Perfect (7 page)

I’ve heard it before. She’s drummed it

into me. My looks are the key to the kingdom.

Still Two Hours West

Of Elko, the silence becomes stifling.

At least for Mom, who digs too hard

to come up with something.
Do you

want to talk about Conner?
She waits,

patient as one of the vultures I watch,

circling above some vile desert-claimed

corpse. “What about Conner?” The buzzard

wheel widens as more black wings link

to the cog.
Well, um… Do you think it

had anything to do with you breaking up?

What is she talking about? “Do I think

what
had to do with us breaking up?”

She huffs a little, like she thinks I’m

dense.
You know. The gun. The hospital…

Okay, she’s the one who’s dense. “Why

would Conner shooting himself have

anything to do with ‘us’? Accidents hap—

Wait. Are you saying it wasn’t an accident?”

Heat flowers at the back of my neck,

radiates toward my skull. “Well? Mom?”

She slows the car.
It was
not
an accident,

Kendra. Conner tried to kill himself.

Suicide? Conner? “No! He’d never!” Would

he? But even if he did, “How do
you
know?”

I was dealing with another Jenna issue

and was in the guidance counselor’s office.

I overheard him talking about where to send

Conner’s schoolwork—Aspen Springs.

Aspen Springs. Psych hospital. Residential

treatment center. Lockdown for druggies and…

I have to know for sure. I jerk my cell from

my bag, check for a signal. Two bars. Still,

a text might work. IS CONNER IN ASPEN

SPRINGS
? Hit the send. Wait for Cara

to answer. Mom watches me sideways,

out of the corner of her eye.
You all right?

“No. Yes. Wait…” What was she saying

about Conner and me breaking up? No! No way!

“Even if Conner
did
try to kill himself,

it wasn’t
my
fault! How can you think that?”

I cut off her denial. “Just drive, okay?”

I think about the last few times I saw him.

I could barely look at him through the smog

of my pain. And Conner was never easy to

read, anyway. But I only remember him

smiling. Laughing. Easygoing. All Conner.

My phone chimes suddenly. Incoming.

WHO TOLD YOU
?
No denial, so it must

be true.
DOESN’T MATTER. DID HE TRY

TO KILL HIMSELF
? I don’t expect a quick

answer, but it comes back right away.

NO ONE KNOWS. PLEASE DON’T TELL
.

Don’t tell? That’s what she’s worried

about? My eyes sting and my cheeks burn.

YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME. I HAD

THE RIGHT TO KNOW. Bitch. I THOUGHT

YOU WERE MY FRIEND
. Then I remember.

The Sykes family doesn’t keep friends.

But they do keep secrets.
I’M SORRY. MY MOM

WOULD HAVE WRECKED ME IF I TOLD YOU
.

Probably literally. Doesn’t make it right,

though. One last question. WHY DID HE DO IT?

We go into a tunnel. On the other side, Elko

comes into view, along with Cara’s last message:

WHO KNOWS?

Elko Is A Mining Town

And while the surrounding countryside

is stunning, the town itself has seen

better days. Parts of it are pretty. Others

are shabby. Run-down. Battered by time

and circumstance. Sort of like how I feel

right now. We were up before dawn to

hit the highway, but this soul-drooping

weariness comes from some absurd sense

of guilt. I didn’t make Conner pick up

that gun. But was there anything I might

have done to stop him? Why didn’t I see

warning signs? Was any of his hopelessness

because of me? Ridiculous, I know.
He
broke

up with
me.
But I still don’t know why.

Mom pulls into the Thunderbird Motel.

Checks us into a this-will-do kind of room.

“Why do we always stay here?

The Holiday Inn isn’t too far away.”

She’s busy hanging my dresses in a tiny

closet.
I don’t know. Memories, I guess.

“Memories of what?” Pretty sure Patrick

has never been here with her. “Daddy?”

Mom pulls her head out of the dank

cubicle.
Weird, huh? We stayed here

not too long after we met. Spent long

days hiking Lamoille Canyon. Gorgeous

up there…
She loses herself in some

recollection. Comes back again.
Anyway,

I’m starving. Let’s get some lunch.

We’ve got a couple of hours to kill.

Lunch? Don’t think so. “I’m more tired

than hungry. Think I’ll take a nap. You go.”

Her Eyes Say The Words

Her mouth refuses to—
I’m worried

about you. Why don’t you eat?
What

she does say is,
Are you sure? You have

to be hungry. You didn’t eat breakfast.

I never eat breakfast. But all that does

is prove her unspoken point. “I’m sure.

If I don’t get some sleep, I’ll look awful

tonight.” To make her happy, I ask her to

bring back a salad. Off she goes. I lie down

on the plywood-and-cotton-lumps mattress.

Oh, Conner. How could you try to die?

And why didn’t you? You hardly ever fail

to get the things you really want. Did

a switch flip inside your brain? If it did,

I think what flipped it was that little boy

who suddenly grew tired of being scared.

I’ve Only Known

One other person who ended up in Aspen

Springs. Tiffany took dance with me for

three or four years. Rumor had it her stepdad

liked her a little too much. She coped with

his “bad, bad touch” by binge-and-puking.

Bulimia is nasty. Hanging your head in

the toilet after every meal? Sticking your fingers

down your throat? All that stomach acid,

carving holes in your esophagus? And even

after all that, still wearing a size eight? Talk

about a waste of energy. Real control is

not putting in more than you can work off.

Knowing the exact count and keeping track.

Shaving off every extra caloric unit you can

without passing out. And the most important

thing of all—keeping everyone else in the dark.

Sean

Everyone Else

Seems to stumble through

life. Fall. Get up. Go

stumbling on again.

If

they happen into a really

good place, do they then

make plans how to stay there?

I

don’t understand how

people manage without

a well-drawn game plan.

Don’t

they want some promise

of success? Every good

novel requires a considered

plot.

Should a biography not

demand as much? How do

you function without structure?

I fail

to comprehend.

Plotting

Is important to me. How

do I manage to reach

Point B if I kick off

from Point A? Logic,

that’s what it takes. I hate

the illogical. And really

despise when it actually

pays off for somebody.

You know, right place,

right time, whoopee, you

win, without putting in

one damn lick of effort?

Bugs the shit out of me.

Especially considering

my life has been mostly

about wrong place, wrong

time, too damn bad for

you. Lost my mom that

way. Lost my dad that way.