Perfect. Part 20

That sounded serious. No, more like ominous. Surely he wasn't hinting at marriage? Okay, that's purely speculation on my part, but if that's what he meant, better to sever this relations.h.i.+p right away.

Because while I might have thought I loved him once, I never considered marrying him. Or anyone. When I was little, my friends would gush over wedding gowns and honeymoons.

But I saw too many people flush decades together right down the toilet over money or kids or meaningless flings.

My own parents chose to stay married, which I think is rather funny, since they show about as much affection for each other as pit bulls in a ring.

Tying the knot means slipping a noose around love and choking it to death.

So Now Or Never I dial Sean's number. He answers before it rings, as if waiting, phone in hand, for me to call. Oh, thank G.o.d. I swore if I didn't hear from you, I was coming over there and camping in your driveway. Did you get my last message? I got in! And I'm going to play for Stanford.

I can picture his face, all lit up with pride and excitement. I have to hurry, or I'll lose my nerve.

"Sean, listen. I'm not sure why you thought we would be together after this year. I never promised that. And what happened the other night made it clear to me that I can never be what you need. You deserve someone who will love you with all her heart. That isn't me. I'm sorry."

I knew he would take it hard, but did not expect the rabid way he comes back at me now. What the f.u.c.k are you saying? That it's over? Because we finally had s.e.x? You can't be serious!

"Not just because we finally had s.e.x."

d.a.m.n it. I'm crying. "Because it didn't mean anything. I should be dying to have it again. I'm not."

He is quiet for several very long seconds. Finally he says, Cara, I love you and that wouldn't change even if we never had s.e.x again.

I'll jack off forever, if that's what you want. His voice slices the ether between us. But I will never let you go. He gives me no choice but to say, "We're over, Sean. I'm sorry, but the longer we try to hold on to each other, the more it will hurt when we finally fall apart. This is good-bye."

I Think I Hear Him Sob As I hit the off b.u.t.ton. That so did not go well. It was the right thing to do. So why do I feel empty? Why must I make things black and white?

Okay, I know the answer. Like it or not, I take after my parents. Neither acknowledges hues of gray. Really, though, it's my choice. Either deal the cards faceup on the table or withdraw from the game. I'm sick of bluffing. This is where most girls would pick up the phone, call their best friend, seek sympathy.

Not me. Oh, I've got more than a few so-called friends, but none I'm close to. Something else I inherited-lack of trust. I wish I had someone to talk to. Only one person comes to mind.

Guess it's time to let out the bad air.

Straight to voice mail. "Hey, you.

I've been thinking about you...."

Screw that. Try the truth for once.

"Uh, some stuff happened and it would be really great to talk to you.

Call me when you can. Oh, this is Cara." Stupid. She would know who.

Wouldn't she? Oh my freaking G.o.d.

What's wrong with me? I dump Sean and my ego suffers? Freud would no doubt have something deep to say about that. I can't just sit here stressing, so I fire up my laptop, check my e-mail. There are a dozen from Sean, all sent before we talked. Delete. Without. Opening.

The usual junk mail. Nothing more.

I head on over to Facebook. No new wall posts on my profile page.

On my home page, more messages from you-know-who. Delete.

One from my cousin, Tiffany, asking about summer plans. Looks like she's getting married. You go, girl. A shout-out from Shantell, reminding me about her graduation party. How could I forget? It's all she's talked about for weeks. And now it looks like I'm going solo.

Messages read, I return to my home page, where status alerts announce all the news that's fit to know. I'm just about out of there when an update pops into view. What the...? Sean is cyber-screaming to our mutual crowd: CAN'T BELIEVE THE b.i.t.c.h BROKE UP WITH ME!!! I knew he was upset, but I didn't think he'd go public, at least not so soon. Comments start to appear.

Most paint me a villain. A wh.o.r.e, lacking a heart. Some are written by "friends."

Enough Already I can understand vitriol from his team- mates. Guys stick together, and those particular guys have muscles beneath the double-thick plates of their skulls, where brain matter really should be.

But the nastiest remarks come from girls. A couple are on the cheer squad.

The one who comments, CARA'S A s.l.u.t would know what that word means from experience. But I would never post that on Facebook. Not even now.

I want to respond. React. Deny.

But that would only stoke the coals of gossip, churn them into a raging firestorm. Better to keep quiet, let the coals burn down into ash.

I turn off my computer. Lie on my bed, hoping for sleep to toss me somewhere else for a while.

Somewhere deep. Dark. Empty.

Kendra

Empty Is the perfect state of being.

Nothing inside to anchor you. Nothing inside to chain you down, keep you from living your dreams.

Empty, almost weightless, you are an eyelash afloat on a blink of breeze. You can rise above tension and worry, loosed from the grip of gravity.

Adrift in thermal lift, you ride the wing of freedom and soar.

Empty, you are Eve in Eden.

Empty, you are what you were meant to be.

Thank G.o.d For Jenna My messed-up little sister always manages to take the glare off of me.

I mean, here I am, in the red-hot seat, getting the fifth degree from my loser dad and his wife-to-be (like she has any place talking all "mom" to me), when in sambas Jenna with her boyfriend. I have to admit I felt sorry for the guy. He had no idea that Dad is stuck in the preacivil rights era. Racism is alive and well and hanging 'em high in the Rudolph Mathieson home.

Downright nasty of Jenna to bring Andre to lunch. She knew Dad would make a miserable scene. That way, she didn't have to make her own scene about the wedding.

Wait. Okay, that was brilliant. d.a.m.n her.

Something Obvious To me, though I'm pretty sure Dad missed it completely-Andre is flat crazy in love with Jenna. It was in his eyes, how he couldn't pry them off of her.

It was in the way his fingers played music along the keyboard of her hand.

In the way he kept his mouth shut just as long as he could. Even when Dad got right up spit-close in his face, Andre kept hold of his temper. Some people might have interpreted it as not having a spine, but I could tell it was for Jenna. And despite the awful way she set him up, he offered her the out. To go or stay, her choice. Yep, he's definitely got a major thing for her. Poor guy.

One Thing I Have To Respect About Jenna is she does not apologize for who she is or the things she does.

In that way, she takes after our father.

I am more like Mom, saying I'm sorry for everything, even when I don't mean it. The one thing I refuse to apologize for is my weight. Do you know what kind of damage an eating disorder can do to your body? b.i.t.c.h. I do not have an eating disorder. I know exactly what I eat and exactly how to burn it off. That sounds like order to me, not disorder.

You're too thin. Says who? Not Xavier.

Not the big photogs. Not even my mom.

My real mom. Not some phony wannabe.

I will be here for you. Yeah, right.

Not like I want her to be. Definitely not like I asked her to be. She means nothing to me. Why should I mean anything to her?

Glad I didn't mention the rhinoplasty.

I'm sure she would have had something to say about that, too. It's scheduled for Monday. I'm getting a little nervous.

Andre's mom has been very sweet.

Don't worry. I've performed hundreds, with very few complications. You'll be just fine. You don't smoke, do you?

Didn't think so, but needed to make sure. Smoking increases the risk of bleeding. Alcohol, too. I can tell you don't drink. You're much too slender.

Slender. Not thin or skinny. Or anorexic.

I'm Online Reading real-life nose job stories when I get an instant message from Bobby. HEY. ARE YOU ON FACEBOOK? GET THAT WAY. CHECK OUT SEAN'S PAGE.

Bobby hardly ever IMs me. RIGHT NOW!

Something's definitely up. Oh, wow.

I can't believe Cara broke up with Sean.

Neither can half the senior cla.s.s. Glad I'm not her. They're chopping her into little pieces: ... IS A s.l.u.t ANYWAY ...ALWAYS WAS FULL OF IT ...NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU And now: ...SERIOUS COMMITMENT ISSUES YEAH, MUST RUN IN THE FAMILY.

That last one from Aubree. Obviously referring to Conner and me. People really should mind their own business.

Except, of course, Sean made it pretty much everyone's business. Before I become an obvious topic of conversation, however, I think I'll speak up and let them know I'm lurking here. HEY, SEAN, I type. SORRY TO HEAR ABOUT YOU AND CARA. CALL ME IF YOU NEED TO TALK, OKAY?.

I sign off. Get the heck out of there before I see any more comments I can't stomach. For some stupid reason, now I feel hungry. Freaking stress. A small shot of sugar should do the trick. One Jolly Rancher. Watermelon. Twenty-three point three calories. If I go for a bike ride, I can treat myself to three. Game on.

Closing In On April, less than a week away, winter wants to hang on this year. Late afternoon, it will be cold once the sun nose-dives behind the mountain. Glad I wore sweats, even though they make me look like Blimp Girl. I'll ride back roads. Tires pumped up, I start on flat ground. Have to warm up a little before heading uphill. It's been a while since I pedaled anything, and even in high gear, my legs start to burn fairly quickly. I like the burn, like the way my muscles feel when they contract. I should do this more.

The last time I went bike riding was with Conner. It was summer, and his tanned legs were sensational to watch, pumping pedals.

The morning was hot, and once in a while he would pour water over his head. His long hair dripped, catching sun, creating a halo.

G.o.d, I loved him so much, and the memory is a new razor blade. Too sharp to feel its slice.

Flat streets segue to a mild incline. I bear down on the pedals. My breathing shallows.

Pant. Pant. I think of Conner again, how we stopped our bikes beneath the big trees at the park. Walked them into the heart of the woods, rested them against old pines, nestled ourselves into the thick needle bed.

The breeze stirred gently, scenting the air with superheated evergreen. Conner pushed me back into the cus.h.i.+oned earth, and when he kissed me, it stole my breath away. Like now. Pant. Pant. We panted then. Together.

The Hill Grows Steeper And the memory grows deeper with every breath I pull into my lungs.

For the first time ever, the love we made was unhurried. It's good slow, he said. Do you like it this way? I did but wondered just when he'd decided that, and how. Still, I didn't dare ask him. Instead I just let him. And when he finished, he stayed very close to me, tracing one finger in circles on my skin.

Don't lose any more weight, he said.

Don't you want to look like a woman?

That surprised me too. "I thought you'd like me better this way."

He shook his head, rustling the needles.

Don't believe the hype. Curves are hot.

To The West The sun hides behind shadowed granite cliffs. But despite the noticeable drop in temperature, sweat soaks into the fleece beneath my arms, and my hair dampens.

Suddenly I am starving, every calorie taken in today completely expended.

My heart quakes, stuttering in my chest.

Time to turn around. Head home. Downhill.

As I swing the bike across the yellow line, I feel my face go white, as if the saw-slice of memory has opened my head, let blood.

My stomach, empty, heaves nothingness.

I begin to s.h.i.+ver. My arms start to shake and I lose control of the handlebars.

Buzzing. Horrible buzzing. My hands grab for the brakes. Too late. I'm falling...

Through The Fog Fog? Where did that come from? No matter, it's here, and the only thing that makes it lift is pain. Jolts of pain.