Perfect (57 page)

out. They’re going to pee

test us first thing anyway.

Up in front, Cara’s girlfriend

kisses her. Jealousy pierces

me, but when Aubree comments,

Oh my God. Isn’t that, like,

disgusting? Especially here.

I say, “Yeah, gross,” but on

some level, I think it’s not

so bad, really. And maybe

the way it was always

supposed to be. Cara was

never meant for me. Pretty

sure Aubree isn’t either.

But I’m swearing off girls.

For a while. Long enough

to know I don’t need one.

Andre

Enough

Mourning.

Enough.

Crying.

Enough.

Lamenting

what can

never be.

Enough.

Eulogizing.

Enough.

Second guessing.

Enough.

Apologizing

for what you

cannot change.

Play It Safe?

That’s my middle name. Wait. Okay,

my other middle name.

Andre Marcus Play-It-Safe Kane.

Can’t in good faith add the III to that.

Gramps never played

it safe. And neither did my father. So where

did I get it from? Maybe from observing

how taking chances

sometimes leads to failure. Neither Gramps

nor Dad hit the jackpot every time. Win some,

lose some. The concept

is integral both to innovation and speculation.

I mostly choose the path of least resistance.

Not because I’m lazy.

But because I hate to lose. Probably why

I hung on to Jenna for so long, even though

I knew our relationship

was doomed. Not because of her father.

But because I tried to put her up on such

a high pedestal. Obviously,

Jenna is afraid of heights. I hope she finds

the courage to stand on the pinnacle one day.

She deserves to be there.

But she has to learn to make the climb solo.

Speaking of solos, I have some rehearsing

to do. Shantell and I rocked

it as a couple. But the second audition is all

solos. If I don’t want to fail, I’d better put

in some hours with

Liana. I’ll need my parents to help me pay

for those lessons, so it’s confession time.

I have to quit playing

it safe eventually. Might as well be today.

The Wake

Is officially over, except for the food part.

Death and hors d’oeuvres

never did make much sense to me as a pairing.

Still, I ask Shantell, “Hungry? Looks like

a pretty nice spread.”

A long line has formed for the food tables.

Think I can skip it,
she says.
But we should

go say good-bye to Cara.

The family stands at the far end of the hall.

Shantell and I join the receiving line, which

rivals the food line.

“Did everybody in town know him or what?”

Apparently, nobody
really
knew him. Except

maybe those two.
She points

at Tony and Vanessa, who comfort each

other as only two people very much in love

can. I hope to know love

like that one day. Love you can’t help but notice.

Cara

Love

Is

a curious thing. Sometimes

it barrels into you, leaves you

breathless. Other times, it comes

in-

to your life, a tentative beam

of morning sun sneaking

through the blinds, and you think

this

light isn’t possible. The shutters

are drawn. Night should linger

on. I don’t feel like waking. Yet the

room

comes slowly lit. Sleep slithers

away, and at last you can no

longer deny the dawning.

The Funeral Mass

Is tomorrow. Mom allowed Dad to reclaim

his Catholicism long enough to bury his

son. One hour at the church. Fifteen minutes

at the cemetery, and Conner will be left

to the will of the earth—and God. The wake

is winding down. The food is mostly gone,

and so, mostly, are the mourners. More than

I expected came to pay their last respects.

A few stragglers come late to talk to me

privately. Kendra looks horrible, like she’s

forgotten food. She leaves her mother’s side

just long enough to say,
I can’t believe

he’s gone. I always kind of thought

we’d have another chance. But deep

down I guess I knew that was wishful

thinking. Just … not … like this
.

We hug, as we’re supposed to do.

I watch her go, leaning on her mother,

wonder if she’ll be around next year, or

if she might wind up starved, in a coffin.

Sean walks by with Aubree. I expect

a smirk. Instead he offers a genuine

smile, and I don’t see anger in his eyes.

More something like … regret.

Finally, as the room empties almost

completely, Vanessa and Tony approach.

“Thank you so much for coming, and for

your words. I think we all took them to

heart.” Meaningless banter. But they

are strangers. What else can I say? That

I am sad they knew my brother better

than I did? Better than our parents did?

Vanessa looks ready to turn away, but

Tony stops her.
We have something to

tell you. Something you might want

to know. We were on the challenge

with Conner. He was okay at first
.

I mean, as usual, he was far out

in front of us most of the way. But

then he stopped taking his meds
.

Things started going downhill
.

He was edgy. Then, the last night

before the climb, they gave us letters

from home. After he … uh …

Vanessa and I found this, out in

the desert. I think it drove him over
.

He hands me the letter my mother

wrote that night. And it is folded into …

… a perfect paper airplane.

Author’s Note

Daily, we are bombarded with messages telling us we aren’t good enough. We’re too fat. Too thin. Too stupid. Too ugly. Our body parts are too little. Too big. Too bumpy. Too hairy. (Or if you’re a middleaged man, not hairy enough.) It’s important to understand that those messages come from all the wrong places. From companies who want money to make us “better.” From people who want to take advantage of us; who are jealous of us; who feel better about themselves by making others feel unworthy.

Perfection is a ridiculous goal because there is no such thing. The definition of the word is subjective—it means different things to different people. The same person who is ugly in one estimation is beautiful in another. You’ve heard it before, but I want you to believe that real beauty is what you are inside. If you were my child, I would counsel you to invest your energy crafting inner beauty, because your outside will never please everyone anyway.

I was the chubby kid who suffered peer abuse. I had a bump on my nose (still do) and thought it made me ugly. I spent too many years hurting because I believed the mean things other kids said about me. But I refused to let their words make me become something I wasn’t. And I blossomed inside. Finally one day I looked in the mirror and thought, Wow, I’m kind of pretty. My high school friends will tell you I was kind of pretty. I had lost the “chubby,” but that isn’t why. It was because I learned to let my inner light shine through. And so can you.

If someone only likes you because of the way you look, that someone isn’t a friend, and definitely shouldn’t be someone you want a relationship with. (Do you really want a guy to like you only because you’ve got big breasts? Or flip that. Do you really want a girl to like you only because you’ve got big muscles—I won’t say what kind!?) There is a certain power in outer beauty. But if you possess great outer beauty and use it in the wrong way, it can come back to haunt you. Witness Jenna, in this book.

What we all strive for, ultimately, is love. You won’t find real love because you’re beautiful on the outside. It is drawn to inner beauty. Spend your energy crafting that, and you will know true love.

Some Statistics

• Anorexia and bulimia affect nearly ten million women and one million men (primarily teens and young adults) in reported cases in the United States, and both can be fatal.

• Anorexia nervosa has the highest premature fatality rate of any mental illness. At least one thousand people die every year from anorexia.

• The average age of sufferers is dropping rapidly (as young as elementary school), with peak onset among girls ages eleven to thirteen.

• It’s estimated that another twenty-five million people suffer from binge eating disorder.

• Although teens make up just two percent of cosmetic surgery patients in the United States, these numbers are increasing. According to the American Society of Plastic Surgeons, the number of procedures performed on kids aged thirteen to nineteen nearly doubled to 244,124 between 2002 and 2006.