Perfect - 02

  Dani sits on a picnic table,

  watching a few intrepid kayakers,

  and even in profile, she defines

  stark beauty—all steep slopes

  and sharp tilts and spikes of russet

  hair. I call her name, and when

  she turns, her smile is like April

  sun on the March snow drifted

  deep inside me. Just seeing her

  has lifted the morning’s weight.

  She senses something, or it shows

  in my eyes. You okay? What’s wrong?

  I could say nothing, but why lie?

  “It’s a long story. Let’s walk.”

  We start down the riverside bike

  path, and I begin my lurid saga.

  Cool, distant father. Frigid,

  twisted mother. Sad, sick twin.

  When I get to the stuff about Emily,

  Dani’s fingers knot into mine. Wow.

  That’s like something you see on TV.

  But darlin’, you’re not the only one

  with a messed-up family. My mom

  left us for heroin when I was six.

  She OD’d a couple of years ago.

  In between, she was turning tricks,

  and got pregnant with my little brother.

  She came crawling back. Dad was great.

  He took her in, and when she left us

  for smack again, he raised Caleb like

  his own. We were doing okay, except

  when Mom died, Caleb freaked out.

  Like she’d ever been his mom, you know?

  Anyway, he fried his brain on ecstasy.

  Stole a car and drove it the wrong way

  down the freeway, head-on into a semi.

  He was only fourteen. So now it’s just

  Dad and me. Everyone else is dead.

  Her Hand Trembles In Mine

  And now it’s my turn to be strong.

  I stop. Pull her very close to me, swim

  into the glittering pools in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” She nods, parts her lips,

  and when our mouths meet, it is with

  urgency. Need. Lust. And understanding

  that this might be only the beginning.

  We feed on each other. Draw strength

  from the nourishment. We are alone here,

  but were we not, I wouldn’t care who might

  be watching as we wrap each other in

  each other, caught up in a net of desire

  so strong there can be no breaking

  free. Her skin is softest leather.

  Her tongue, butter melting on mine.

  She smells of ginger. Tastes of mint

  and strawberry. She is angle. I am

  curve. Together, we are geometric

  sculpture, and we make perfect sense.

  But just how far am I willing to go?

  Kendra

  How Far

  Down can this one drop me?

  Will it plummet me into a no-

  man’s-land so pleasure-dense

  that memory can’t

  follow?

  How high will this one launch

  me? Will I soar above this

  pain-infused planet, no fear,

  and no desire to ever

  turn back?

  Who knew so many answers

  might be found inside

  little amber bottles? Sad?

  Pop a pill. Fat?

  Run screaming for

  the medicine chest.

  Calorie counting becomes

  obsolete when all you want

  to swallow is water and

  Mommy’s Little Helper

  makes that happen for you.

  I Don’t Know Why

  It took me so long to find my way

  to Pharmaceuticalville. I guess I thought

  pill popping was for losers. People who

  couldn’t hack reality. Couldn’t control

  themselves or conquer their weaknesses.

  Ha. I never thought I was weak before,

  not even when the mirror insisted I was

  a total wuss. It’s all very clear now, though.

  And I can’t believe how easy it is to not

  feel hungry. To not feel sorry. To not feel

  sad or worried or like the whole world

  just wants to crush me, and all I have to do

  is match the messed-up mood to the proper

  chemical adjuster. If that makes me weak,

  oh well. But I think it makes me smart.

  Why push uphill when you can coast?

  I Was Only Going To Take

  One Percocet. I needed it the day

  I found out about Conner and his skank.

  His old skank. The one who just moved

  away. Thank God I don’t have to see her

  ever again. But even if I did, all I would

  have to do is down another Percocet.

  Sheesh, if I did two, I’d probably ask her

  to prom. Except, now the pills are gone.

  There were only four to start. After

  the first one, I waited a couple of days.

  Then my dad decided to show up drunk

  at our spring honor choir performance.

  It was the first time I’d seen him in months.

  And there he was, slobbering all over some

  random woman and yelling like he was at

  a football game. And then he spotted Mom

  and Patrick and, for whatever reason,

  decided to go say hello. And more.

  While we were still singing. From

  where I stood on the stage, I could see

  Mom trying to shush him. Which made

  him get louder. Soon everyone turned

  to stare, and Patrick actually had to take

  hold of his arm, steer him out of the gym.

  Then everyone was looking at me. Like

  I had anything to do with it. And here’s

  the capper. Mom blamed me. Why did

  you even tell him about the performance?

  We were all safe at home by then (well,

  not sure about Dad. Patrick handed him

  off to his girlfriend.) I couldn’t believe

  it. “Well, I sure as hell didn’t invite him.”

  Which made Patrick jump in. Don’t you

  dare swear at your mother, little girl.

  Anger sizzled in my head. “Don’t tell

  me what to do. You’re not my father.”

  In light of what happened tonight,

  I’d say that’s a darn good thing.

  “Darn? You can say ‘damn,’ Patrick.

  I promise it won’t damage us children.”

  You are still a child, and it would

  be good to remember that.…

  I was pretty much boiling by then,

  and Mom sitting there, blank faced,

  only made me angrier still. “Not for

  long. I’ll be eighteen next month.”

  Then he nailed me good. Right.

  You mean after your plastic surgery.

  It Was An Implied Threat

  And the threat was, “Apologize right now

  or consider keeping your big, ugly nose as is.”

  Okay, he wouldn’t have put it so bluntly,

  but that’s what he meant. Or something close.

  I backed off. De-escalated. Couldn’t

  risk calling his bluff, though I was pretty

  sure that’s all it was. Swallowed

  my anger. “I’m sorry I swore, okay?

  But I had nothing to do with Dad

  being there tonight. Cross my heart.”

  As apologies go, it was snippy, but

  the best I could do, and it seemed to

  appease Patrick. Apology accepted.

  About that time Jenna came in, messy

  hair and blurred makeup indicating


  she’d had a little too much fun that night.

  The attention shifted to her, so I made

  my escape, still percolating a big pot of anger.

  At my back, Patrick’s voice had risen

  again, this time at my sister. Where

  have you been, and what have you

  been doing? Buzz buzz buzz.

  I headed straight for my room, and

  the little bottle of dysfunction stashed

  in a sock in my dresser. And down

  went one more Percocet. Two left. Minus

  one, not quite a week later, after I found

  out my dad is getting married again and wants

  Jenna and me to be bridesmaids. We

  don’t even know his girlfriend, something

  my sister was very clear about. More

  family drama to come on that front for sure.

  I Popped The Last Percocet

  Three days ago, when I was passed over for

  a Teen Vogue fashion shoot. I had my heart

  set on it. I figured they didn’t pick me

  because I still can’t get into a size two. Close.

  But not quite. But when I asked Maxine

  if that was, in fact, the reason, she hung

  her head and admitted, That’s not why.

  I’m sorry to say I dropped the ball.

  It was a bad week—my daughter lost

  her baby, and I had to help out with

  her other kids. I just forgot to put things

  in motion. But there will be other opportunities.

  I almost lost it. But how could I without

  coming off as totally heartless? So I nodded

  and fumed and finally dug into my wallet

  to find the business card of Xavier Winslow.

  Xavier

  Cool name for an awesome agent.

  We agreed to meet over Starbucks

  coffee, and though I felt a tiny bit like

  a traitor, I had it in my mind from the start

  that all he had to do was say the right

  things and I’d flip reps without looking back.

  He said all the right things. You’ve got

  the look, that’s for sure. His eyes crawled

  all up and down my body. If you want

  to do runway, you could maybe lose

  a couple of pounds, but I can help you

  with that. Then his creeping gaze stopped

  unapologetically right beneath my clavicle.

  And… have you considered implants?

  He was so straightforward, I somehow

  didn’t feel the slightest embarrassment.

  “As a matter of fact, I have. But my parents

  don’t want me to.” I went on to tell him

  about my upcoming rhinoplasty, and

  even asked what he thought about Botox.

  He just kept nodding until I was through.

  You are serious about this as a career,

  then. I suspected as much. Here’s the deal.

  I have the connections to take you to the top.

  But you have to be willing to do things

  my way. If you have an opt-out in your

  contract with Maxine, jumping agencies

  won’t be a problem. And I can be very

  persuasive when it comes to reticent parents.

  Give me fifteen minutes with your mom,

  she’ll come around. Your stepdad may

  be tougher. But that’s what moms are for.

  Xavier Will Be Here Any Minute

  I made sure his first meeting with Mom

  would be when Patrick was busy adjusting

  bands and wires on kids’ crooked teeth.

  Mom wasn’t especially interested

  in my changing agents. Maxine has

  been good to us, and good for you.…

  “Mostly true. Except she just lost a huge

  contract because of personal problems.

  I need someone who will always be there.

  Just listen to what he has to say, okay?”

  She agreed, and when the bell rings now,

  I let her answer the door. First impressions

  and all. She hides her stutter fairly

  well. Uh… oh… please, come in.

  In Mom’s world, Xavier Winslow

  is soap-opera fine. And all charm.

  Not To Mention A Natural Flirt

  We sit around the kitchen table, and

  though I am the topic of conversation,

  Xavier is all about Mom. I can see

  where your daughter gets her beauty.

  Did you ever model? No? What a shame.

  You could have gone straight to the top.

  Mom blushes and smiles and flirts

  right back. This is a mother I’ve never

  seen before, and it’s all because this

  great-looking man is playing her so well.

  It takes twenty minutes at least, but by

  the time Xavier is finished, Mom is beeswax,

  melting into his smile, and I have a new agent.

  When I walk him to the door, he winks.

  I’ll call you next week. He slips a small

  bottle into my hand. The label says Meridia.

  Sean

  My Hand

  Has long been my dance

  partner. I learned

  the routine at eleven.

  Early

  to the game, I guess.

  Fifth grade is much

  too young to understand

  the nature of uninvited

  lust.

  It didn’t even take visual

  stimulation, just the raw

  sensation of skin against

  cotton, and the memory

  is just

  as vivid as the real thing.

  Okay, maybe not quite.

  But there was something

  about the innocence—

  confusing

  as it was—that made

  those first clumsy explorations

  border on magical.

  Used To Be

  I’d wake up every morning

  and have to spend several

  minutes doing the hand jive.

  It’s a guy thing, I know. But

  not really sure if it’s because

  of something that went on

  in a dream, or just because

  of the Boy rubbing nice

  against those warm sheets.

  Either way, it was a great way

  to start the day. But now

  I wake up limp as a worn

  sock. I’ve been tempted

  to test the Viagra solo, just

  to see if things will still work.

  But it seems like a waste

  of a roaring boner if those

  pills do what they promise.

  So I’ve been saving them up

  for a little (lot!) Cara action.

  I’m Tired Of Saving Up

  I really want to see her, want

  to know what it’s like to make

  love to a girl who I really love.

  But lately I’m not sure what’s

  going on with her. For the past

  couple of weeks, she’s always

  had an excuse not to see me.

  Homework. Prom committee

  meetings. Spring musical

  rehearsals. Granted, she has

  a lead, but still. Why should other

  stuff come before me? Yes,

  baseball practice has come

  first for me lately, but it’s all

  for her in the long run. Why

  can’t she understand that?

  She did promise to come

  watch me play today, so

  maybe everything’s okay.

  Hope so. I’ve got plans for later.

  Great Day For Baseball

  Well, it is a little cool, but

  hell, it
’s barely March. At least

  the sun is out, and we’re

  playing at home, thanks to

  outstanding snow removal

  efforts on the part of our

  grounds crew. Amazing,

  what industrial strength

  tarps and snowblowers can

  accomplish. Not to mention

  shovels and brooms. I am

  stoked. Ready to kick

  a little Reno High ass.

  On the field for warm-ups,

  I notice a couple of things.

  One: serious-looking guys

  in the stands with clipboards

  and radar guns. Scouts.

  Can’t know where from,

  of course. But they’re there.

  And two: Cara made it.

  She’s sitting with some

  girl I’ve never seen before.

  Dark spiky hair. Cute, in

  a kind of Goth way. Cara

  points at me, and the strange

  girl smiles. Then they both

  wave. Nice. I wave back,

  still wondering who’s sitting

  beside my girl, when Coach

  reminds me, O’Connell!

  We’ve got a game to play

  here. Get your mind off

  the bleachers or go hit

  the showers. Some of

  the guys snicker, but mostly

  because they’re jealous.

  I glance at the scouts, one

  of whom seems to be looking

  my way. Get ready, dude.

  First Inning

  Reno High goes down,

  one-two-three, thanks

  to outstanding pitching

  by Gary Bell. The scouts

  are doing some serious

  scribbling in their notebooks.