Almost Perfect (2 page)

We didn’t say anything as we walked down the dusty gravel road in front of our lot. She was wearing the Boyer High T-shirt I’d given her. Her slender, pale arms stood out starkly against the dark blue of the school colors. Though hardly a breeze stirred the air that day, her long black hair always seemed to blow into her face.

I smiled as we paused in front of Scott Henderson’s
cornfield. That was where we’d made out for the first time. The first time either of us had made out with anyone.

I was about to ask Brenda if she’d like to revisit that old memory when she suddenly turned and hugged me, burying her face in my shoulder. I stood there, enjoying the moment. She didn’t usually care for public displays of affection. When she pulled away, I noticed the glint of tears in her eyes.

“Brenda? What’s wrong?”

Brenda snorted, then wiped her eyes and gave me a real smile. “Nothing, Logan. Just, um, girly stuff. I’m okay.”

Hand in hand, we walked back to the trailer. I’d smiled inside, thinking that Brenda had teared up because she was just so overjoyed to have a boyfriend like me.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, I sat on a bench in the school commons, watching my few dozen classmates file in. The walls were lined with class photos, beginning with the twelve students of the Class of 1939. If you took the time, you could find graduating pictures of your teachers, your older siblings, and your parents. In fact, the Class of 1986 picture was the only place I could look at a photo of my father.

The second of three buses pulled up to the school and began spitting out students. I knew them all, even the eighth graders who, due to space limitations in the neighboring middle school, had classes in our building. I’d see all of them every day. The same people. In twenty years, their kids would be coming here.

I used to think I’d avoid that. Last spring, I’d been so damn smug. I was going to leave Boyer, go to college. I was going to get a good job and never come back to this shit
hole. And I was going to do it all with Brenda. We were going to go to MU together.

Now she was gone. Did I even have a reason for leaving town anymore? Why go to Columbia and be alone when I could do that at home?

“You’re not doing yourself any favors, you know.”

Tim Tokugowa was in my first-hour biology class. He was the only Asian student at Boyer. In fact, aside from a couple of Mexican kids, he was the only minority. As such, he felt he had certain obligations. Namely, he wanted to destroy the stereotype of the clean, hardworking Japanese.

Tim had thick black hair, great teeth, and a smug way of looking at you that made you want to admit that he was right, even if you weren’t arguing. Tim’s weight, however, was really starting to get out of control.

His eating exploits were legendary. I once saw him eat a thousand M&M’s on a bet. Even now, at 7:50 a.m., he was cramming down fistfuls of Fiddle Faddle from a jumbo box. He flopped his ponderous body onto the bench next to me.

“Hey, Tim. Did you see the Rams game last night?”

Tim ignored the question and stared at me with his narrow brown eyes. He would have looked rather mystic and serene had it not been for the flakes of caramel popcorn stuck to his cheeks.

“You’re waiting for Brenda’s bus, aren’t you?” Tim could have accused me of shooting heroin and made it sound like the truth. Every year, the Boyer debate coach would beg Tim to join the forensics team.

“Of course not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re out here every morning waiting for bus fifteen. It’s not healthy.”

I turned and faced the dusty trophy case, enraged. It wasn’t that Tim had been so dead-on correct, it was that I hadn’t even realized what I was doing. I’d convinced myself I was just resting, and if Brenda just happened to pass by …

“Look, Logan, I know she hurt you. But you can’t sit here every morning panting after her.”

I resented Tim for his insight, just like I resented Jack for not realizing how much pain I was in.

“I’m not panting …” That was as far as I got. Brenda had arrived.

Brenda didn’t turn heads. She was too skinny, too mousy for most guys to notice. But she had a willowy figure, with long, shapely legs and delicate arms. A soft neck that she wouldn’t let me kiss. Long black hair that I wanted to run my fingers through (but she didn’t like that). And that face … that narrow, beautiful face, behind those glasses that she could never keep clean.

That was one of the many things I loved about her. I thought she was perfect. The year before, every morning, I’d wait for her on this bench. When she got off the bus, she’d skip over to me and give me a big hug. And a smile. Christ, that smile … She made me feel like a king. A god. Just the way she’d look at me with those brown eyes … I would have done anything for her—including nothing. It wasn’t easy, but I was content for over three years with just kissing her. Turns out she did want something more, just not from me.

Brenda trotted across the lobby, not looking in my
direction. Maybe she didn’t want to deal with her ex. More than likely, she didn’t even notice me.

“Logan, shut your jaw,” said Tim with his mouth full.

I glared at him. “I wasn’t staring.”

He threw his empty box in the trash. “Let’s get to class,” he said with a shake of his head.

When we arrived at the biology lab, a putrid smell nearly made me gag. I mean, it stank. Only when I saw Mr. Elmer opening the crates marked
RUSH
and
PERISHABLE
did I remember we were going to start dissecting frogs that day. Tim and I took our seats at our table. I tried to breathe through my mouth until I could tolerate the odor. Tim opened up a bag of mini candy bars.

At that moment, a new student walked in.

Let me say that again.
A new student walked in
.

When I started kindergarten twelve years ago, there were fifteen kids in my class. Looking around the lab, I saw six of them there with me. For more than a decade, I’d been in class with the same few dozen kids. Occasionally, students would transfer in and out (mostly avoiding the Department of Social Services), but for the most part, people didn’t willingly move to Boyer. On the rare occasions we did get new students, it was always uncomfortable. They’d come in cowering as the lifers smacked their chops and sealed vile arrangements with cartons of cigarettes.

Not this chick. She stormed into the lab as if she’d been coming there every morning. She had masses of curly rust-colored hair. Thousands of freckles dotted her cheeks and forehead. When she smiled, her green eyes scrunched and her wire-covered teeth were fully exposed.

She was almost amazingly tall. I was used to looking down at most women, but this girl had to be nearly six feet.

Her outfit was kind of strange, too. Her dress was completely black on one side and white on the other. Her earrings were such enormous hoops I thought they might be piston rings. She also wore pointy black boots and a matching beret.

Now, Mr. Elmer, despite his short hair and neat mustache, was kind of a hippie. He didn’t stand on formality; when the new girl barged in, he just sort of gestured to the stack of unclaimed textbooks, then to the empty table at the back of the room.

I knew I shouldn’t stare, but I couldn’t look away. Girls this strange didn’t exist in Boyer. They lived in Columbia or Kansas City or places like that.

Just before the intruder reached the back table, Mr. Elmer looked up from the frogs.

“Actually, we’re starting a lab today. Why don’t you team up with a couple of other people?”

She didn’t break stride. Just grabbed a chair from the empty table and, without asking, sat down next to me. I quickly scooted to give her room.

The new girl sneezed three times, then abruptly shoved my books and things to the middle of the table. She neatly arranged her books and binder. Removing her hat, she turned to me. She wasn’t a striking beauty. Too many freckles, braces, frizzy hair. She looked like someone who’d model for that photography studio next to Ron’s Grill. Like the owner’s niece, maybe—presentable enough and would work for free.

But at the same time, there was something very pleasant about her. Maybe it was the way she obviously worked so hard to give the impression she didn’t care how she dressed. Or the tiny lines radiating from her green eyes, lines that a teenager would get only from constantly smiling. And what a smile! When she grinned at us, I got the strangest feeling, like she was smirking at something foolish I’d just done but it was okay because she thought it was cute.

She turned to me. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Sage Hendricks.”

Sage had a deep but sexy, feminine voice, the kind you hear on ads for 900 numbers. I waited for her to say something else.

“Dude,” whispered Tim, jabbing me with a chocolaty finger. “Your line.”

“Huh? Oh, um, I’m Logan Witherspoon. This is Tim.”

Sage smiled at us again. Or maybe just at me. Her lips were covered in bright red lipstick and her grin was mischievous, like my zipper was down but she wasn’t going to tell me.

Tim offered his half-empty bag of candy, and she shook her head. Her curly hair fell into her face, and she brushed it aside.

At that moment, the arrival of a chemical-soaked frog corpse interrupted my appraisal of Sage. I stopped contemplating my tablemate and listened halfheartedly to Mr. Elmer’s butchering instructions. Elmer was one of those teachers who cracked jokes knowing full well we were laughing at him, not with him. Sage, however, must have
thought he was funny. She had a loud laugh and accidentally elbowed me in the ribs more than once.

I wanted to ask Sage about herself, like where she came from. But soon it was time for the first cut. Tim indicated the jaw-to-chest incision that would open our toad like some hideous birthday present.

“So, who wants to go first?” I asked.

Sage scooted her chair back. “This is a man’s job.”

Tim shrugged. “You heard the girl, Logan.”

Suddenly on the spot, I picked up the scissors and did my best to imitate one of those suave surgeons from the TV dramas. My surgery skills were more like something you’d see in a slasher flick.

“Jesus, Logan, you’re going to hack into the table at this rate,” said Tim, spewing half-chewed Mr. Goodbar. He yanked the scissors from me and made a rather neat incision. I was a little annoyed. He didn’t have to talk to me that way in front of Sage.

Sage stared in rapt attention as Tim pried apart the rib cage. I had a hard time keeping my eyes on our work. Without realizing it, I found my gaze drifting back to our new lab partner.

“So, what kind of name is Sage?” I asked, then regretted it. It sounded like I was making fun of her.

She just laughed. “An original name,” she replied.

I pretended to be interested in Tim’s hacking and slashing, but in reality, I was thinking about Sage. Why? She wasn’t any prettier than Tanya, who apparently had a thing for me. Tanya would go out with me. So why could I not stop looking at this new girl?

Okay, she wasn’t bad-looking. She was obviously in great shape; she probably worked out. She was really tall, but tall isn’t necessarily bad. And she had a nice face. And seemed friendly. I was glad she was at our table.

When the lab was over, Tim and I stood at the sink, scrubbing up. I stared at Sage, hopefully not as obviously as I’d stared at Brenda. She was applying some more lipstick, using what appeared to be a car’s side-view mirror to check her reflection. The chick had character, you could say that much.

I thought maybe I should offer to show her around Boyer. Or something that would take more than five minutes.

The bell rang, and I went over to ask her if she had plans after school. I hesitated a bit too long, though. She was packed and out the door before I could say anything.

That day at lunch, Tim inhaled his second meal without using niceties such as napkins or utensils. Jack sat on my other side drumming out some personal rhythm with his fork. This was my life, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I picked at my meat loaf.

“Hey, Tim,” I asked. “What did you think of the new girl?” I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, wondering where she had come from and what she was like. So little ever changed in Boyer; a new student was always a source of interest.

Tim looked up from his tray. He had corn in his hair.

“Sage? She’s okay.”

Jack stopped drumming, which caused his legs to start jiggling. If Jack was ever put in a straitjacket (and sometimes it didn’t seem unlikely), I think his brain would explode.

“Sage?” he asked. “Her sister was in my keyboarding class. Name’s Tammi. Freshman.”

Two new Boyer students in one day?

“What was she like?”

“Loud,” he answered decisively. “I think they’re from Joplin or somewhere south. Dad works in Columbia.”

“Is Tammi a seven-footer, too?” asked Tim. His tray was empty, but he continued to mop up gravy with his bare fingers.

“Nah,” replied Jack. “She’s a dwarf. I don’t think she’s five feet. Cute, though.”

Tim shrugged. “Maybe one’s adopted.”

I didn’t reply. I was experiencing my daily 12:13 kick to the nuts.

Figuratively. It was at 12:13 every day that Brenda would walk by my table. Every day, at 12:13, she would walk past our table, pause, and smile at me. Not the great grin that she used to give me. Just a small, friendly smile, like you’d give an old acquaintance you didn’t really want to talk to.

And then she’d move on. She was good at moving on.

“Witherspoon!” Jack barked at me, stabbing me in the kidney with his fork. Caught in the act of staring, I turned away. Jack and Tim were looking at me with pity.

“Dude, this is getting sad,” said Jack. “She’s not coming back.”

No, she wasn’t. For the first few weeks of our breakup, I didn’t give up hope. Every time she walked by, every time the phone rang, I held my breath.

Logan, I made a terrible mistake. …

Now, I knew it was over. Even if she asked to get back together, I wouldn’t want to. But I wished she’d talk to me. I wished she’d apologize. Do something to show me that the past three years had meant something to her.