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    Perfect - 02

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      it to myself to find out for sure.

      So why do I keep finding reasons

      to distance myself from Sean? I told

      him I’d see him last night. Instead,

      when he came over to get me,

      we ended up in a major fight about

      my leaving the game without hanging

      around to say hi. Considering his home

      run won the game, I probably should

      have. But I wasn’t in the mood

      for questions about Dani. Not that

      he hasn’t asked me about her since.

      So who was that hot chick with crazy

      hair? I don’t see her around school.

      I could confess a couple of things.

      “I met Dani boarding at Rose. She dug

      me out of a drift, in fact. And she goes

      to TMCC.” It was enough. For the moment.

      I Hope He Doesn’t Ask More

      About her tonight. We are going

      to a movie, then maybe (maybe!)

      finding a nice, quiet place for

      me to get the answer I desperately

      need. I watch for him out the window,

      trying not to listen to my mom and dad

      talking too loudly about my brother.

      They haven’t really fought in a while,

      but they’re currently having a smack-

      down. Seems Conner refuses

      to come home for a scheduled Easter

      visit. Dad chooses to take it personally.

      What the hell is wrong with him?

      Does he really prefer the company

      of lunatics to that of his family?

      Mom raises her voice in answer.

      Let him stay in that place if that’s

      what he wants. Who needs the stress

      of having him here? What if he tries

      again? His progress is questionable.

      Dad volleys back. What’s in question

      is the ability of his so-called doctors.

      We’re hemorrhaging money to keep him

      there, with what probability of success?

      Money? That’s what he’s worried

      about? He could hemorrhage cash

      by the barrel and still not bleed

      his bank accounts all the way out.

      I don’t know what you want me

      to say! Mom shrieks. No wonder

      Conner flipped. It’s in the genetics.

      Both of his parents are freaks.

      Unfortunately, they’re my parents

      too. Fortunately, headlights coming

      up the drive mean I can escape them.

      At least for a few hours. I start past,

      ignoring the heat of their mutual

      glare. And out of my mouth comes,

      “Hey. What happens to Stanford

      if you have to sign up for welfare?”

      I Half Expect Them

      To be so wrapped up in grappling

      with each other to worry much about

      wrestling me. Which, of course, turns

      out to be wishful thinking. Mom halts

      me with her forearm. I do not

      appreciate your snide commentary,

      nor your eavesdropping. Whose

      side are you on here? She waits

      for my answer. I glance toward

      Dad, but I’m not sure why. He

      is still-frozen as winter glass.

      “I may be rude, but I’m not a spy.

      You weren’t exactly whispering.

      And anyway, it was just a joke.

      Try developing a sense of humor.”

      Why must I poke toothpicks at snakes?

      There is nothing funny about our

      current situation, Mom declares.

      But Conner will be fixed. And by

      no means is your education at stake.

      Fixed?

      Like a car in need of a tune-up?

      Would installing a new set of spark

      plugs make Conner run like a champ?

      If so, could that be true of my parents?

      Or me? Maybe I should schedule

      an appointment. As for Stanford,

      I have zero worries. Not going there

      would mean more than disappointment.

      It would mean solid defeat, especially

      for Dad, who has paved the way for

      his children to shadow him there.

      Does he still believe Conner will play

      Cardinal ball? Does he still expect

      me to become a lawyer? Do I still

      expect that of myself? I used to think

      that’s what I wanted to be—a high-

      octane corporate attorney. Just like

      my father, who reminds me now that’s

      exactly what he is. Conner’s status

      would not qualify as mitigating

      circumstances for your not attending

      Stanford. Like that would be a crime.

      Dad is straightforward. Curt, even.

      Except when it comes to Mom. She is,

      and always has been, the driving

      force in this family. And sometimes

      that means driving us head-on, no

      possible change of course, into a wall.

      Two halfhearted horn bursts outside

      in the driveway remind me I’ve got

      something better to do than this.

      “There’s Sean. May I please go?”

      Whether it’s the “please,” or the desire

      to resume their spat where they left

      off, Dad nods and Mom (who looks

      like she’d really rather not) says, Okay.

      The Exchange

      Was not so very long, and yet long

      enough to taint my mouth with acid

      spit, like I just bit into lemon flesh.

      The night I step into is polar dry.

      Spring, in winter’s stranglehold.

      By the time I reach Sean’s truck,

      I am shaking. And though it’s warm

      in the cab, my teeth chatter for a full

      minute after I’m inside. Cold? I can

      fix that. Sean pulls me into overbuilt

      arms. God, I’ve missed you. His mouth

      covers mine. I should wilt. Instead,

      I feel stiff as cardboard. Sean doesn’t

      seem to notice, or attributes it to

      the cold. I’ve got a little surprise

      for you. His voice is odd. Quivery.

      And his hands tremble slightly

      as he starts the engine, backs onto

      the moonlit street, and heads toward

      Reno, driving just a little too fast.

      “Hey, slow down. The cops hang

      out up here on Saturday night, you

      know. And what’s my surprise?”

      He just grins and drives right past

      the entrance to Summit Sierra, home

      to our regular theater. “Where are you

      going? I thought we were seeing a movie.”

      Sean whips right past a pokey car,

      merges onto the freeway. We are

      seeing a movie. Just not at the theater.

      That’s your surprise. Ten minutes

      later, we pull into a private parking spot

      at an apartment house near UNR.

      Chad is out of town. He said we could

      hang at his place. It’s probably a mess.

      He winks. But as long as the bed is clean…

      This Is The Opportunity

      I wanted. Right? So why do I feel

      like someone just dumped mercury

      into my gut? Sean leads me to his

      brother’s lair. Clutter and dust are

      everywhere, but at least it doesn’t

      smell like garbage or dirty socks.

      Make yourself at home. I’ll get us

      something to drink. Strike one.

      I think he means alcohol. I’m not

      big
    on liquor. Still, when he returns

      with two brimming glasses, I go ahead

      and take a swig. Maybe liquid fire

      will incinerate the moths fluttering

      in my belly. Sean turns on the TV.

      Chad has every movie channel. He stops

      flipping at Good Girls Gone Bad.

      Sean gulps down half his drink.

      This one should be good. Have

      you ever watched one of these?

      Cable porn? Hardly. Strike two.

      “Sean…” But before I can say anything

      else, my eyes stray to the screen. Two

      women are kissing. One, a pretty blonde,

      unbuttons her blue silk blouse, spilling

      flesh like fruit from a bowl. The other,

      dark-haired like Dani, is quick to sample

      the offering. I can’t stop watching.

      Now this is what I call a chick flick,

      says Sean, and when he opens my blouse,

      moves his hands over my skin, I let him.

      And when he kisses down the front

      of me, I lie back on the couch, invite

      more. Next thing I know, we’re both

      out of our jeans. Sean surprises me,

      hesitating long enough to say, Christ,

      you’re beautiful. He means it, and I know

      it, and I know he loves me. His lips,

      sultry and full, feel right, in all the right

      places. Sean lifts over me. I close my eyes.

      And now we are skin against skin.…

      Kendra

      Skin

      That’s what everyone wants

      to see. Skin. flawless, stretched

      over perfectly sculpted flesh.

      Men are easy, in their hunt for

      skin.

      Flash just enough, they’ll go

      sniffing for more, and when

      they’re on the sniff, nothing

      is

      too much to ask. They’ll give

      up careers, sacrifice families.

      Buy a new car, hand over

      the key

      to the one who wears skin

      they want to lose themselves

      in. And the funny thing

      is, they don’t seem

      to

      care who knows it. Not

      friends. Not colleagues.

      Not even the people they

      treasure.

      Size Two Skin

      That’s what I’m currently wearing.

      Fifteen-milligram Meridia is one magic

      little pill. You don’t even want to look

      at food. The only problem is dry mouth.

      Gack. Like sucking on cotton. At least

      I’m drinking lots of water. Flushing

      out pockets of poison. And fat. Fat. Fat.

      Pretty soon my body will be totally

      fat free, thanks completely to Xavier.

      Thank God I met him. Everything

      has fallen into perfect place. He’s setting

      me up with runway gigs, and because

      of that I can quit worrying about Miss

      Teen Nevada. Yeah, it would be nice

      to own that crown, but like Xavier says,

      If you want to go back to pageants, there’s

      always Miss Nevada next year. Or even

      the year after. I don’t really need that kind

      of stress right now. As Xavier says, You

      know what makes worry lines? Worry.

      You leave the worry to me. I’m allowed

      a few lines at my age. He does have some

      at the corners of his eyes, but I think

      they make him even cuter. Mom thinks

      so too. In fact, he’s got Mom eating right

      out of his hand, and that’s a very good thing

      because I’ve decided not to go to college

      next year, and Xavier will convince her

      it’s okay. College will always be there.

      But you’ve only got a few short years

      to work runway. College is better

      with money in the bank. You know?

      Beyond Runway

      Xavier has connections at all the big

      ’zines. He says once the plastic surgeon

      does her thing, high-fashion shoots

      are a sure bet. The nose job is only

      a couple of weeks away. The day after

      Easter. Once you heal up nice and pretty,

      I’ll talk your mom into the implants, Xavier

      promised. Everyone will want you then.

      Everyone will want me. And I want

      that. If the price tag is going hungry,

      or making a few alterations, it’s all good.

      When everyone wants me, those stupid

      girls at school will be sorry they made fun

      of me. When everyone wants me, Patrick

      will have to shut his mouth. When everyone

      wants me, maybe Conner will want me too.

      My Heart Still Cries

      For Conner. But I have to admit

      I don’t think about him every waking

      minute anymore. And I dream about

      him less and less. Is this always what happens

      when someone you love leaves? They

      fade away, blur into memory like childhood

      fantasies? Part of it, of course, is focusing

      on my career, fine-tuning my goals, near

      and distant. I can thank Xavier for that.

      Plus, having a man around to stroke

      your ego takes the edge off not having

      one around to stroke the rest of you.

      I suppose that would be nice too.

      And the longer Conner is out of my life,

      the more I’m starting to realize someone

      else might want to make me part of theirs.

      Not That I Have

      A whole lot of time for dating right now,

      but if someone asked me out, I just might

      say okay. Especially if he looked like

      the guy sitting two tables away. Yummy.

      Almost yummy enough to distract me

      from the reason I’m here. Namely, lunch

      with Dad and Shiloh, who have just arrived.

      Rose’s is a small place, so I couldn’t hide

      even if I wanted to. Dad spots me right

      away. There’s my girl. Where’s your sister?

      I’m not exactly sure Jenna is planning

      to join us. But I say, “Late, as usual.”

      He sits across the table, putting Shiloh

      next to me. You must be Kendra, she says.

      Your dad talks about you and Jenna

      all the time. I’m glad to meet for real.

      Up close, she’s younger than I thought.

      Way to go, Dad. “Uh, yeah. Me too.”

      Also on closer view, Dad’s mustache has

      silvered and he has gained a pound or ten.

      What’s good here? he asks, scanning

      the upscale soup, salad, and sandwich menu.

      Does he not remember our pre-theater family

      meals at Rose’s? “Pretty much everything.”

      I look up from my own menu just in

      time to catch Shiloh checking me out.

      She blushes, but doesn’t look away. So,

      what are you getting? Maybe she wants

      diet tips? She could use a few. “A half

      spinach salad.” Hold the bacon, egg, and

      dressing. One cup spinach, seven calories.

      A few bites of avocado. A skinny lunch.

      We Debate

      Waiting for Jenna. After ten minutes,

      Dad decides to go ahead and order.

      Meanwhile, unfortunately, it seems it’s

      time for small talk. I mention Xavier,

      and (just loudly enough so Mr. Yummy

      can hear) tell them about my fast-tracked

      runway career. “Xav
    ier says I’ll make over

      fifty grand next year. And that’s just to start.”

      Shiloh (who named her that?) sits, shaking her

      head. Unlikely. And modeling is tough work.

      Anger spatters like hot oil in cool water.

      “Really? What would you know about it?”

      Dad intervenes. Don’t get your back up.

      Shiloh is in the business. Sort of, anyway.

      I design costumes for showroom shows,

      she says. I know the business inside out.

      I Wouldn’t Exactly

      Equate the two, but I guess I’ll keep

      my mouth shut. Or change the subject.

      Dad, however, beats me to it. What

      about college? Won’t it be hard to keep up?

      “I’m going to take a couple of semesters

      off. Put some money away. You know.”

      The tips of Dad’s ears flare. I haven’t

      seen that in a while. Have you discussed

      this with your mother? I don’t think

      she’s going to be very happy about it.

      “Mom doesn’t care what I do,” I fire

      back, not that the assessment is even close

      to accurate. “And why do you suddenly

      give half a damn?” Our eyes interlock.

      I never stopped being your father,

      Kendra. I never stopped caring.

      He Excuses Himself

      And goes off to the restroom about

      thirty seconds before lunch arrives.

      Shiloh and I stare at our plates for

      a long minute or two. Finally she says,

      You really have no clue how much

      he misses you, or how proud he is

      of your accomplishments. Did you

      know he keeps a scrapbook of newspaper

      clippings about you? Photos of your

      pageants and cheerleading?

      I shake my head. Don’t want to listen.

      Anger is easier than forgiveness.

     


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