A Dreamhouse

My Barbies always ended up with Ken. That was their destiny, what their plastic smiles had been molded for. They deserved Ken, a big dreamhouse, and children running through its perfectly pink halls. I always thought I was sophisticated because my Barbie and Ken fought. Seven-year-old me believed it was cool that they lived a normal life instead of imagined perfection.

As you might expect, that set me up for a less-than-great love life.

No one I dated was right for the right reasons. I liked John because he had a big house and parents who adored him. Kind William never stood a chance because he “chewed too loud.” Looking back, I realize I was never really dating people. I was dating the lives they represented.

It’s gotten to the point where my friends can’t handle me. I complain too much and fall too easily. When I do fall, though, it always ends with a broken heart. At this point I should expect it. I never fall without breaking something, or worse, someone.

So I stopped looking. I’m still open to the opportunity of finding my Ken, but I’ve decided he’ll have to find me.

My name is Holly Joy, and I’m a second-year teacher at Millville Elementary, where I teach second grade. I enjoy teaching most of the time. It’s hard, I won’t lie, but every day gets a little easier. The kids slowly warm up to me and eventually start listening. They’re my favorite part of the job. They’re sweet, honest, and innocent in ways adults forget how to be.

Well . . . most of them.

One of my students is Tiffany Olsen.

She’s different than the other kids. Not in a bad way or even a good way. She simply carries herself like someone much older. There always seems to be a sadness lingering at the edge of her voice, as though she knows something the rest of us don’t. I’ve never been able to figure out why.

On paper, Tiffany has the perfect life. Her father owns a successful business. Her mother is beautiful, kind, and always seems to glow. They live in a gorgeous white-picket-fence house, and Tiffany has siblings to laugh and play with. The Olsens are the family everyone in Millville quietly envies.

So what could possibly make a little girl look so . . . heavy?

That question settled somewhere deep inside me. The more I tried to ignore it, the more impossible it became. Maybe I was simply nosy. I’ve always been naturally curious, and luckily teachers are allowed to ask questions.

One afternoon Tiffany forgot her reading book at school. Being what I considered a dedicated teacher, I decided to drop it off at her house.

Looking back, this was a terrible idea.

Sometimes curiosity disguises itself as kindness.

I arrived on a cool fall afternoon wearing nothing but a silk blouse and jeans. The crisp air immediately reminded me that I’d dressed for convenience instead of weather. Goosebumps rose across my arms as I walked up the stone pathway, mentally rehearsing every possible consequence of showing up at a student’s house unannounced. My feet kept moving anyway, and before I knew it, I had pressed the doorbell.

The chime startled me back into reality.

“Coming!” I heard Tiffany’s mother call from somewhere inside while shushing another child.

A moment later the door swung open.

She looked as though she’d stepped off the cover of a magazine. For a second I forgot why I was there.

It was in that exact moment that I realized she was Barbie.

She had my dreamhouse.

She had everything I had always imagined wanting.

I knew I shouldn’t have felt the wave of jealousy that washed over me. She hadn’t done anything wrong. But sometimes it’s hard not to resent someone who seems to have been handed the very life you’ve spent years wishing for.

“Hi?” she asked politely, though I could hear the confusion underneath. I had interrupted what was clearly a busy school night.

Being my awkward self, I just stood there, silently staring at her.

Brilliant.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally held out Tiffany’s book.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you. Tiffany left this at school today. I’m her teacher, Mrs. Joy.”

Her eyes moved from me to the book before understanding settled across her face.

“Oh! Right. Thank you so much.” She smiled politely. “I’m sorry, we’re just a little hectic tonight. I’ll take it.”

As she reached for the book, our hands awkwardly lingered on it for a second before I finally let go. Her words were kind, but her body language gently told me it was time to leave. She wasn’t rude. She simply didn’t understand why an elementary school teacher would drive across town to return one forgotten book.

Honestly . . .

Neither did I.

Just before she closed the door, I caught a glimpse inside.

Steve Olsen stood across the room speaking sharply to Tiffany’s younger sister. I couldn’t make out the words, only the tone. It wasn’t enough to be alarming. Just enough to feel . . . off.

Before I could think much more about it, Lauren shifted slightly, blocking my view. She thanked me once again, smiled politely, and closed the door.

The feeling disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived.

I decided not to push my luck.

As I walked back down the stone pathway, I glanced over my shoulder one last time. The white house glowed warmly in the late afternoon sun. Flower boxes framed the porch, and laughter drifted faintly through one of the open windows. From the outside, it looked exactly like the kind of home I’d imagined for myself since I was seven years old.

I thanked Lauren under my breath, turned around, and walked away from the dreamhouse that belonged to someone else. Someone I believed was more deserving than me.

Over the next several days, I couldn’t stop thinking about that visit. At first I told myself it was jealousy. I wanted to know why her life looked so perfect while mine felt so painfully ordinary. Why someone else had been handed the life I’d imagined since I was a little girl arranging plastic furniture inside a pink dreamhouse.

It sounds awful now.

Maybe it was awful then.

Or maybe there was something else tugging at me, something I hadn’t recognized yet.

The more I thought about Tiffany, the less convinced I became that jealousy was the whole story. There was something about that family I couldn’t explain, something that kept quietly pulling me toward answers I couldn’t even define.

By Friday I decided wondering wasn’t enough.

The school year was coming to an end, and like every good teacher, I planned an end-of-the-year class party at my house. This one would be a little different. Parents were invited too. Who knows what I hoped to accomplish? I told myself it was simply a nice way to celebrate, but somewhere in the back of my mind I imagined myself as a young Sherlock Holmes, gathering clues instead of fingerprints. If I’m being honest, I was enjoying the mystery far too much.

By Sunday everyone had RSVP’d for four o’clock. Sadly, Lauren couldn’t make it, but Steve said he would bring Tiffany himself. That still felt like a victory.

By 3:55 every game was set up. Bowls of chips and candy covered the kitchen island. Juice boxes and soda filled coolers. Balloons swayed gently from the backs of chairs. Everything looked perfect. The kids were going to love it. I stood back and admired my work. Maybe this wasn’t a dreamhouse, but for one afternoon it felt close enough.

As I waited by the window, I heard the first car pull into the driveway. I hurried over like an excited child waiting for her own father to come home from work. Steve Olsen stepped out first, and Tiffany climbed out behind him. Even outside the classroom, she carried herself the same way. While the other children raced toward the front door laughing, Tiffany walked quietly beside her father with her shoulders slightly hunched and her eyes fixed on the ground. It bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

A moment later there was a knock.

I opened the door.

Steve smiled warmly.

“Hi, Mrs. Joy. Tiffany’s told me so much about you. She’s been talking about today all week.”

My heart nearly melted. Knowing one of my students cared that much about me was almost enough to make me forget why I’d been so curious about this family in the first place.

I looked down at Tiffany.

“I’m so excited you’re here.”

She gave me the smallest smile before looking back at the floor. It disappeared almost immediately, and I decided not to think about it.

The afternoon passed exactly as I’d hoped. Children laughed until their stomachs hurt. Parents chatted in little groups while helping with games. For a few hours everything felt wonderfully ordinary. Every now and then I’d catch Steve across the room. He was charming, funny, attentive - the kind of father every little girl deserved. If someone had asked me to describe the perfect husband, I probably would’ve pointed right at him.

It’s funny how quickly people can become strangers.

As the party came to an end, families slowly began saying their goodbyes. Steve lingered behind while Tiffany waited quietly by the front door. “I just wanted to thank you,” he said. “You’ve taken such good care of my Tiffany.”

His words caught me completely off guard.

“No teacher has made this much of a difference before.”

My face warmed. Before I could answer, he stepped a little closer and quietly slipped something into my hand.

It was a hotel key card.

“If you ever want someone who appreciates you . . .” he said softly.

The rest of his sentence disappeared beneath the pounding in my ears. I stared down at the card. I felt sick. Embarrassed. Angry. The man I’d built into my own version of Ken wasn’t Ken at all. He was simply another man willing to betray the person waiting for him at home.

He smiled as though nothing unusual had happened, called for Tiffany, and walked back to his car. I stood frozen in my doorway long after they had driven away.

My first thought was disbelief.

My second was worse.

Maybe . . .

Maybe it was Lauren.

Maybe she wasn’t as perfect as I’d imagined.

Maybe there had to be some explanation.

I hated myself for thinking it.

But I thought it anyway.

Without giving myself time to reconsider, I climbed into my car and drove straight to the Olsens’ house. I wasn’t thinking. I was reacting. I hurried to the front door, pushed it open before anyone answered, and stepped inside. Voices echoed from somewhere deeper in the house.

“What are you doing, Lauren?” Steve shouted. “This house is disgusting. Do a better job next time.”

Silence.

“And after a long day, you could at least put some makeup on.”

Then . . .

The unmistakable sound of a slap. Everything inside me stopped.

I rounded the corner just enough to see Lauren clutching her face while Tiffany stood frozen in the hallway behind her. No tears. No screaming. Only the expression of a little girl who had seen this before. Far too many times.

Suddenly Tiffany’s sadness made perfect sense.

The dreamhouse hadn’t been perfect.

It had been breaking apart long before I ever rang the doorbell.

I wish I could tell you I rushed in. I wish I could tell you I called the police. I wish I could tell you I wrapped Lauren and Tiffany in my arms and took them somewhere safe.

I didn’t.

I left.

I simply turned around and left.

A year later they found Lauren’s body in a field.

Steve was never found guilty.

But I have never believed he was innocent.

I still think about Tiffany. I wonder if she remembers her second-grade teacher. I wonder if she remembers the party. Mostly, I wonder whether one person making one different choice could have changed everything.

I live with that question every day.

Now, at least I know that sometimes a dreamhouse is haunted on the inside.