Perfect (29 page)

however, I think I’ll speak up and let

them know I’m lurking here.
HEY, SEAN
,

I type.
SORRY TO HEAR ABOUT YOU AND

CARA. CALL ME IF YOU NEED TO TALK, OKAY
?

I sign off. Get the heck out of there

before I see any more comments I can’t

stomach. For some stupid reason, now

I feel hungry. Freaking stress. A small

shot of sugar should do the trick. One

Jolly Rancher. Watermelon. Twenty-three

point three calories. If I go for a bike ride,

I can treat myself to three. Game on.

Closing In

On April, less than a week away, winter

wants to hang on this year. Late afternoon,

it will be cold once the sun nose-dives

behind the mountain. Glad I wore sweats,

even though they make me look like Blimp

Girl. I’ll ride back roads. Tires pumped up,

I start on flat ground. Have to warm up a little

before heading uphill. It’s been a while since

I pedaled anything, and even in high gear,

my legs start to burn fairly quickly. I like

the burn, like the way my muscles feel

when they contract. I should do this more.

The last time I went bike riding was with

Conner. It was summer, and his tanned legs

were sensational to watch, pumping pedals.

The morning was hot, and once in a while

he would pour water over his head. His long

hair dripped, catching sun, creating a halo.

God, I loved him so much, and the memory

is a new razor blade. Too sharp to feel its slice.

Flat streets segue to a mild incline. I bear

down on the pedals. My breathing shallows.

Pant. Pant.
I think of Conner again, how

we stopped our bikes beneath the big trees

at the park. Walked them into the heart

of the woods, rested them against old pines,

nestled ourselves into the thick needle bed.

The breeze stirred gently, scenting the air

with superheated evergreen. Conner pushed

me back into the cushioned earth, and when

he kissed me, it stole my breath away. Like

now.
Pant. Pant.
We panted then. Together.

The Hill Grows Steeper

And the memory grows deeper with

every breath I pull into my lungs.

For the first time ever, the love we

made was unhurried.
It’s good slow,

he said.
Do you like it this way?
I did

but wondered just when he’d decided

that, and how. Still, I didn’t dare ask

him. Instead I just let him. And when

he finished, he stayed very close to me,

tracing one finger in circles on my skin.

Don’t lose any more weight,
he said.

Don’t you want to look like a woman?

That surprised me too. “I thought

you’d like me better this way.”

He shook his head, rustling the needles.

Don’t believe the hype. Curves are hot.

To The West

The sun hides behind shadowed granite

cliffs. But despite the noticeable drop

in temperature, sweat soaks into the fleece

beneath my arms, and my hair dampens.

Suddenly I am starving, every calorie

taken in today completely expended.

My heart quakes, stuttering in my chest.

Time to turn around. Head home. Downhill.

As I swing the bike across the yellow line,

I feel my face go white, as if the saw-slice

of memory has opened my head, let blood.

My stomach, empty, heaves nothingness.

I begin to shiver. My arms start to shake

and I lose control of the handlebars.

Buzzing. Horrible buzzing. My hands

grab for the brakes. Too late. I’m falling…

Through The Fog

Fog? Where did that come from? No

matter, it’s here, and the only thing

that makes it lift is pain. Jolts of pain.

In my right arm. Right leg. Right side

of my head. I try to move—have to.

I’m in the street. I think. Must move.

But some strange weight holds me

in place.
Don’t move.
Hands test

my body. Conner? No. That was last

summer. My eyes work hard to focus.

The hands belong to a lady. Don’t know

her.
I don’t feel any broken bones, but

you could have a concussion. Stay right

there. I’ll call 9-1-1.
But as soon as she lets

go, I manage a sitting position. “I’m okay.

Please. Can you just take me home?”

Sean

I’m Okay

Everything I’ve believed

in, smashed into the mud.

All I’ve worked toward,

pulverized into dust. But

I’m

okay. Who wanted all that,

anyway? Who needed

an unobstructed road to

a tidy little future, when

really

the fun is in breaking trail

toward some unknown

destination? Any sane person

would say you should

not

put every shred of hope

in one human being, especially

not a girl. The perfect girl,

no longer mine. But, hey, I’m

okay.

Wounded

And I don’t even know what

the fuck happened. Everything

was going perfectly. Graduating

with a high B average? Check.

Playing top-flight baseball?

Check. Offered a scholarship

to play Cardinal ball? Check.

Accepted into Stanford, an

almost impossible goal

to realize? Check. Best of

all, after waiting for a year,

after finding a way to make

sure performance would

not be an issue, being right

there with Cara, both of us

naked and hot and ready

to go, finally having sex

with the girl I love more

than life, only to be accused

of rape? Check. And check!!

I Thought She Was Over It

When she finally called.

Believed she’d forgiven

me. How could I have

been so wrong? About

everything. I thought she

loved me, too. How could

I have given my heart to

someone still-frozen?

Looking back, I see that she

never felt about me the way

I felt about her. Talk about

one-sided affection. What in

God’s name do I do now?

Turn down Stanford? I could

have gone east to school.

Some place far, far away

from Cara. No, damn it.

After all I went through

to get in there, I’m going to

Stanford. With or without Cara.

At Least She Didn’t

Publicly accuse me of rape.

Tomorrow will be a week

since that night, and not

one word has surfaced.

All things considered,

I figured she might, if only

to save face. Reputation

is pretty much everything

to Cara Sykes. And her

standing with the in crowd

has plummeted. Bitch isn’t

the only one who has friends

in high places. In fact, as

of today, she doesn’t have

much in the way of friends.

Period. Maybe I went a little

crazy, posting on Facebook

and stuff. I kind of thought

she might jump in and defend

herself. But no. Not a word.

That pisses me off more than

anything. The fucking silence.

The least she could do is tell

me what the hell happened.

She owes me that much.

The worst thing is, she’s all

I can think about. School?

What’s that? Oh yeah, that

place I used to go where

I actually became
somebody

once I started dating Cara.

Homework? Whatever.

I’ll do enough to graduate,

but why work harder than

I have to? Baseball? Now,