Perfect (45 page)

Her expression seems to demand

an answer. But what is the question?

Does she believe I’d argue? “Okay.”

I look at Dad, but his resolute jaw

and rail-rigid spine reveal zero

emotion. I remember an afternoon

many years ago, when he tried to set

aside his devotion to work long

enough to play with Conner and

me. It was a board game—Risk—

and what I recall most clearly was

how he struggled not to overwhelm

his children with adult strategy.

Not easy for a man whose entire

existence is centered around winning.

Dad has always hated to lose. Yet

Conner won twice that particular

day. Not sure if it was luck, or if

Dad held back, but the look in our

father’s eyes was half pride, half fury.

Mom Goes To Get Her Coat

Sweeps past us, down the hall.

I should be back in an hour
.

I hear the garage door open. Wait

until I’m pretty sure she’s gone.

Dad has immersed himself in the
Wall

Street Journal
. I interrupt him anyway.

“Someone asked about Conner the other

day. She saw him at the movies, I guess,

with some other Aspen Springs kids,

and maybe one of his doctors. I didn’t

know how much to tell her. Is there

a particular story I should be giving?”

Dad looks up from his paper. Our

eyes connect, and I find sadness

in his.
I don’t suppose you could tell

people to mind their own business
,

huh? A few weeks, you’ll graduate
.

Move on. Move away. Then it really

won’t matter much what your friends

have to say about Conner, will it?

He doesn’t get it. “She was his

girlfriend, Dad. She’s worried about

him, and I don’t blame her. It’s like

he vanished without an explanation.”

Just tell her he’s rehabilitating
.

Getting better every day. No one

knows how badly he was injured
,

so that’s all you need to say
.

Better not mention she already

knows a lot more. Let him ramble

in his fantasy forest in total denial.

It’s a gamble, but so is chancing

the truth. Kendra will probably

keep her mouth shut. She has so far.

Is it Conner’s reputation she doesn’t

want to mar? Or is it her own?

Not Much More To Say

I excuse myself, return to my room.

Try not to think about anything or

anyone except Dani. I wish I was

with her instead of waiting for reunion

with someone I barely know anymore.

After a while, the sound of Mom’s Lexus

lifts toward my window. She has pulled

around in front of the house, as if

planning a quick getaway. Past the glass

and two stories below, my brother gets

out of the car. I watch as he turns

to look toward where Emily lived.

He won’t find her there. Or anywhere

close by. Even from here, I can see

him processing the filtering information.

She. Isn’t. There. Downstairs, I hear

Mom hissing for him to please come

inside.
That woman doesn’t live there

anymore. Did you think she would?

Did he believe Mom would forgive her?

Conner responds with rage.
Why

wouldn’t she, Mother? What the hell

did you do?
Enough. I turn up my music

so I don’t have to hear her tell him

what he doesn’t want to know—

that she is, and always will be, in

control of all of our lives. Unless

we get away. Run away. Fly away.

The Loud Exchange

Between Mom and Conner rises

above my music. I start to turn it up

even more, when my cell signals

a new text message. Dani! I rush

to see what she has to tell me. Only

it’s not from Dani at all. It’s from Kendra.

THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT THIS
.

GOT IT FROM AUBREE. SHE GOT IT FROM SEAN
.

What? I click on the photo link. Oh God
.

No! How? Sean, what have you done?

You bastard! You are stalking me!

In bold letters, the caption says slut.

I’m not, and neither is she, despite

how Dani and I look. On her bed.

In her mauve and sage room. Me,

with my sweater up over my head.

The rest of me is stripped to skin.

My mouth is in a perfect O, as I give

myself to Dani’s lips, below my belly

button and in between my opened

legs. And tiny spot of glare or no,

the camera caught everything. As if that

isn’t enough, another text. Another

photo, this when she has pulled my

sweater all the way off, ducked

to kiss the inside of my knee, leaving

my most intimate places, plus my face,

for the camera to see—and capture.

Kendra Got the Pic

From Aubree. That means it has

been passed around. Who knows

how far it’s gone? God, it might

be on YouTube by now. I think

about searching it, but how? He

wouldn’t use my name, would he?

I guess I should be thankful for “slut.”

I text Dani.
CHECK THIS OUT. GET BACK

TO ME
. I wait. Wait. Where is she?

I need to go downstairs. Should say

hello to Conner. But I need more

to hear back from her. Way more.

At last, my cell buzzes.
HOLY SHIT.

WHO DID THIS? WAIT, I CAN GUESS.

LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE OUT NOW. JUST

BTW SEXTING IS ILLEGAL, YOU KNOW.

Kendra

Out

One word.

A single syllable.

Three letters.

Two vowels.

One thin consonant.

Weighted

with meaning.

Out.

Exposed.

All secrets revealed.

Absolutely nothing

left

concealed.

Out.

Inside out.

Terrified

to

show your face.

Out.

Chained to truth.

Swim. Or

drown.

Blown Away

By a series of text messages passed

around through the ether today. Shocked.

I’ve known Cara since grade school.

Cheered with her. Performed with her.

Sat elbow to elbow, shared locker room

showers, did hair and makeup together.

And I never, ever got the feeling that

she was gay. When did she get that way?

She doesn’t look like a dyke. Well,

except in those pictures, which leave no

room for guessing. No wonder Sean

was mad at her. Furious is a better word,

and he had a right to be. But wow.

What an awful way to get revenge.

Don’t think I’ll be going out with him

anymore. Breaking up is at your own risk.

Cara’s Reputation

Is pretty much trashed. I mean, most

people at school are fairly tolerant

toward the GLBTQ crowd. But you

don’t vote for them for class presidents

or homecoming princesses. (Let alone

crowning one of them queen.) Don’t ask

me why not. It’s just not done. But

even worse than knowing Cara is one,

is seeing all the dirty details like that.

If any one of us ever wondered what

lesbians do, we’ve got the picture

now. Literally. If I was her, I couldn’t

show my face at school again. Oh my

God. Maybe she’ll have to homeschool

or something so she can graduate.

And I bet she won’t be going to prom.

Then Again, Neither Will I

A couple of guys asked, but since

I don’t even like either one of them,

I’d feel, like, fake if I said okay. God.

When did I get so … mature? Old.

That’s how I feel. Tired. No energy,

despite the pills Xavier keeps giving me.

Maybe I
should
eat a little more. But

I’m really not hungry. Food is still my enemy.

Especially now, representing skinny

teens everywhere. Especially now, when

I have to keep Gilles happy. He likes

the way I look. Especially naked. At first,

I hated being with him. Hated how

that made me feel about myself. But now

it’s not so bad. Ten minutes, tops.

Usually, more like five. Five minutes

of feeling like a Fourth Street hooker,

my body used and abused in more ways