Waiting for Perfect

Waiting for Perfect

By

Kelli
Kretzschmar

Copyright © September 2014 by Kelli
Kretzschmar

All rights reserved. This book or any
portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without
the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction.
 
Any reference to real persons or events
is used fictitiously.
 
The
characters are the work of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to
persons, living or deceased, is coincidental.

Cover art:
 
Copyright © 2014 by

Jeff Auricchio Photography,
www.fotobyjeff.com

Used with permission.

Cover design:
 
Jeff Auricchio.

Model:
 
Danielle McLaughlin.

Special thanks to Mr. Wayne Shands and
Mr. Peace Pham. All rights reserved. This artwork may not be reproduced,
copied, edited, published, transmitted or uploaded in any way without the
written permission of its creator.
 
Unauthorized use prohibited.

This book is dedicated to my daughter, Winter,

who has been my
something perfect
for seventeen years.

Table
of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

About Rape and Sexual Assault

Waiting
for Perfect Playlist on Spotify
About the Author

KENDRA

I stare at myself
in my bathroom mirror, scrutinizing hazel eyes that are too big for my face, a
nose that is too pointy, a chin that is small and round.
 
There are a million things in this
mirror that are wrong with me, but today, I will try to ignore all of
them.
 
Today is my first day of
senior year.
 
This is the last year
I have to live with my mother.

After applying a
few coats of mascara, which my mother never lets me leave home without, I sling
my backpack over my shoulder and head downstairs to the kitchen.
 
She’s at the counter by the sink, tinkering
with the blender.
 
She doesn’t look
up.
 
She never does.
 

“Kendra, I’m making
you a protein shake,” she announces, somehow feeling my presence, even if not
acknowledging it.
 
“You need to eat
more protein.
 
No more pancakes and
waffles.
 
You’ve slacked off over
the summer.
 
You could stand to
lose a few pounds.”

I pull at the hem
of my shirt to cover my wide hips, a gift I, unfortunately, inherited from my
dad’s side of the family.
 
I think
I look decent enough, not like the fat cow my mother insists I am.
 
Not today anyway.
 
I remain silent, choosing to ignore her
like usual.

“You know this is a
big year,” she continues, transferring the clumpy liquid from the blender into
a plastic cup.
 
“I was prom queen
my senior year.”
 
She hands me the
cup.
 
I sip it reluctantly and am
relieved that it tastes better than it looks.
 
“It starts early, Kendra.
 
You’ll have to be nice to everyone, even if you think they
don’t matter.
 
Every student has a
vote, and it doesn’t matter how insignificant they are.”

I nod like I’m
paying attention.
 
She’s told me
the prom queen story a million times.
 
I have no interest in being prom queen.
 

“I’d better get
going,” I say.
 
“I don’t want to be
late for the first day of school.
 
Thanks for the shake.” I rinse my cup quickly and head for the
door.
 
She starts talking again,
but I keep walking until I’m out the door and in my car.

I can’t wait to get
out of this house when the school year is over.
 
My stepdad Derrick is not so bad.
 
I love my little brother Marcus, even though he’s my mom’s
favorite.
 
It’s not his fault.
 
If I had been born into this family
with a penis, maybe my mom would actually notice me.
 
She seems to think my brother walks on water.
 
I’m just a girl, and my only hope in
life is to marry a man who will take care of me, so she says.

My mom sent away
for tons of brochures for east coast colleges.
 
Her plan for me includes big money, family money – the
kind of money I’d find at an Ivy League school.
 
Money that allows pretty boys to play with expensive yachts
in the Hamptons over the summer and live in fraternity houses all school
year.
 
Those boys are probably all
conceited bastards who treat women like crap and cheat on them every chance
they get.
 
Not my idea of marriage
material.

I am more
interested in staying local anyway, maybe San Diego State or Cal State Long
Beach.
 
We live in one of the most
affluent areas in California.
 
I
don’t understand what my mom has against it.
 
She fits in perfectly with Derrick’s money, her shiny
convertible BMW, fake boobs, and a Botoxed smile.
 
Plastic perfection.

The school parking
lot is almost full by the time I pull into it.
 
I’m used to seeing expensive cars in the lot, and my dark
blue Mercedes fits right in.
 
In some
cities, I’d get strange looks for being eighteen and driving a Benz, but
driving a nice car comes pretty standard in Orange County.
 
My dad threw a fit when mom told him
she and Derrick were buying it for me.
 

My parents have
been divorced since I was five.
 
My
dad moved to a tiny, forgotten town in Upper Michigan shortly after.
 
He gave me five thousand dollars for my
sixteenth birthday so that I could buy a practical car that ran well, but my
mom would have none of it.
 
She
forced me to put the five grand in the bank, and she and my stepdad surprised
me with the Benz.
 
My dad was
outraged.
 
The Benz cost more than
his house.
 
I felt bad for him, but
I really couldn’t turn down a brand new Mercedes, now could I?

“Kendra!”

I recognize Lexi’s
voice and turn around to see her dancing toward me in platform sandals and a barely-there,
sundress.
 
Lexi is a beautiful waif
with a trendy, blonde pixie cut and perfectly tanned skin.
 
We’ve been best friend since fourth
grade.
 

She pulls her Louis
Vuitton purse over her shoulder, hustling the best she can on three-inch platforms
to catch up with me, and throws her arms around me like she didn’t just see me yesterday
when we went to Laguna Beach.

“Hey, girl,” I say,
linking arms with her as we walk toward the only class we have together this
year.

“Lexi! Kendra!”
Hillary Brooks waves at us from across the quad.
 
We both wave back in unison.

A girl with
notebooks held to her chest and her eyes glued to the ground passes us, nearly
crashing into me.
 
“Oh, excuse me,
Kendra,” she says.
 
I don’t even
know who she is.

A pack of boys, who
need to pull their damn pants up, look Lexi up and down as we pass the lunch
tables.

“In your dreams!”
Lexi announces.
 
She shakes her
head and resumes scanning the busy campus with eager eyes.
 
I smile to myself as she searches.
 
I know exactly who she’s looking for.

“He’s not here,” I finally
say.

She brings her
attention back to me and plays stupid.
 
“What are you talking about?
 
Who’s not here?”

I give her a smile.
 
“Troy.
 
He’s not back from Hawaii yet.”

She sneers and
pretends to be insulted.
 
“What
makes you think I care where Troy McCall is?”

I raise my eyebrows
in question.
 
“Don’t you?”

Her stern
expression fades and is replaced with pleading eyes.
 
“Okay, yes.
 
Am
I that obvious?
 
And how do you
know Troy’s still in Hawaii?”

We reach our
classroom and are still chatting as we take a couple of seats in the back row.
 
Our conversation mingles with the
commotion of thirty high school kids recapping their summer vacations.
 

“Yes, you are that
obvious.
 
And Jeff Weaver told me Troy
wouldn’t be back until next week.
 
His dad is still working.”

Troy’s dad is a
mega billionaire and brings Troy with him every time he travels to Hawaii for
business.
 
His dad is probably one
of those Ivy Leaguer pretty boys and has a whole other family in Hawaii.
 
Lexi thinks she’s in love with him.
 

“This is the year,
Kendra.
 
Troy will finally be mine,
I can feel it.”
 
She laughs like
she’s being sarcastic, but I know that’s been her dream since we were twelve.

The teacher calls the
class to attention and goes through the roll book, making sure we’re all here.
 
There are a couple of names I don’t
recognize, and I turn to look at their owners after they say
here
, so I can learn who they are.
 

The teacher calls a
Nicolás Veneto, which captures my attention.
 
I don’t know the name.
 
Maybe he’s a hot transfer student from Italy or something.
 
I listen for the responding
here
and look in the direction of the quiet
voice.

Even while seated,
he appears to be unusually tall.
 
Square-framed
reading glasses rest on a straight nose.
 
His dark, wavy hair hangs down over one eye, blocking the rest of his
face from my view.
 
I think I’d
remember this guy if I’d seen him before.
 
It must be his first day at this school.
 
I glance at him a few more times over the next forty-five
minutes.

When the bell
rings, Lexi tells me she needs to see the counselor and that she’ll see me at
lunch.
 
I take my time getting my
books together, keeping my eye on Nicolás.
 

He crams a notebook
into his backpack and slides out of his desk.
 
He’s wearing a faded Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt and loose,
black jeans supported by a studded leather belt.
 
There is a silver barbell pierced through his left eyebrow.
 
He has both ears pierced with small,
black beads.
 
A fancy script is
tattooed down his left arm.
 
I
guess this guy likes pain.
 
He has
perfectly pouty lips that are begging to be kissed.
 
And is that eyeliner smudged under those deep brown eyes?
 
He definitely has an interesting style.
 
I wonder if he’s trying to get attention
with the way he dresses, or if he’s trying to push people away.

Before he can reach
the door, I rush up next to him. “Hi,” I say.
 
No, I’m not shy.
 
And since I know almost everyone in the senior class, it bothers me that
I don’t know him.

He looks me over
quickly before walking into the hallway, obviously not as curious about me as I
am about him.

I keep up with him
and try again.
 
“I’m Kendra.
 
Are you new here?”

His eyebrows
scrunch together like he’s thinking about something important.
 
“No,” he says plainly.

I try to keep up
with his quick stride.
 
“Oh,
sorry.
 
It’s just… I haven’t seen
you before.”

He abruptly stops
walking and looks down at me.
 
He
towers over me.
 
I can tell he’s
thinking about something as he looks over my face, but he doesn’t say anything.
 
His eyes are so dark under his
thinly framed glasses.
 
They are
penetrating.
 
It almost makes me
uncomfortable.

I’m about to say
something to break the awkward silence, when he says, “Uh, okay then.”
 
He blinks a few times and looks to the
ground.
 
“See you later,” he says,
and walks away.

Maybe he doesn’t
want to be noticed.
 
Maybe he
is
trying to push people away.
 
I try to shrug off my awkward meeting
with Nicolás, but during my next two classes, I can’t stop thinking about him.
 

At lunch, I find Lexi
sitting at our usual table with Candace and Megan.
 
The three of them are gossiping about someone.
 
It doesn’t take me long to discover there
is a new senior that started school today.

Lexi peeks around
Megan, searching for him.
 
“Megan,
he’s in your history class, right?
 
Why didn’t
I
get Mrs. Dillard
for history?”
 
She draws that last
part out in pure drama-queen style.

Megan takes a bite
of her apple.
 
“Kendra, you should
see this guy.
 
It’s about time we
had some fresh meat around here.”

“Maybe he’s gay,”
Candace says, poking at her salad with her fork.
 
“All the hot ones are gay.”

“He can’t be gay!” Lexi
whines.
 
“If he’s as hot as Megan
says, he
cannot
be gay. That would be
a tragedy for the female species.”

Megan suddenly gasps.
 
“There he is!”

We poke our heads
up like meerkats, craning our necks to look for him.

Lexi’s eyes grow to
saucers, and I know she has spotted him.
 
“Oh. My. God.
 
Look at that guy.”

I follow her
gaze.
 
Oh my God
is right.
 
I
feel my breath actually stop.