Perfect (2 page)

Sprawled on the floor,

Conner wanted to die.

Mom and Dad don’t think

so. In fact, for once they agree

on something besides how bad

their stock portfolios looked

last year. Both of them believe

Conner only wanted attention.

But he was way past hoping

for that, at least the positive

kind. No, Conner was tired

of the pressure. Sick of trying

to find the equation that would

lighten the weight of expectations

not his own. Listening to Mom

tell skilled laborers how to do

their job is almost enough to make

me empathize. The more she goes

on, the more I’m sure the carpet

guys understand. There is no

possible way to satisfy our mother.

I Guess In A Way

I have to give Conner a little

credit. I mean, by putting the gun

to his chest, he made an overt,

if obscene, statement—

I will no longer force myself

inside your prefab boxes. I’d much

rather check out of here than let

you decide the rest of my life
.

“You,” meaning Mom and Dad.

The pressure they exert individually

is immense. As a team, it’s almost

impossible to measure up

to their elevated criteria. I have done

my best, pushed myself to the limit.

To get into Stanford, I have had to

ace every test, stand out as a leader

(junior class pres, student council),

excel in sports, serve as a mentor,

take command of extracurricular

pursuits—cheerleading, honor choir,

theater. All around dating Sean.

Sometimes I just want a solo vacation.

Hanging out on a beach, submitting

to the temptation of sand, sun, salt

water, sans UV protection. Who

cares what damage they might

inflict on my skin? Nice dream.

But what would my mother say?

I can hear her now.
Don’t be

ridiculous. Who in their right

mind would invite melanoma

and premature aging?

When I look at her, I have

to admit her beauty regime

is working. It’s as if by sheer

force of will she won’t permit

wrinkles to etch her suede

complexion. But I know, deep

down, she is afraid of time. Once

in a while, I see fear in her eyes.

That Fear Isn’t Something

Most people notice. Not Dad,

who’s hardly ever home, and even

when he is, doesn’t really look

at Mom. Or me. Not Conner,

because if he had even once seen

that chink in her fourteen-carat

armor, he’d have capitalized on it.

Not her friends. (I think the term

misrepresents the relationship,

at least if loyalty figures into

what it means to be a friend.)

Book club. Bridge club. Gym

spinners. She maintains a flock

of them. That’s what they remind

me of. Beautiful, pampered birds,

plumage-proud, but blind

to what they drop their shit on.

And the scary thing is, I’m

on a fast track to that same

aviary. Unless I find my wings.

I Won’t Fly Today

Too much to do, despite the snow,

which made all local schools close

their doors. What a winter! Usually,

I love watching the white stuff fall.

But after a month with only short

respites, I keep hoping for a critical

blue sky. Instead, amazing waves

of silvery clouds sweep over the crest

of the Sierra, open their obese

bellies, and release foot upon foot

of crisp new powder. The ski

resorts would be happy, except

the roads are so hard to travel

that people are staying home.

So it kind of boggles the mind

that three guys are laying carpet

in the living room. Just goes to

show the power of money. In less

than an hour, the stain Conner left

on the hardwood will be a ghost.

The Stain

That Conner left on our lives will

not vanish as easily. I don’t care

about Mom and her birds.

Their estimation of my brother

doesn’t bother me at all. Neither

do I worry about Dad and

what his lobbyist buddies think.

His political clout has not diminished.

As twins go, Conner and I don’t share

a deep affection, but we do have

a nine-months-in-the-same-womb

connection. Not to mention

a crowd of mutual friends. God,

I’ll never forget going to school

the day after that ugly scene.

The plan was to sever the gossip

grapevine from the start with

an obvious explanation—

accident. Mom’s orders were

clear. Conner’s reputation

was to be protected at all costs.

When I arrived, the rumors

had already started, thanks

to our neighbor, Bobby Duvall.

Conner Sykes got hurt
.

Conner Sykes was shot
.

Conner Sykes is in the hospital
.

Is Conner Sykes, like, dead?

I fielded every single question

with the agreed fabrication.

But eventually, I was forced to

concede that, though his wounds

would heal, he was not coming

back to school right away.

Conner Sykes wasn’t dead.

But he wasn’t exactly “okay.”

When People Ask

How he’s doing now, I have

no idea what to say except for,

“Better.” I don’t know if that’s

true, or what goes on in a place

like Aspen Springs, not that any-

one knows he’s there, thank God.

He has dropped off most people’s

radar, although that’s kind of odd.

Before he took this unbelievable

turn, Conner was top rung on our

social ladder. But with his crash

and burn no longer news of the day,

all but a gossipy few have quit

trying to fill in the blanks.

One exception is Kendra, who

for some idiotic reason still

loves him and keeps asking about

him, despite the horrible way he

dumped her. Kendra may be pretty,

but she’s not especially bright.

Kendra Melody Mathieson

Pretty

That’s what I am, I guess.

I mean, people have been telling

me that’s what I am since

I was two. Maybe younger.

Pretty

as a picture. (Who wants

to be a cliché?) Pretty as

an angel. (Can you see them?)

Pretty as a butterfly. (But

isn’t

that really just a glam bug?)

Cliché, invisible, or insectlike,

I grew up knowing I was

pretty and believing everything

good

about me had to do with how

I looked. The mirror was my best

friend. Until it started telling

me I wasn’t really pretty

enough.

Pale Beauty

That’s what my mom calls the gift

she gave me, through genetics.

We are Scandinavian willows,

with vanilla hair and glacier blue

eyes and bone china skin. Two

hours in the sun turns me the color

of ripe watermelon. When I lead

cheers at football games, it is wearing

SPF 60 sunblock. Gross. Basketball

season is better, but I’ll be glad

when it’s over. Between dance lessons

and vocal training and helping out

at the food bank (all grooming for Miss

Teen Nevada), I barely have time for

homework, let alone fun. At least

staying busy mostly keeps my mind

off Conner. I wish I could forget

about him, but that’s not possible.

I tumbled hard for that guy. Gave him

all of me. I thought we had something

special. He even let me see the scared

little boy inside him, the one not many

other people ever catch a glimpse of.

Did he show that boy to the ambulance

drivers who took him to the hospital, or

to the doctors and nurses who dug the bullet

out of his chest? Sewed him up. Saved

his life. I want to see him, but Cara says Saint

Mary’s won’t allow visitors. Bet he doesn’t

want them—scared he might look helpless.

What He Doesn’t Get

Is that everyone gets scared. I used

to get sick to my stomach every day

before school. Reading, writing,

and arithmetic? Not my best things.

I just knew some genius bully

was going to make major fun of me.

Then I figured out Rule Number One

of the Popularity Game—looks trump

brains every time. While it might be

nice to have both, I’ll settle for what

I’ve got. College isn’t a major goal.

Don’t need it to model. Everyone says

I have what it takes to do runway.

I don’t think I do yet. But I will.

My Mom Has Groomed Me

For modeling for years, ever since

she entered me in my very first baby

beauty pageant. I wasn’t even one yet.

Couldn’t walk, but already had a killer

smile. Mom dressed me up in pink swirls

and paraded me down that runway herself.

We went home with a tiara. Next thing

you know, I had an impressive portfolio

and a dozen more rhinestone crowns.

Soon, my cute cherub face was smiling

for diaper ads and shampoo commercials.

Once I could toddle, the trend continued,

with pricey gowns and big-girl makeup

and hair that made me look years older.

Then I did catalogue shots—wearing

the latest JC Penney and Sears fashions.

All through grade school, weekends

centered around pageants. And after

school, instead of homework, I studied

ballet and tap and gymnastics. Plus

the coaching in poise, and prepping

for interviews. Oh yes, and cozying up

to sponsors, who helped pay for outfits

and entry fees. Mom ended up leaving

Daddy for one of them—an orthodontist

with a client list full of beauty queen

hopefuls. Patrick is my stepdad now,

and he’s still paying our way in. I took

a year off while he straightened my teeth.

Braces and pageants don’t mix. It was

right about then that the mirror started

showing me flaws. When you’re younger,

a bump in the nose and a few extra

pounds don’t mean much. But now they do.

The Rhinoplasty

Is already scheduled for spring break.

A week to heal the swelling and bruising

that come with nose jobs. Scared?