Perfect (28 page)

you thought we would be together

after this year. I never promised

that. And what happened the other

night made it clear to me that I can

never be what you need. You deserve

someone who will love you with all

her heart. That isn’t me. I’m sorry.”

I knew he would take it hard, but

did not expect the rabid way he comes

back at me now.
What the fuck are

you saying? That it’s over? Because

we finally had sex? You can’t be serious!

“Not just because we finally had sex.”

Damn it. I’m crying. “Because it

didn’t mean anything. I should

be dying to have it again. I’m not.”

He is quiet for several very long

seconds. Finally he says,
Cara
,

I love you and that wouldn’t change

even if we never had sex again
.

I’ll jack off forever, if that’s what

you want
. His voice slices the ether

between us.
But I will never let you

go
. He gives me no choice but to

say, “We’re over, Sean. I’m sorry,

but the longer we try to hold on to

each other, the more it will hurt when

we finally fall apart. This is good-bye.”

I Think I Hear Him Sob

As I hit the off button. That so did

not go well. It was the right thing

to do. So why do I feel empty? Why

must I make things black and white?

Okay, I know the answer. Like it or

not, I take after my parents. Neither

acknowledges hues of gray. Really,

though, it’s my choice. Either deal

the cards faceup on the table or

withdraw from the game. I’m sick

of bluffing. This is where most girls

would pick up the phone, call

their best friend, seek sympathy.

Not me. Oh, I’ve got more than a few

so-called friends, but none I’m close

to. Something else I inherited—lack

of trust. I wish I had someone to talk

to. Only one person comes to mind.

Guess it’s time to let out the bad air.

Straight to voice mail. “Hey, you.

I’ve been thinking about you.…”

Screw that. Try the truth for once.

“Uh, some stuff happened and it

would be really great to talk to you.

Call me when you can. Oh, this is

Cara.” Stupid. She would know who.

Wouldn’t she? Oh my freaking God.

What’s wrong with me? I dump

Sean and
my
ego suffers? Freud

would no doubt have something

deep to say about that. I can’t just

sit here stressing, so I fire up

my laptop, check my e-mail. There

are a dozen from Sean, all sent before

we talked. Delete. Without. Opening.

The usual junk mail. Nothing more.

I head on over to Facebook. No

new wall posts on my profile page.

On my home page, more messages

from you-know-who. Delete.

One from my cousin, Tiffany,

asking about summer plans. Looks

like she’s getting married. You go,

girl. A shout-out from Shantell,

reminding me about her graduation

party. How could I forget? It’s all

she’s talked about for weeks. And

now it looks like I’m going solo.

Messages read, I return to my home

page, where status alerts announce

all the news that’s fit to know. I’m just

about out of there when an update

pops into view. What the…? Sean

is cyber-screaming to our mutual crowd:

CAN’T BELIEVE THE BITCH BROKE

UP WITH ME
!!!
I knew he was upset,

but I didn’t think he’d go public, at least

not so soon. Comments start to appear.

Most paint me a villain. A whore, lacking

a heart. Some are written by “friends.”

Enough Already

I can understand vitriol from his team-

mates. Guys stick together, and those

particular guys have muscles beneath

the double-thick plates of their skulls,

where brain matter really should be.

But the nastiest remarks come from

girls. A couple are on the cheer squad.

The one who comments,
CARA’S A SLUT

would know what that word means

from experience. But I would never

post that on Facebook. Not even now.

I want to respond. React. Deny.

But that would only stoke the coals

of gossip, churn them into a raging

firestorm. Better to keep quiet,

let the coals burn down into ash.

I turn off my computer. Lie on my

bed, hoping for sleep to toss me

somewhere else for a while.

Somewhere deep. Dark. Empty.

Kendra

Empty

Is the perfect state of being.

Nothing inside to anchor

you. Nothing inside

to chain you down, keep

you

from living your dreams.

Empty, almost weightless,

you are an eyelash afloat

on a blink of breeze. You

can

rise above tension and worry,

loosed from the grip of gravity.

Adrift in thermal lift, you

ride the wing of freedom and

soar.

Empty, you are Eve in Eden.

Empty, you are what

you were meant to be.

Thank God For Jenna

My messed-up little sister always

manages to take the glare off of me.

I mean, here I am, in the red-hot seat,

getting the fifth degree from my loser dad

and his wife-to-be (like she has any place

talking all “mom” to me), when in sambas

Jenna with her boyfriend. I have to admit

I felt sorry for the guy. He had no idea

that Dad is stuck in the pre–civil rights

era. Racism is alive and well and hanging

’em high in the Rudolph Mathieson home.

Downright nasty of Jenna to bring Andre

to lunch. She knew Dad would make

a miserable scene. That way, she didn’t have

to make her own scene about the wedding.

Wait. Okay, that was brilliant. Damn her.

Something Obvious

To me, though I’m pretty sure Dad

missed it completely—Andre is flat

crazy in love with Jenna. It was in his eyes,

how he couldn’t pry them off of her.

It was in the way his fingers played

music along the keyboard of her hand.

In the way he kept his mouth shut

just as long as he could. Even when

Dad got right up spit-close in his face,

Andre kept hold of his temper. Some

people might have interpreted it as not

having a spine, but I could tell it was for

Jenna. And despite the awful way she set

him up, he offered her the out. To go

or stay, her choice. Yep, he’s definitely

got a major thing for her. Poor guy.

One Thing I Have To Respect

About Jenna is she does not apologize

for who she is or the things she does.

In that way, she takes after our father.

I am more like Mom, saying I’m sorry

for everything, even when I don’t mean

it. The one thing I refuse to apologize

for is my weight.
Do you know what

kind of damage an eating disorder can

do to your body?
Bitch. I do not have

an eating disorder. I know exactly what

I eat and exactly how to burn it off. That

sounds like order to me, not disorder.

You’re too thin.
Says who? Not Xavier.

Not the big photogs. Not even my mom.

My
real
mom. Not some phony wannabe.

I will be here for you.
Yeah, right.

Not like I want her to be. Definitely not

like I asked her to be. She means nothing

to me. Why should I mean anything to her?

Glad I didn’t mention the rhinoplasty.

I’m sure she would have had something

to say about that, too. It’s scheduled

for Monday. I’m getting a little nervous.

Andre’s mom has been very sweet.

Don’t worry. I’ve performed hundreds,

with very few complications. You’ll be

just fine. You don’t smoke, do you?

Didn’t think so, but needed to make

sure. Smoking increases the risk of

bleeding. Alcohol, too. I can tell you

don’t drink. You’re much too slender.

Slender. Not thin or skinny. Or anorexic.

I’m Online

Reading real-life nose job stories

when I get an instant message from

Bobby.
HEY. ARE YOU ON FACEBOOK? GET

THAT WAY. CHECK OUT SEAN’S PAGE
.

Bobby hardly ever IMs me.
RIGHT NOW!

Something’s definitely up. Oh, wow.

I can’t believe Cara broke up with Sean.

Neither can half the senior class. Glad

I’m not her. They’re chopping her into

little pieces:            …
IS A SLUT ANYWAY

…
ALWAYS WAS FULL OF IT

…
NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU

And now:                               …
SERIOUS COMMITMENT ISSUES

YEAH, MUST RUN IN THE FAMILY
.

That last one from Aubree. Obviously

referring to Conner and me. People

really should mind their own business.

Except, of course, Sean made it pretty

much everyone’s business. Before I

become an obvious topic of conversation,