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Ken slumps down on Beach, sulking. Allan looks over at him with an expression of concern mixed with curiosity.
“Did things not go well with Barbie?” Allan prompts, knowing he’s subjecting himself to something he really doesn’t want to hear about.
Ken shifts in his spot, an obvious signal that he doesn’t want to talk about it, but will anyways.
“I just don’t think I’m cool enough for her,” he sighs.
Allan shakes his head. “I think you’re cool. Definitely cool enough for Barbie to be your girlfriend.”
Ken raises his head, eyes filled with a distant, unattainable hope. “You think so?”
“You’re cooler than the other Kens,” Allan supplies truthfully.
“But not cooler than Barbie,” Ken groans, placing his head on his knees.
“No,” Allan agrees.
They sit in silence. Allan staring at the plastic waves and Ken thinking about Barbie, with his eyes squeezed shut. Allan assumes that most of his time spent with Ken, Ken is thinking of Barbie. He wonders if Ken ever thinks about anything else. Like Beach, sports, or even him.
“Maybe,” Allan starts, afraid to continue speaking. “Maybe Barbie doesn’t need a Ken. Or want one.”
Ken raises his head, face scrunched up. “That makes no sense. It’s Barbie and Ken. There’s no Ken without Barbie.”
“But there’s Barbie without Ken.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“What about you?” Ken asks after a moment of silence.
“Me?” Allan asks, pointing to his chest.
Is Ken thinking about him?
“You’re not Ken or Barbie.”
“There’s only one Allan,” he responds, shrugging.
“Why?” Ken asks, continuing.
Allan doesn’t know the answer, but he doesn’t mind the attention. Now he can understand how Ken feels when Barbie looks at him.
“I don’t know. Why are you asking so many questions?”
Ken deflates. “I can’t stop thinking about Barbie.”
Oh.