Perfect (23 page)

No one teaches you how to

say good-bye.

I Have Become An Expert

At making excuses. Manufacturing

lies. Walking the tightrope between

fact and fiction. Why can’t I just

come clean? I’m such a coward.

I am afraid of hurting Sean, who

hasn’t done anything wrong except

not be Dani. And maybe, just maybe,

not belong to the right gender club.

I’m also afraid of that possible truth.

Can a girl fall in love with a girl

and not be gay? Can she dream

of silken skin, perfumed with female

musk, yet joyfully submit to a man’s

calloused touch? I still think I owe

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