Perfect (11 page)

to the raised ridge of collarbone. His tongue

slides across it.
Mmm. Delicious. What else

can I taste?
He finds other places, each

more intimate than the last, and I am beyond

ready to let him take me all the way

there. But just as I think we finally

will, he sits up. Pulls far away. I don’t

know what to say except, “Don’t stop.”

I’m sorry,
he answers.
I can’t stay.
And

even though I can still feel his hand

stroking the hill of my hip, he is gone.

I wake, crying out for someone never there.

I Don’t Feel Light Anymore

I feel like someone has tied bricks

to my arms and legs. Weighted by loss,

I lie immobile for maybe twenty minutes,

eyes closed, hoping I’ll fall back into

the dream, find Conner has changed

his mind. But I don’t sleep. Don’t dream.

Across the room, I hear Jenna stir.

She always sleeps late on weekends.

If I’m still in bed, it usually means

I’m sick. When she notices me, she gasps.

But she doesn’t bother being quiet.

What’s up with you? Got the flu?

My head never leaves the pillow.

“Don’t know.” What am I going

to say? That I want to go searching

for Conner? “Why do you care?”

I don’t want to catch anything nasty.

Keep your germs all to yourself.

She goes to the closet, digs for a bit,

emerges with one of my favorite

sweaters—a cornflower angora.
Hey.

Can I wear this? Pretty please?

Is she crazy? “Not even. Not

the way you treat my clothes.”

It doesn’t fit you anymore, anyway.

She slips it on.
See? Just right.

I have to admit it looks great on her,

accentuating each and every curve.

I would probably swim in it. “Okay.”

When was the last time I wore it?

Jenna Goes To Shower

And when she emerges from the bath-

room, steam trailing her, there’s something

about her that I can’t attribute to the sweater,

or the makeup, or the way she has blow-dried

her long white-gold hair. At last, I pull myself

upright. “Um… got a big date or something?”

Fact is, I’ve never seen her with a guy.

Didn’t know she even had one on her radar.

She smiles.
Don’t know how “big”

it is. But I guess you could call it

a date. It’s just lunch and a movie.

She doesn’t volunteer more, and

I know she’s expecting me to want

information. I definitely do. “With who?”

Her grin widens.
I met him at your

plastic surgeon’s office. He’s her son.

Her Son?

Okay, wait. Process… process…

“So, you mean…” She can’t be serious.

He’s black? Yep. Definitely black.

And really cute. And smart. And rich…

Won’t mean a thing to our father, who’s a half

step away from the KKK. “Uh, what about…?”

Her face darkens, eclipsed by thoughts

of Daddy.
I don’t give a damn about Dad.

“Well, you should. He didn’t walk out

on Mom, you know.” We’ve had this

argument before. Her answer will be

the same as always.
That doesn’t mean

he needs to take it out on me… or you.

We didn’t ask Mom to leave him.

She’s totally right. Daddy pretty much

pretends we don’t even exist anymore.

We sometimes get cards on our birthdays,

once in a while with Wal-Mart gift cards

inside. Ditto Christmas. But he never asks

to see us. I think we remind him too much

of Mom. One thing’s for sure, though.

If he finds out Jenna’s going out with

a black guy, he will most definitely take

an interest. “Okay, well, it’s all fine by me.

Just remember guys are mostly only

after one thing.” I sound like a mom.

Her smile returns.
Even when

you’re dreaming about them?

Oh my God. “What do you mean?”

Now I really feel sick. Burning up.

Jenna laughs.
You talk in your sleep

sometimes. And sometimes you moan.

I Throw My Pillow

It misses her by a mile, and it comes

to me that we haven’t shared a sister

moment like this in quite a while.

Not since we moved in with Patrick.

I have to get ready to go now.

Andre’s picking me up at eleven.

Eleven? Holy crap. I slept away

most of the morning. Not a good

way to burn calories. I’ll have to

work out an extra hour. I try not

to look at the mirror as I make my

way to the toilet for an overdue pee.

When I come out of the bathroom,

I glance out the window just in time

to see Jenna scoot into a hot little

Audi. Metallic blue. Nice car. I hope

this Andre person is nice too. My sister

pisses me off regularly, but I don’t want

to see her get hurt. And a guy is the surest

path to heartbreak that I know. I put on

sweats, pull my hair back into a ponytail.

If I’m going to work out for two hours,

I have to eat something. Our kitchen

is the devil’s den, the cupboards filled

with carb-laden crap. The kind that

goes straight to your thighs and belly.

The fridge is a little better. I’ve become

an expert label reader and calorie counter.

One orange: thirty-five calories, eight grams

carbs. Ten grapes: thirty calories, nine

grams carbs. One tomato: nine calories,

two grams carbs. I choose the tomato.

One Tomato

Two thin slices of Healthy Fare

turkey, and two glasses of water

later, I make a call. “Hello? Is Sean

there?” Long pause while his little

brother goes to look for him. Finally,

Uh, no. He’s got baseball practice.

“Oh. Well, this is Kendra. I was hoping

to use your workout equipment.” Why pay

for a gym when the O’Connells have

state-of-the-art stuff in their basement?

Wade doesn’t hesitate.
You can use

it. But only if you let me watch.
Pervert

freshman. But, hey, what do I care

if he gets off on watching me sweat?

By The Time I Get There

Wade has rounded up a friend. They follow me

downstairs, stare as I program the elliptical

to level five. Cardio first. Weights after.

The guys stand there, gawking. Might as well

give ’em a good show. I strip down to a sports

bra and Lycra pants. “Can you turn on the TV,

maybe find a music channel?” Wade obliges,

and I climb on the machine, tune into the music,

find my zone. Breathe in. Breathe out. Lose

track of time. Push myself harder. Forget about

freshman eyes and banter. Breathe deeper

as sweat trickles turn to rivulets, carry away

toxins. One tomato, two turkey slices. Fat.

Breathe. Burn fat. Forget about the taunts

of the mirror and too many hours tangled in sleep,

deep woods perfume, and the arms of a ghost.

Sean

Arms

Worked to the max.

Pumped to capacity.

Muscles bathing in lactic

acid. Slow build to

burning.

Lift. Rest. Stretch.