take photo,” his friend said, in a stage whisper.

Kimberly didn’t need to be told twice. She already had her iPhone ready, and while Bobby was still trying to figure out how to extricate himself, she immortalized the moment with the press of a button: her ex-boyfriend dolled up in a cute top, short skirt, and very high heels, blushing furiously and giving the camera a pleading look through mascara-laden lashes as the handsome centurion kissed his manicured hand.

“Hey!” Bobby whined, hearing the shutter sound effect.

“Now with two Roman warrior,” the other centurion announced, sliding into the picture. “Pose!”

Bobby tugged ineffectually at his trapped hand. “Kimmy!” he protested.

“It’s for the ‘gram,” Kimberly wheedled. “Come on, this is the kind of photo Serena would never post.”

“Yeah, because it’s stupid,” Bobby snapped, flushing.

“No, because she takes herself way too seriously,” Kimberly countered. “Unlike Barbie Vickerson, who is fresh, fun, sexy, and the perfect new face for Blush. Now pose, already! You’re a model, remember?”

Bobby grimaced, but she could see her argument had worked -- anything she could link to beating Serena, she could make him do, which had some amazing potential. He shifted into “model mode” so fluidly Kimberly couldn’t help but be impressed. His older sister had spent their every waking moment together drilling him, and it showed: suddenly Bobby was cycling through a bunch of poses, cocking his hips, tossing his hair, cutely kicking up his leg behind him…

And of course, the centurions were only too happy to ham it up for the camera, squaring off with their swords as if ready to fight over the gorgeous blonde beauty, or flexing proudly while Bobby, blushing furiously, put his hands on their muscled chests. Kimberly knew it was time to wrap up when her ex’s eye started to twitch -- he was probably flashing back to his last photo-shoot, where he’d been stuck cavorting around with shirtless male models in a school gymnasium.

“Last one!” she called, and, on some pre-arranged signal, the two centurions suddenly hoisted a squealing Bobby up into the air, sitting him on their shoulders. Bobby squirmed desperately to avoid flashing his panties, then gave Kimberly the most pained smile on record as she snapped the final photo. She couldn’t help but notice one of the centurions copping a feel of Bobby’s smooth legs as he set him down.

“Ten Euro,” the Italian said, beaming. “This is discount, because you are so beautiful, my bella americana.”

“Because you are both so beautiful,” the other guy corrected, and as Kimberly fished the money out of her purse, he gave her a look that made her feel a little warm all of a sudden. He’d been eyeing her up even as he posed with Bobby, and now, as she handed over the bill, he handed her a smartphone with his Instagram page already open.

“I didn’t know they had smartphones in Ancient Rome,” she said dryly. The guy gave her an unabashed grin in response, and, after one more sly peek at his rippling abs, Kimberly entered her info. “Okay,” she announced. “Let’s get going, Barbie.”

The other centurion was obviously trying the same thing: he had his arm wrapped around Bobby’s small waist and was saying something into his her ex’s ear that had turned his entire face red. He struggled free just as Kimberly came over to rescue him, straightening his skirt. The centurion just gave an innocent shrug.

“Ciao, bella,” he said. “Have good time in Rome, yes?”

Kimberly raised a questioning eyebrow, but Bobby just started marching determinedly towards the Colosseum in a way that would have been more dramatic if he didn’t almost trip every few steps. She gave the guys a wave, then jogged to catch up. He was muttering under his breath about where exactly his would-be Romeo could stick his plastic sword, but you would never guess it from the photo Kimberly was now busy captioning for “Barbie’s” Instagram account.

Are all Italian guys this buff? she tapped into the keyboard, adding a tongue and water droplets as emojis for good measure. #BOY2BABE #WHENINROME... She paused, staring at the picture, which looked an awful lot like “Barbie” giving a girlish squeal of delight as the centurions set him on their shoulders like royalty.

“How do you say “princess” in Italian?” she asked.

“I dunno,” Bobby said darkly. “Margherita?” He glanced backward at the centurions, who were already attacking another gaggle of tourists. “Mom was not kidding. These dudes are thirsty.”

“Get used to it, bella,” Kimberly said, opening Google Translate on her phone. “Huh. La principessa. That’s cute.”

She entered the final hashtag on the caption, then posted the photo from her ex’s Instagram account. His phone buzzed in his purse and she got to watch him rummage through his makeup to extricate it. When he saw the new photo, he groaned.

“I don’t care if you’re my social media coordinator,” he said. “I want, like, power of veto.”

“If you had power of veto, you would veto everything I post,” Kimberly pointed out. “And look! You’re already getting a ton of likes.”

Bobby scrolled through his phone morosely. “Yeah,” he admitted. “And also someone asking if I want to see their leaning tower of…” He blushed and gritted his teeth. “I hate the internet, I hate Rome, I hate all of this.”

Kimberly patted him on the arm. “Let’s see the Colosseum, then get you some gelato,” she said. “I guarantee they do mango flavor somewhere.”

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