tumblr.
Dashboard Directory Goodies Account

d-r-t-e-n-n-a-n-t:
hey my names Samuel. you seem pretty rad, fellow whovian. where u from and how old r u?
ps-yc-ho-ti-c-ta-rd-is:
oMG first follower!!!! Names Belinda and thanks for liking my blog and sending an ask :P I’m in Los Angeles cali and I’m 13
d-r-t-e-n-n-a-n-t:
Im in LA too and I’m 14! we shuold hang out
Ps-yc-ho-ti-c-ta-rd-is:
you don’t seem like a pedophile or anything lol :) Only like 2 of my friends are whovians so like youre awesome.
d-r-t-e-n-n-a-n-t:
awwwww thanks bae ur awesome too <3
Ps-yc-ho-ti-c-ta-rd-is:
im usually at Sepulveda park on Saturday afternoons and I’m actually on my way there right now!
d-r-t-e-n-n-a-n-t:
I’m busy in the afternoons then :( hb the evening?
Ps-yc-ho-ti-c-ta-rd-is:
ya sure works!
d-r-t-e-n-n-a-n-t:
ok stay later at the park so I can meet you. yayyyyyyyyyy

My tumblr dashboard disappears as I click my phone to sleep and put it back in my pocket. In the shiny, dark screen on my phone, my reflection stares up at me: long, blonde hair (which I am trying to part to the side and which is not cooperating), pale skin, green eyes, and a tiny sprinkling of freckles on my nose that you can only see under a microscope. My seatbelt is so tight it’s choking me, locked from leaning too far forward, hiding my phone from my dad.

“Do you have your phone with you, in case you have to call me?” asked dad.

“Dad, I’m a teenager. Of course I’m going to have my phone.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.” I roll my eyes.

He finally let me get a tumblr this morning, but he has no business looking at what I am doing. He had almost ruined my life when he bought me that pink, plastic flip phone that looked like it belonged at Babies“R”Us. With my new iPhone 5, my parents finally comprehended what I’d been telling them for the last three years, that I was responsible enough to have my own tumblr. I mean, all my friends have tumblrs.
I make a new blog: “so like my dad’s making me late to the park today for the trillionth time. We’re SUPPOSED to meet up at 1pm so we can hang out for longer but my dad’s so annoying cuz he makes me do the laundry every Saturday.” Me and my BFFs have been hanging out at the park every Saturday since the beginning of time. If I’m even a millisecond late, I’ll miss all the gossip and inside jokes, and when everyone is talking about the funny things that happened that day, I won’t know what they’re talking about. Uggggggggh. I cringe thinking of the incident from this morning. I wanted to start blogging right away so I could get into the coolness sooner, but my dad said the laundry was more important.

“Belinda, blogging is for times when you don’t have anything else you absolutely need to do. We need clean clothes now.”

“But dad, you don’t understand. Blogging needs to be done instantly at exactly the right time, or else nobody can see it and not very many people will like it. At least that’s what Amelia said.”

“Amelia’s parents don’t think she’s responsible enough to do the laundry. I think you are. If you’re not responsible enough to do the laundry, are you responsible enough to have a phone at all?”
“Fine,” I said. I didn’t want to get my phone taken away, but I didn’t want to post anything at the wrong time and seem uncool. I went to the laundry hamper and started loading the clothes into the washing machine, but when my dad wasn’t looking I hid behind the dryer and posted my first blog: “finally got tumblr after like an eternity of asking for one. So annoying.”
“Belinda! What are you doing back there? We are not going to the park until you finish the laundry! It’s your responsibility!”
I dragged myself up and got to the task of loading the clothes into the machine again. But I’d blog whenever my dad wasn’t looking, and so the cycle began. Laundry, blogging, yelling. Laundry, blogging, yelling.

“You realize you’re not only preventing yourself from seeing your friends, you’re also preventing Franny from seeing her friends,” said my dad, glancing at my younger sister, then back at me, his eyes narrowing, a vein in his neck bulging.

My dad got madder and madder, until he told me if I didn’t finish the laundry this instant, I wouldn’t be going to the park at all. That shook me up. I sped it up a little. I almost DIED when I saw that it was 4:00 already. Had I taken that long?

So here I was, at 4:05 pm, rumbling along in the car to my group hang-out at the park, three hours and five minutes late.

Centrifugal force hurls me to my left as the car makes a sharp right turn into the parking lot. I bump into my sister, Franny. Luckily I don’t drop my phone. The car slows to a halt and the doors unlock.

“Dad, give me my water bottle.”
“What you meant to say was, ‘Dad, may I please…’”

I snatch my Thermos off the front seat and storm out of the car before I explode with anger.

Our destination looks simple, a typical public park, but if you know it like I do, you’ll know that is not the case. Getting out of the car, the first thing you’ll see is a gaggle of ladies with bleach-blonde hair, yarn at the ready and needles like tangled twigs by their sides.
To your right, there’s a long field of grass that hasn’t been watered since the Dawn of Man. On the east side of the park, or as we call it, the "New York" side, is a large patch of sidewalk that's as densely packed as Times Square on New Years' Eve with teenagers. Of course, we're not anywhere near New York. Yessir, this is beautiful downtown Cerritos, California, which we show-biz aficionados inhabit. The west side of the park, the "Hollywood" side, is where all the glitter is. Literally. As you go deeper into the Hollywood side of the park, you will see a mind-blowing Red Carpet of picnic tables, where glue and glitter envelop small children. Nearby is a majestic spanking new 15-foot-high play structure blinding us with its dazzlingness. Fourteen-year-olds swing ecstatically on the swings right in front of the “ONLY FOR CHILDREN 12 AND UNDER” sign. I dash onto the teen-inhabited patch of sidewalk, my red Vans shoes pounding the sidewalk and my favorite My Chemical Romance sweatshirt flapping at my sides.

Clover sees me first. “Belinda!” she shrieks. Clover is short, almost shorter than Franny, and skinny too. We’ve been best friends for almost eight years.

Amelia was next, barreling me over in a tackle-hug. She is twice everybody’s size. Her hug almost crushes my guts. Still, she’s pretty cool.
“What took you so long?? It’s already past four o’clock!” says Amelia.

“Gosh, sorry. My dad just took forever to walk out the door.” I roll my eyes.

“I feel you,” said Mary. Mary was peeking over Amelia’s shoulder. The biblical Mary would probably be ashamed that this teenager had her name. Mary has half her head shaved and dyed purple, the other side green, as well as six ear piercings on one ear, and one on her lip. She has a tattoo that says “Mikasa”. No human knows what “Mikasa” means, but then again, no human knows what anything Mary does means.
I tell the news. “You guys!” I am triumphant. “I got a tumblr.”

I get mowed over by shouts of, “What’s your username!?” The process of typing “ps-yc-ho-ti-c-ta-rd-is” into each friends search box was snail slow, but it was soon finished. I show my ask box conversation with Samuel.

“You’re going to meet this guy tonight?” Clover’s green eyes are wide. “But you don’t know him!”

“He’s cool!” I say defensively. “He’s a Whovian.”

“Liking Dr. Who is the main criteria for being your friend, Belinda.” Clover laughs. I pretend not to be hurt. “Anyway, you should make your account private.”

I blink. “You can do that?” My stomach twists a little. I make a mental note to switch my account to private later so I don’t run into any stalkers.

***

An hour passes, and my dad says Franny has to get to her piano lesson. I tell him I’m going to walk home with my friends, so the two of them leave the park in our blue Honda, which has marks and dents in every area of it. But after all my friends go, I stay behind. One by one, all the other families disappear. I check my tumblr, but there are no messages from Samuel. I busy myself with liking my friends’ blogs and swinging on the swings in front of the “ONLY FOR CHILDREN 12 AND UNDER” sign. The sun begins to close its eyes. Next thing I know, my phone says it’s 7:04. The trees grow restless in the wind, their leaves scratching the dusky sky. Wind bites my skin and prickles my eyes. I put my phone in my pocket when a figure approaches a few yards away. “Samuel?” I walk out of the playground toward the shadow. The dazzling play structure suddenly looks like a haunted mansion in the dark.

“Belinda. Fellow Whovian.” He comes toward me. I’m startled to see that he looks nothing like the boy in his tumblr profile picture. He has spiky blond hair, what look like grey eyes, and… is that stubble on his chin? Maybe it’s just a shadow.

“I brought a blanket and some lemonade,” he says. “Let’s have a picnic.”

“Picnic? I have to be home fast, though. My parents don’t know I’m still here.” I giggle. Samuel doesn’t giggle back. I get a little nervous. Have I done something wrong? Does Samuel think I’m uncool?

“Don’t worry. It won’t be long.”

Samuel sets up a picnic blanket. “Your blanket’s Tardis blue!” I say. Samuel looks at me funny, like he’s never heard the term before. I find that strange, since the Tardis is the main symbol of Dr. Who, the Doctor’s time machine.

“Sit down, fellow Whovian.” I notice he hasn’t made any other references to Dr. Who. I sit down. He pours some lemonade. I look down at my hands on the soft blanket. It’s one of those fabrics that changes shades when you brush your hand this way or that way on it, and I am enjoying feeling it, and watching the color go darker, then lighter. Darker, then lighter. I start making Dalek noises. I hope Samuel will join in and say “I am Dalek. Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaalek!” with me soon, because I’m starting to feel pretty stupid. Why isn’t he quoting Dr. Who with me? My glass is set in front of me. I look up at Samuel, who puts something in his pocket, then takes a sip from his cup. It is very white-looking lemonade, like milk mixed with water.

“Go ahead,” he says. The lemonade tastes normal. If you like your lemonade mixed with all the salt in the Pacific Ocean.

He stares at me intently, like he’s waiting for something. I do feel a little dizzy. Suddenly, I am fighting to keep myself from collapsing. I am getting a little scared. I try to crawl backwards, but he grabs my foot.
“Where’re you going?” My mouth won’t work to answer him. The cup falls from my weak hand, but it is too late. I can feel the drug swirling in me. I panic, trying to free myself and run, but Samuel’s grip on my foot is steadfast. I need to get out of here! I need to make him let go! I try to punch him, but the punch probably feels like a brush. What is happening to me? My muscles beg to go limp, but I won’t let them. I keep fighting. My thoughts are foggy. Where can I get help? I try to scream, but it comes out as a croak. Why did I have to agree to meet up with Samuel? Why couldn’t I have just stayed home? Why did I even get a tumblr in the first place? I am losing the strength to fight.
I see a light on the trees. A car door slam. Fast footsteps. Samuel flips me upside-down and tosses my upper body over his shoulder, still holding my feet. I have no strength to hit him. Blood is rushing to my face.

I suddenly hear a loud THUNK. Samuel’s arms and grip relax. I almost start freefalling to the ground, but I am grabbed under my arms, flipped right-side up and suddenly I am sitting piggyback on… someone. One of Samuel’s henchmen? No, this person was rushing me away from the Tardis blue blanket. The glass lemonade pitcher has smashed to the ground behind us, along with Samuel, unconscious, his head bleeding. He has fallen into the fence around the dazzling playground. The park is shrinking fast, and the trees and sidewalk rush by me as I bounce along on this person’s back.

I turn my head forward to look at who it is that is carrying me. I sense familiar brown hair with grease in it, and a subtle hint of Old Spice. The smell I’ve lived with all my life.

“Dad?” Everything goes black.

I wake up with soft blue covers. At first I panic. Am I still in Samuel’s Tardis blue blanket? But then I see the windows, the pictures on the walls of me, Amelia, and Clover as kids, and Franny’s bed. I am lying in my own bed. My muscles ache. I try to sit up.

“Lie back down.” My dad’s voice. I do as he says. “You’re still weak from that drug.”

“Dad…” Tears well up. “You got me away… You saved me.”

“That’s what dads are for. They take care of the people they love.” He smiled at me. It struck me how long it had been since I had seen him smile. He was always mad at me about something.

“Samuel…” I began.

“The police got him.” Dad scratches his whiskers. “They suspect Samuel used GHB, a drug that’s used a lot in cases like this. It can affect a person in fifteen minutes.” So that’s what Samuel put in his pocket, I think to myself. He sighs his you’re-not-going-to-like-this sigh. “Your tumblr account’s been closed permanently. The police are looking at your conversations for evidence and you will not be able to go on it. Samuel will be put on trial and you’ll have to testify in court. You’ll also have to be tested before the symptoms wear away. You won’t be getting another tumblr account for a long time, and you’re never again meeting someone you’ve met online in person, understand?”
I expect to be sad or angry. But I’m not. I nod, relieved that I’m here, I’m home, I’m alive.

“Dad?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Belinda.” And I fall back asleep.