Perfect (27 page)

I’m not the first guy she’s gone out with.”

I glance at Jenna, who

for some inane reason seems to be enjoying

the whole thing.
Chill out, Dad,
she says.

I don’t choose who you

date. Let alone who you get engaged to.

The room has fallen morgue silent. All

activity has ceased.

“Uh, Jenna, maybe we should just go.”

Mr. Mathieson starts to stand, only to

be braked by Shiloh.

You go,
he says.
Jenna is staying here.

This Is Insane

I have no idea what my next move should

be, other than to do

exactly as he has suggested. Every eye

in the restaurant is looking at us—me—

and that makes me

extremely uncomfortable. I can’t meet

Jenna’s father’s gaze, so I speak directly

to Shiloh. “Very sorry

about—” Wait. What am I sorry about?

“Scratch that. I’m not sorry. I didn’t do

anything except walk

through the door with your daughter.”

Directed in a straight line at Mr. Mathieson.

“I don’t know what your

problem is, but I’m not going to make it mine.

I’m leaving, Jenna. You can come with

me, or you can stay.

It doesn’t really matter either way.”

I Turn My Back

On the whole ugly scene, walk away

without a backward

glance. Behind me, things escalate

into a regular shouting match. Jenna:

You had no right to do

that, Dad. Andre is really good to me.

Dad:
Listen to me, little girl. I’d better

never see you with

someone like… that… again. Never.

Someone like… that? I am almost

through the door

when Jenna confirms the reference.

You mean someone who’s black? God,

Dad. What century do

you live in? Anyway, we’re just going

out. It’s not like we’re getting married

and making babies

together or something. Andre! Wait up.

I keep on walking. Last thing I need

is for some racist jerk

to come gunning for me. And that seems

a likely possibility.
Jenna! Get your ass

back here right now!

The door closes behind me, and I don’t

have the stomach to turn around and

see which one of them

prevailed. Jenna is strong-willed, but

her father is a regular ogre. Can’t believe

a nice lady like Shiloh

wants to hook up long term with the man.

Can’t believe girls as pretty as Jenna

and Kendra could be

so closely related to someone as ugly as that.

I Reach My Car

Without taking a bullet in the back.

Thank God for small

miracles. As I unlock the door, footsteps

come slapping up the street. Not sure

I’m all that happy

to see Jenna, but whatever. A quick scan

of the sidewalk behind her tells me we’ve

got all of thirty seconds

to make a clear getaway. “Hurry up, okay?”

As I pull away from the curb, Jenna sighs.

Wow. I didn’t know he’d

get
that
mad. Not that I really care. Sorry.

I’m pretty sure she’s not sorry at all.

But when I look at

her, all wide-eyed and beautiful, I’m not

sure how to be angry. “Damn it, Jenna.

You had to know how

he’d feel about you showing up with me.

I mean, it’s not like he just woke up one

day and decided to

hate black people. It’s programmed.”

My grandparents aren’t the most open-

minded people in

the world,
she says.
He definitely learned

it from them.
Her hand skips across

the seat, pounces on

my leg.
But, hey, aren’t you glad I chose

to break the cycle of hate?
She says it with

a completely straight

face, then breaks out in a lunatic grin.

I can’t help but laugh. “Girl, you make

me totally crazy.

And just so you know, I’m still mad at you.”

Yeah, but you’ll forgive me.
Her fingers

dance up along my inner

thigh.
That’s what love is all about, right?

Cara

What Is Love All About?

The question is asked time

and again in books. Movies.

Television. Songs. Sadly,

I

have to admit I’m clueless,

and the theories I’ve seen

presented seem to

have no

solid footing on terra firma.

They are spores, floating

in imagination, oblivious of

real experience.

From what I’ve seen, love

isn’t about mutual respect.

It’s more concerned

with

control than sacrifice.

And I wonder whether

it’s better or worse when

love

finally walks away.

Three Days

Since the night Sean had sex

with me. Three long days, trying

to make sense of the disgusting

scene that replays over and over

in my head—the worst-ever dirty

movie, stuck in an endless loop.

In retrospect, it wasn’t all Sean’s

fault. It’s a thin line between

outright assault and temporary

insanity. And I was as crazy as

he was, at least for a few intense

moments. What’s hazy is when,

not to mention why, I changed

my mind. My head said okay.

My body said hurry. But my heart

said I’d be sorry. And I am. I am.

I Am Also Incredibly Angry

At him. At me. At us. At there

ever having been an us. I guess

I got the answer I needed. But

it was never the one I wanted.

It destroys the impeccable order

of my life.

Ruins the rhyme.

Makes the meter out of sync.

I’m afraid it will never be perfect

again.                      I am indelibly stained.

Forever redefined, but

blurred around the edges.

Because the clearer it becomes

that this other Cara really is me,

the less I’m sure that she’s the person

I want to be. I’m scared there’s no

turning back. I loathe labels,

especially those I can’t free myself

of. So how do I hang out a “lesbian”

shingle? How can I expose myself

(so to speak) in such a blatant

manner? God, it’s hard enough

waving around the “Stanford-

bound Cheerleader” banner.

Yes, I made it. The acceptance

letter came today. I should be

celebrating. But I have no one

to celebrate with, except maybe

Dani. And I’m afraid to call her.

Because I’d have a lot more to tell

her than just about Stanford. If

I open that door, let the bad air

out, who knows if I could close

it again once the sweet breeze

came wafting in? My cell phone

rings, and I freeze. I know it’s Sean.

I’ve lost track of how many times

he’s called in the past three days.

I know I have to talk to him.

What I don’t know is where to begin.

If He Really Loves Me

He should understand that I am

not the princess he so desires.

Not a princess at all. If he really

loves me, he will want me to stay

true to who I am. The person I was

born to be. What I’m trying to say

is, if he loves me, he will let me go.

How frigging cliché. But I mean it.

His messages have been predictable:

Please forgive me. I’ll make it up

to you. Tell me what you want me

to do. Get down on my knees? I will
.

This one is different.
Cara, you are

my world. I’ve planned my future

around being with you. I need you

to understand what that means
.

I signed my letter of intent to play

ball for Stanford. Because of you
.

I thought we would be together. Live

together. Maybe even… Please call
.

Maybe Even What?

That sounded serious. No, more

like ominous. Surely he wasn’t

hinting at marriage? Okay, that’s

purely speculation on my part,

but if that’s what he meant, better

to sever this relationship right away.

Because while I might have thought

I loved him once, I never considered

marrying him. Or anyone. When

I was little, my friends would gush

over wedding gowns and honeymoons.

But I saw too many people flush decades

together right down the toilet over

money or kids or meaningless flings.

My own parents chose to stay married,

which I think is rather funny, since

they show about as much affection

for each other as pit bulls in a ring.

Tying the knot means slipping a noose

around love and choking it to death.

So Now Or Never

I dial Sean’s number. He answers

before it rings, as if waiting, phone

in hand, for me to call.
Oh, thank

God. I swore if I didn’t hear from

you, I was coming over there and

camping in your driveway. Did you

get my last message? I got in! And

I’m going to play for Stanford
.

I can picture his face, all lit up

with pride and excitement. I have

to hurry, or I’ll lose my nerve.

“Sean, listen. I’m not sure why