Perfect (18 page)

at me. At least, not yet. There’s something

else, too. Something harder to define.

It has to do with the way

she can shift between demanding total

attention to turning herself off to the rest

of the world. Blanking

out everyone else completely. Even me.

It’s A Small Price

To pay for spending time with her.

Because, despite

her few shortcomings, I think I’m in

love with her. It sure feels that way

when I’m with her.

I never want to let her go. She even

has me trying new things—crazy things

I’d never do on my own.

Today we’re going to the Ultimate Rush

Thrill Park at the Grand Sierra Resort.

Not sure what the rush

is in miniature golf and bumper cars,

but we’ll see. First Saturday in March,

the sun is out but

the air is still pre-spring crisp, so when

I pull up in front of Jenna’s house, I’m not

expecting to see her

dressed the way she is. Then again,

it
is
Jenna, so why am I surprised

that she has chosen

butt-clinging shorts and a low-cut

sweater that leaves absolutely nothing

to the imagination?

At least she brought a very small, very

tight leather jacket. “Damn, girl, you

sure you’re going

to be warm enough? Kind of chilly out.”

She shimmies into the passenger seat.

Smiles.
Yeah, but

you know how to keep a girl warm.

I can’t help but admire what her push-up

bra is pushing up. “Not sure

who’s keeping who warm, but let’s go.”

The Ultimate Rush

Is more than a little obvious as soon

as we pull in and park.

I’ve driven past the Grand Sierra a few

times, and for some reason I never really

looked at what these tall

white towers were. Namely, truly frightening

thrill rides, especially for someone like me,

who is not especially

fond of heights. “I thought we were playing

peewee golf and driving go-carts.” A scream

pulls my eyes past

the windshield just as the backward

bungee jump yanks a couple in a small

cage some seventy feet

into the air. “Uh… that doesn’t look fun.”

Sure it does. And just in case you need

some liquid courage,

I brought this. It will keep us warm, too.

She pulls a flask out of her purse, offers

it to me.
Cinnamon

schnapps. Careful. It’s got a little bite.

Alcohol and backward bungee jumping?

Sounds like a bad

combination to me. “I don’t know…”

Come on,
she purrs, taking a sip herself

before urging the flask

into my hand.
It will take the edge off.

Slow burn the edge off is more like it.

Cinnamon schnapps is

like cinnamon cough syrup. Thick

and too sweet, despite the signature

Red Hot flavoring.

Liquid flame trickles down my throat.

“Lord, girl.” It comes out a raspy whisper.

And I can feel a sticky

smolder creep into my empty stomach.

Yet I help myself to another nip before

handing back the flask.

“Your mama should have named you Delilah.”

Huh?
She takes a long pull and doesn’t

even cough as it goes

down. What a girl. A crazy, soon-to-be

drunk girl. “You know, as in Samson

and Delilah?” The rumble

in my belly tells me I really need to eat.

Jenna shakes her head.
Samson is, like, in

Greek mythology, right?

We studied that in fifth grade.
She smiles.

“Actually, the story is in the Bible and…

oh, never mind. You

hungry? I am. Let’s get food and then…”

Two people on a giant rubber band slingshot

past the window, shrieking.

It doesn’t look fun either. “Then we’ll see.”

Jenna Knows

A good burger restaurant inside the Grand

Sierra. We have to walk

through the casino to get there. I hook

my arm around her waist, claiming her. Not

to mention keeping her

a little more steady on her feet. She rocks

slightly, exaggerating the sway of her hips.

Heads turn and every old

pervert in the place looks at me with envy.

Jenna puffs up on the attention.
Did you

see that guy? I thought

his eyeballs were gonna pop out of his head.

I should feel proud, right? So why does

my face flush, fever-hot,

and blood roar in my ears? “Do you have

to shake your ass like that? Those dudes

probably think you’re

a hooker.” Immediately, an apology

springs to my lips. But, schnapps or just

because it’s her, Jenna

couldn’t care less.
Hey, you got it, flaunt it.

She’s so cute, I don’t want to argue and spoil

the day. But I really do wish

the only guy she played flirt with was me.

Instead she flaunts her way to Johnny Rockets,

exposes five-star cleavage

to get us a better table a little quicker.

If it wouldn’t be too, too obvious, the host

would probably walk

backward, to better enjoy the view.

Our order is taken in record time, although

the waiter lingers, making

suggestions, awash in Jenna’s sensual aura.

When we’re finally sort of alone, I can’t help

myself. “That kind of

attention could get a girl into trouble.”

Her Smile Dissolves

And her eyes ice over. She is silent for

several seconds, then

opens up.
A girl can get into trouble

without doing a goddamn thing. Better

to know what you have

and how to use it to get what you want.

At least then, you’re in control. You

have the power. I never

want to be powerless again.
She doesn’t

offer anything else, and though I know

there’s a lot more,

I’m not really sure I want to hear the rest

anyway. She leans forward, and my eyes

are drawn to the inhale-

exhale in the deep scoop of her sweater.

That makes her smile again, and I can’t

think of anything to

say. Thank God our food arrives.

Post Burgers And Fries

The day has warmed even more, and

it feels good to walk

in the sunshine, holding Jenna close.

I’m glad I brought plenty of cash. Each

attraction is a separate

cost. The big ones are major. “Holy crap.

Twenty-five dollars each to lose our lunch?

Are you sure you want

to do this? I mean, I don’t mind paying.…”

I look up at the rubber band thingie. Jenna

laughs.
Let’s start with the

go-carts, see how we feel.
She, of course,

outdrives me, and somehow I’m not amazed

when she convinces me

to spend fifty bucks to try the slingshot.

We climb into the cage, and as they strap

us in, I wonder if I am

more afraid of the ride or of my girlfriend.

Cara

Am I More Afraid

Of taking a chance and

learning I’m somebody

I don’t know, or of risking

new territory,

only to find I’m the same

old me? There is comfort

in the tried and true.

Breaking ground

might uncover a sinkhole,

one impossible to climb out

of. And setting sail in

uncharted waters

might mean capsizing into

a sea monster’s jaws.

Easier to turn my back on

these things

than to try them and fail.

And yet, a whisper insists

I need to know if they are or

aren’t integral to me.

Status quo is a swamp.

And stagnation is slow death.

Sunday Mornings

I usually sleep in, but today

I wake from a weird dream about

trying to extricate myself from quicksand.

I can’t quite shake the dread,

so I haul my butt out of bed,

force my blurry eyes to look out

the window. What a stellar day—

sun-washed, brittle blue sky.

No hint of wind. Maybe I’ll go

for a run. Now that I’m finished

cheering, I need regular exercise

or I’ll turn into a big tub of nerves.

I dress in sweats, a long-sleeved

tee, my favorite running shoes.

The house is quiet when I go

downstairs. Guess no one but me

had bad dreams last night. I swallow

a power bar, a glass of water.

Stretch a little, head out into the cool

brass morning. I swing onto the bike

path that snakes through

our neighborhood. The sun

slips warm fingers through

my hair, and I try to outrun

the demons nipping my heels.

Sean. Conner. Dani, who called

yesterday and asked when I was

going boarding again. She wants

to see me. I had almost convinced

myself our connection was all in

my head. That our kiss was a test.

One I failed. Then came her call

and the husky promise of her voice.

I push myself faster, engage

overdrive, tugging in air scented

with wet sage. At the three-mile

mark, I turn around, slow to catch

my breath. Jog until my muscles

start to relax. As the old song says,

“I feel like I’m a cog in something turning.”

Down The Home Stretch

I approach the Sanderses’ house

and slow even more. In the driveway

is a moving van, and now I notice

the
FOR SALE
sign staked in the lawn.

Men hustle in and out, carrying boxes

and wheeling furniture-laden dollies.

I watch for a minute, absurdly

feeling like I am somehow responsible.

No. Not me. And not Conner. This

is my mother’s doing. Well, okay,

Emily Sanders has to take some

of the blame, but it bothers me

that my mom not only got her fired,

but also strong-armed her into

selling her house and moving away.

That is wrong on so many levels.

The most messed-up thing about

it is that Conner’s warped need started

the whole thing. Yes, it takes two

to dance. But somebody has to lead.

I Run Home

Blow through the door, down

the hall. Mom and Dad are drinking

coffee. At the same table, even.

It’s all so civilized, so domestic,

I can hardly believe it and almost

forget what upset me to start with.

Almost. “What have you done?”

I glare at Mom, and she responds

with an amused stare.
I’m sure

I don’t know what you mean
.