Perfect (19 page)

And are you dripping sweat on

the tile?
She is always so measured,

sometimes I wish I could make

her yell. But I can barely get her

to frown. “How did you manage

to make the Sanderses sell their house?”

We have a restraining order in

place. I pointed out the obvious—

it would be easier if she and Conner

simply never came face-to-face
.

And anyway, their divorce is no

doubt imminent. It’s just as well

they think about how to divide

things up when the house does sell
.

God, she is smug. “Oh, so you

talked them into getting a divorce,

too? Awesome, Mother. Who

knew you could be so persuasive?”

She levels me with her eyes.

I had nothing to do with that
.

It was Emily Sanders’s extremely

bad judgment that got her into

this mess. No husband in his right

mind would stay with a woman

like her. Isn’t that right?
Directed

at Dad, who dares not say a word

unless it’s the exact word Mom

wants to hear. Dad shrugs, goes

back to his paper. And all I can

do is quit dripping sweat on the tile.

I Turn The Shower Hot

I feel dirty, and not from my run.

Nothing Mom said was totally

wrong, but I just can’t get it out

of my head that she has taken

the Sanderses’ tattered lives and

made sure they could never be

sewn back together again. And

I think she would do the same

to me, if I ever gave her a reason.

All she cares about is being right.

Winning. And taking out anyone

who might tarnish her sterling

reputation. No wonder Conner

went to such an extreme. If you’re

going to make a statement, make

it a big one, not that I’d dream

of taking on Mom. Now
that
is crazy.

I wash my hair with coconut shampoo.

Scrub my skin with lemongrass soap.

When I’m through, I am almost clean.

The Afternoon Is Looking Long

I need to get out of here. I could

call Sean. He’d probably stop

lifting long enough to do something

with me. But we haven’t seen all

that much of each other since

the night I basically threw myself

at him and he left me still a virgin.

Not sure who was more embarrassed.

Instead I try Dani, who answers

right away. Almost as if expecting

my call. Was she? “I was wondering

if you had plans for today.”

Glad you called. No plans. What

did you have in mind?
In mind?

“I don’t know. Just have to get out of

the house for a few.” Hours, that is.

Movie? No. I want to talk, get to

know her better. “It’s pretty out

today. We could take a walk.”

She agrees to meet me at Rock Park.

It’s A Twenty-Minute Drive

In my stomach is a tentative flutter,

moth wings against a muted light.

On the radio (some kind of sign?),

Katy Perry sings about kissing a girl.

And liking it. I take myself back

to that day in the trees. Kissing Dani.

And liking it so much it made me

turn feeble in the knees. Did kissing

Sean ever make me feel that way?

I don’t think so. Don’t think

kissing
any
boy ever made me feel

that way—like standing at the brink

of a very tall cliff, wind at my back

tipping me forward, the rock

beneath my feet starting to crumble,

but not afraid to go slipping into

the unknown. I could retreat

from this place. Instead I take

a deep breath, plunge into some

mysterious space. And I like it.

The River Is High

Winter-fed currents rush down-

stream, chew at the rocky banks.

Dani sits on a picnic table,

watching a few intrepid kayakers,

and even in profile, she defines

stark beauty—all steep slopes

and sharp tilts and spikes of russet

hair. I call her name, and when

she turns, her smile is like April

sun on the March snow drifted

deep inside me. Just seeing her

has lifted the morning’s weight.

She senses something, or it shows

in my eyes.
You okay? What’s wrong?

I could say nothing, but why lie?

“It’s a long story. Let’s walk.”

We start down the riverside bike

path, and I begin my lurid saga.

Cool, distant father. Frigid,

twisted mother. Sad, sick twin.

When I get to the stuff about Emily,

Dani’s fingers knot into mine.
Wow
.

That’s like something you see on TV
.

But darlin’, you’re not the only one

with a messed-up family. My mom

left us for heroin when I was six
.

She OD’d a couple of years ago
.

In between, she was turning tricks
,

and got pregnant with my little brother
.

She came crawling back. Dad was great
.

He took her in, and when she left us

for smack again, he raised Caleb like

his own. We were doing okay, except

when Mom died, Caleb freaked out
.

Like she’d ever been his mom, you know?

Anyway, he fried his brain on ecstasy
.

Stole a car and drove it the wrong way

down the freeway, head-on into a semi
.

He was only fourteen. So now it’s just

Dad and me. Everyone else is dead
.

Her Hand Trembles In Mine

And now it’s my turn to be strong.

I stop. Pull her very close to me, swim

into the glittering pools in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” She nods, parts her lips,

and when our mouths meet, it is with

urgency. Need. Lust. And understanding

that this might be only the beginning.

We feed on each other. Draw strength

from the nourishment. We are alone here,

but were we not, I wouldn’t care who might

be watching as we wrap each other in

each other, caught up in a net of desire

so strong there can be no breaking

free. Her skin is softest leather.

Her tongue, butter melting on mine.

She smells of ginger. Tastes of mint

and strawberry. She is angle. I am

curve. Together, we are geometric

sculpture, and we make perfect sense.

But just how far am I willing to go?

Kendra

How Far

Down can this one drop me?

Will it plummet me into a no-

man’s-land so pleasure-dense

that memory can’t

follow?

How high will this one launch

me? Will I soar above this

pain-infused planet, no fear,

and no desire to ever

turn back?

Who knew so many answers

might be found inside

little amber bottles? Sad?

Pop a pill. Fat?

Run screaming for

the medicine chest.

Calorie counting becomes

obsolete when all you want

to swallow is water and

Mommy’s Little Helper

makes that happen for you.

I Don’t Know Why

It took me so long to find my way

to Pharmaceuticalville. I guess I thought

pill popping was for losers. People who

couldn’t hack reality. Couldn’t control

themselves or conquer their weaknesses.

Ha. I never thought I was weak before,

not even when the mirror insisted I was

a total wuss. It’s all very clear now, though.

And I can’t believe how easy it is to not

feel hungry. To not feel sorry. To not feel

sad or worried or like the whole world

just wants to crush me, and all I have to do

is match the messed-up mood to the proper

chemical adjuster. If that makes me weak,

oh well. But I think it makes me smart.

Why push uphill when you can coast?

I Was Only Going To Take

One Percocet. I needed it the day

I found out about Conner and his skank.

His old skank. The one who just moved

away. Thank God I don’t have to see her

ever again. But even if I did, all I would

have to do is down another Percocet.

Sheesh, if I did two, I’d probably ask her

to prom. Except, now the pills are gone.

There were only four to start. After

the first one, I waited a couple of days.

Then my dad decided to show up drunk

at our spring honor choir performance.

It was the first time I’d seen him in months.

And there he was, slobbering all over some

random woman and yelling like he was at

a football game. And then he spotted Mom

and Patrick and, for whatever reason,

decided to go say hello. And more.

While we were still singing. From

where I stood on the stage, I could see

Mom trying to shush him. Which made

him get louder. Soon everyone turned

to stare, and Patrick actually had to take

hold of his arm, steer him out of the gym.

Then everyone was looking at me. Like

I had anything to do with it. And here’s

the capper. Mom blamed me.
Why did

you even tell him about the performance?

We were all safe at home by then (well,

not sure about Dad. Patrick handed him

off to his girlfriend.) I couldn’t believe

it. “Well, I sure as hell didn’t invite him.”

Which made Patrick jump in.
Don’t you

dare swear at your mother, little girl.

Anger sizzled in my head. “Don’t tell

me what to do. You’re not my father.”

In light of what happened tonight,

I’d say that’s a darn good thing.

“Darn? You can say ‘damn,’ Patrick.

I promise it won’t damage us children.”