Perfect - 02

  not a novice like me.

  I tell Liana, “I’ll think about it, okay?”

  Not for too long. We’ll want to come up

  with something really

  special for your audition. Call me tomorrow.

  Tomorrow? No problem. I already know

  what I’m going to say.

  The Quattro takes me home. It must, because

  I’m not thinking much about where to turn it.

  I’m thinking about Shantell.

  Dance isn’t about money. It’s about heart.

  Is Dance My Heart?

  I can’t say that it is. The only thing

  that feels that way

  right now is Jenna. She is an obsession,

  really. Not sure why. She says she’s not

  in love with me. Can never

  be. Does soul-splitting love have to be

  returned to make it real? If I had to give

  her up, it would open

  a black hole inside of me. But what about

  dance? If I had to give it up… what? I park

  my car, go inside to shower.

  Run the water hot, make the bathroom steam.

  Soap. Shampoo. Routine. Dance, I realize,

  is my escape from ordinary.

  If I had to give it up, I would lose something

  integral. Why am I afraid to confess that?

  I dance. Train. Work hard

  to improve. Doesn’t that mean I’m a dancer?

  Believing I Am

  Should mean being proud that I am, which

  means telling the world.

  I’ll start with Jenna, work my way up.

  We’re going to a party tonight. Always

  an adventure with Jenna.

  When she gets in the car, it’s obvious

  her personal party has begun. “You drinking

  already?” I think her condition

  must be due to more than alcohol. But I’m not

  stupid enough to say so. Only a little.

  I don’t want to pass

  out before we even get there, you know?

  I won’t comment on that. “So, hey. I want

  to tell you something.…”

  Tell her, quick, before the fire goes out.

  Okay, but I have to tell you something first.

  Your mom thinks Kendra

  is anorexic.… The flame extinguishes.

  Cara

  Fire

  Some people say love is fire—

  flame fanned into inferno. A

  raging

  that all too predictably burns

  through the years, fades into

  smoldering,

  burns down into ash, soot

  that cannot be rekindled.

  I say that soot is

  dust,

  swept up by gravity to fly,

  untouched by time, with

  ice,

  a comet. Bright in the vast

  azure deep of night, a

  flare in

  the frozen emptiness of space.

  A hot, cold candle, magnified

  beneath the glare of

  solar wind.

  Falling In Love

  Was not something I ever expected.

  I have no role models for love.

  I always thought friendship would

  do—that my heart couldn’t hold

  more. But it can, and that presents

  an incredible dilemma. Because if I

  truly love Dani as much as I think

  I do, how can I deny it? Her? Us?

  At Stanford, no one worth mentioning

  would care. The Bay Area is a liberal

  stronghold. But Stanford presents

  another problem. Will I still go there?

  It’s not so far from here. I could come

  home on weekends. Not to see

  my family, who I just want away

  from. But how can I live without Dani?

  Everything is so new, and moving

  bullet train speed, we haven’t even

  talked about next year. It’s all

  been about how, when, and where

  we can see each other again. God,

  I want it to be every day. So strange.

  Never, ever before did having sex

  mean anything to me. But now

  I think about it all the time. Is that

  sick? I have no idea what normal

  is. Has she turned me into a perv?

  Maybe the trick is just having lots

  and lots of sex until you get tired

  of it? Does everyone eventually

  get tired of it? Do really old people

  still like having “fun” after decades

  together? Does being in love influence

  any of that? Does love fade with

  time? And which fades faster—love

  or lust? Too many questions.

  That’s what comes of sitting here

  alone when all I want is to be with her.

  Wonder if she feels the same way.

  Suddenly the phone rings. Am I psychic?

  But It Isn’t Dani

  Caller ID says it’s Sean. I let it go

  to voice mail, though I’ve got a good

  idea what he’s going to say. He’s sorry.

  He loves me, and he’s sure I love him, too.

  But no. This message is different.

  Hello, Cara. You might want to

  pick up, unless you want your parents

  to hear about you and your girlfriend.

  I feel like I just stepped off a high

  dive. He waits, and I can almost hear

  the zzzzzz of his anger. I don’t know

  what to do. Pretend I’m not here?

  I know you’re there. I can see

  your car. My car? Is he outside?

  You’ve got five seconds. Answer

  the goddamn phone! Four. Three…

  I yank the receiver out of its cradle.

  “What is wrong with you, Sean? Why

  can’t you just leave me alone?”

  I am not the type to cry, but this is getting

  creepy. Scary, even. “What do you

  want from me?” Hope he can’t hear

  the crack in my voice. And I pray

  he can’t see me crying. He isn’t

  looking through my window

  with binoculars or something,

  is he? I want to know when you

  went all gay. Not only a whore,

  but a lezbo whore? Just when

  the fuck did that happen? No

  wonder you didn’t want dick.

  Then again, some lezs like dildos.

  Do you and your little butch girl

  use those? Because I’d pay to

  watch. In fact, I bet I could round

  up a few friends. What do you think?

  Deny. Deny. Deny. He can’t know

  anything for sure. He has to be

  guessing. “Sean, I have no clue

  what you’re talking about.”

  His Laugh Is Cruel

  Really? And now you’re a liar,

  too. I saw you with her at Mt. Rose,

  off in the trees making out. You

  wanna tell me that isn’t true?

  Oh my God. So, fine, change tactics.

  “You are stalking me, aren’t you?

  You realize that’s crazy, right?

  Sean, can’t you see you need help?”

  First of all, I didn’t even know

  you’d be at Rose. Pure coincidence.

  And second, considering everything,

  I’d say you’re the one who needs help.

  I could tell him that Dani is my help.

  But arguing with him is useless.

  And no matter how much he thinks

  he knows, I won’t confess anything.

  How can I de-escalate the war he so


  wants to wage? “You’re right. I do

  need help. See? You’re better off without

  me.” I expect a fresh barrage of rage.

  No, Cara. His voice is unusually

  gentle. I am nothing without you.

  Look, I can understand wanting

  to experiment. Lots of girls play

  with other girls. What if I let you

  be with her, too? Just give me

  another chance to show you

  how much I love you. Please?

  What if he lets me? Is he serious?

  Dumb question. Of course he is.

  “Look. I don’t have to ask your

  permission for anything. Love

  isn’t about ownership. It’s about

  respect—something I don’t have

  for you. Find somebody who does.

  Direct your affection toward her.”

  I hang up before he can respond.

  Oh God, what will he do next?

  I’ve got to get out of here. But

  first, I have to talk to Dani.

  Her Cell Goes Straight

  Through to voice mail. Turned

  off. Or dead. Should I call her house?

  Why not? It’s not like I’m the stalker.

  I can always fall back on the old

  “I’m just a good friend” explanation.

  Three rings and her dad picks up.

  “Uh, hello. Is Dani there? This is Cara.”

  Surprisingly, he acknowledges me.

  Oh, Cara. Yes, hello. One second,

  please. The phone moves away from

  his mouth while he yells, Dani! Phone!

  Then he’s back. Okay, when am I going

  to meet you? I’ve heard so much

  about you. He reminds me of a Jewish

  mother, talking to a prospective in-law.

  At least, like the Jewish moms on TV.

  I had no idea he knew about me.

  “Um, any time. Would be great

  to meet you, too.” How much,

  exactly, does he know? The next

  voice I hear is Dani’s. Hey, girl.

  What’s up? Oh, hold on… now

  she and her dad are talking. Okay,

  he’s gone now. What’s going on?

  “It’s Sean. He called. He saw us

  kissing and he got all weird and went

  off on me. I hung up on him and now

  I’m afraid he’ll tell everyone.” She

  goes off on me too. So? God, Cara,

  why do you want to hide? What are

  you afraid of? That people will know

  who you really are? You take pride in

  the way you look. The clothes you

  wear. Excelling at everything.

  But you’re embarrassed by loving

  me? That is totally messed up.

  “I know. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.

  Please? Can I see you? I need you.”

  Need a megadose of courage.

  I grab my keys, run to my car.

  What Am I Afraid Of?

  Good question, one I’ve asked myself

  before. Mostly, I am afraid of failing.

  But why? Everyone falls down from

  time to time. Why must I always stay

  on my feet? I am afraid of not

  meeting expectations. But whose?

  The answer to that is easy. Suppose

  I choose a far different future

  than the one my parents require

  of me. Will I have made a mistake?

  Done something regrettable? Or

  will I have set myself free? Am I

  afraid of freedom? Of being cut

  loose from my family, such as it

  is? Would they sever the tie, and

  if they did, what do I really have

  to lose, especially considering

  how much I have gained with Dani.

  If I have to be honest, though, I am

  afraid of being stained by the lesbian

  label. Some girls wear it proudly,

  a giant “this is who I am” tattoo.

  And much of mainstream society

  now accepts the idea of two people

  in love, whatever their genders.

  My challenge is to accept it myself.

  And, a bigger one, to embrace it.

  I’ll try. And I’ll start right now.

  This is the first time I’ve actually

  been to Dani’s house, a small brick

  beauty in an old southwest Reno

  neighborhood. Tall, naked trees line

  the street like big-boned skeletons.

  Dani’s dad opens the door. Come in!

  He grabs my hand, pulls me inside

  and across the blemished oak floor

  to the living room. Make yourself at

  home. Dani! Your girlfriend is here.

  I hope you’ll excuse me. I’ve got

  a golf score that needs improvement.

  Dani Comes, Smiling

  Into the room. After a few minutes

  of three-way small talk, she leads me

  back to her bedroom, which is mauve

  and sage green. I fall into her arms,

  strangely not worried about her dad

  suspecting what we’re up to. We are

  kissing, and there is strength in that,

  power in the “two” of us, deepening

  connection. In the truth of our love.

  She lays me back on her bed, lifts

  my sweater over my face so it covers

  my eyes. Don’t be afraid. Trust me.

  Traffic hisses by on the street beyond

  the window. And here, on this side

  of the glass, in the darkness behind

  closed eyes, I put away my fear, place

  my faith in Dani. She makes love

  to me with borderline ferocity, awakens

  something inside. Something completely

  new, and at the same time, primordial.

  Kendra

  Borderline

  It’s the latest, greatest

  twenty-first-century buzzword,

  tossed around freely in

  certain circles. Oddly, it

  means

  different things to

  different lexicologists.

  It is defined as the line

  separating two

  almost

  identical qualities, i.e.,

  between frankness and

  rudeness. Definition two:

  not

  clearly belonging to one

  or the other of two

  categories, i.e., neither

  here

  nor there. Finally, it means

  emotionally unstable, self-

  destructive, and erratic.

  Maybe, like me.

  Food Is Not My Friend

  My stomach wants nothing to do

  with it. But if I don’t at least pretend

  to eat, Patrick’s talking lockdown

  rehab. In fact, Mom had to argue him

  out of taking me straight to Aspen

  Springs. They had a pretty big fight.

  She’s my daughter. I’ll handle it, okay?

  You just worry about orthodontia.

  Mom made me promise to consume

  at least one thousand calories per day.

  Meat. Vegetables. Whole grains. You can

  skip dairy, but have to take a calcium

  supplement. You’re begging for brittle

  bones, not to mention bad teeth.

  Okay, she got me on that one. I should

  have been taking calcium all along.

  No calories there. And a perfect

  smile is a necessity in the industry.

  Meat? I’ve sworn off anything red.

  One boneless, skinless chicken breast,

  broiled. Two hundred calories. One-half

/>   cup steamed broccoli. Fifteen. One slice

  whole wheat bread, seventy. There. Two

  eighty-five. That’s as good as I’ve done

  in six months. A thousand calories?

  Not going to happen in one day. Thank

  God she’s not standing over my shoulder

  watching. If she decides to, I’ll eat plenty

  of veggies. Then I won’t have to rely

  on laxatives, my last-resort backup plan.

  I Really Don’t Get

  Why everyone’s so worried anyway.

  God, until that stupid anesthesiologist saw

  me without my clothes on, no one had

  ever noticed a problem. And I still don’t see

  one. When we got home (me, still wearing

  an ugly nose bump), I went into the bathroom,

  stood naked in front of the full-length mirror

  I’ve avoided for months. I guess my arms are

  pretty thin, and my legs look just about right.

  But my stomach still bulges, and my waist

  poofs out on each side. I’ll try some

  extra crunches and sit-ups. And, since Patrick

  seems deadly serious about the rehab

  threat, I’ll run more. Exercise is healthy, right?

  And I’ll call Sean. See about the Clen.

  Something to make my muscles lean. Strong.

  Can’t Do That Right Now

  Xavier is on his way to pick me up

  for an audition. This one is important,

  he said. Dress sexy as hell, but we’re going

  for the modest look with the makeup.

  This client is developing a new younger

  teen line, so the work will reflect that.

  I go for a micro skirt, tights to sheath

  my legs. Tank top, no bra. Short, zipped

  hoodie. Gentle with the makeup. Hair

  smoothed into a ponytail. The mirror says

  Young. (Baby fat.) Fresh. (Early crow’s-

  feet.) Pretty. (Bump, still there.) Teen.

  So why do I feel tired? Worried?

  Stressed? Anxious? Why do I feel old?