Flawless

by Lara Chapman

  She raises her head, eyes sparkling with a mischief I haven’t seen since we put shaving cream in Priscilla Hart’s bra while she showered after a volleyball game. “What’d you just say?”

  “That being yourself should be more than enough?” This is my mantra. And she was the one who first taught it to me.

  “No! About you talking for me. That’s the answer!” She bounces on the swing, threatening to bring the roof down on us.

  I hop off the swing and stand in front of her. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t a ventriloquist and you don’t have a hole in your back for my hand.”

  “Not in person! We’d never pull that off.”

  Honestly. She’s working my last nerve.

  “Give up?” she asks.

  “Will that shut you up?”

  Kristen laughs, a maniacal sound that sends Ringo under the bed. If I thought I’d fit, I’d follow.

  “It’s so obvious,” she says. “We’ll talk online. Except you can write to him as me.” Kristen’s pointing at me and then herself, her ponytail bouncing up and down as she nods, reminding me of an excruciatingly perky flight attendant.

  For the first time in my life, words fail me. I stare at her, pushing away the spark of resentment coming to life inside me. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Totally,” she whispers excitedly, her hands clapping under her chin.

  “It’ll never work. He’s too smart to fall for something so lame.” And I truly think writing to Rock as Kristen might kill me. Because he’s absolutely perfect. For me.

  When I take a breath to continue the list of reasons why we shouldn’t do this, she drops the bomb. The one thing she knows will get me every time.

  “I would do it for you.” Her eyes turn teary and her voice is like a whisper. “You know I would.”

  And she has me. Because the honest-to-God truth is that she would do it for me. She’d do anything I asked. She always has.

  Like the time I fell asleep with gum in my mouth and woke up with it matted in my hair. Mom hauled me to Penny’s Pamper Palace to have it cut out and Kristen had her hair cut the exact same awful way. Or when we were in seventh grade and Mae Schroeder invited every single person in our class to her thirteenth birthday party except me, and Kristen jumped in with an impromptu party of her own, taking every last A-list kid with her. Mae spent her long-awaited birthday with a handful of geeks and wannabes while Kristen and I partied it up with everyone else.

  I can’t even visualize Rock in my head right now, because it’s not about him anymore. It’s about Kristen. My best friend. In my mind, there’s not much of a choice.

  If I have to choose between Kristen and a guy, or Kristen and myself, it’ll be Kristen every time. I can’t imagine doing anything to purposely hurt her.

  I sit on the swing beside her and pull my legs up, resting my chin on my knees. “I’ll think about it, but that’s all I can promise.”

  The moment I walk into journalism the following day, I regret my decision. Seriously. I’m totally counting on some tremendous karma payback for this kind of sacrifice.

  Rock and Kristen are cozied up in our usual place and he’s laughing at something she said. It’s not until I drop my books on my desk that either one of them acknowledges me.

  “Hey,” Kristen says, keeping her eyes on Rock.

  “What’s so funny?” I regret the words the second they fly out of my mouth because I know how insecure I sound. Like some sort of wannabe clamoring to belong. Rock turns all of his attention to me, something I’m entirely uncomfortable with, especially when he takes the cursory pause when his eyes reach my nose. It takes everything inside me to not cover my face with something. A Boeing jet would do the trick.

  When he finally pulls his eyes back to mine, he smiles. “I asked Kristen who her favorite poet was and she said Shel Silverstein.”

  “I was like totally kidding.” Kristen shoots me a wide-eyed SOS look.

  “Of course you were,” I say. “Shel Silverstein’s a great children’s poet.”

  “I agree completely,” Rock says, his eyes smiling. “I think ‘One Inch Tall’ is a remarkable piece of poetry, spotlighting the plight of the little people worldwide.”

  “Right.” Kristen nods her head in serious agreement.

  I force a laugh, giving a pointed look to Kristen. Does she honestly think he’s being serious? Out of habit, I come to her rescue. “Hands down, Kristen’s favorite poet is Maya Angelou.”

  I have obviously chosen her fake favorite well because she sits up in her seat, a surprised smile on her face. “I know who that is!”

  Rock lowers his eyebrows and narrows his gaze at Kristen. “I hope so, since she’s your favorite poet and all.”

  Realizing the absurdity of her comment, she flashes Rock one of her signature smiles. “What I meant was that … well, I’ve actually met her.”

  No, no, no, no, no … she did not just say that.

  “You? Have met Maya Angelou? Quite possibly the greatest contemporary African American poet?”

  Obviously, Kristen can’t read the stunned look on my face, because she nods carelessly. Like she’s actually telling the truth. If she can pull this off, she needs to head for Hollywood. Screw college.

  “How’d you manage that?” Rock asks, obviously impressed. “I mean, from everything I’ve read about her, she’s a pretty private person.”

  “How’d I meet her?” Kristen repeats. I know I should rescue her yet again, but I’m too curious to see how she digs her way out. Instead of looking directly at her, I busy myself by rummaging in my purse.

  “Yeah, I mean, don’t tell me you know Oprah, too,” Rock chuckles.

  “Actually, Sarah set it up.” At the mention of my name in the middle of this train wreck, my hands stop moving and I glare at Kristen with a this-better-be-good look.

  Kristen continues, focusing all of her attention on Rock. “Well, Sarah’s mom’s like really famous in Houston. She’s a news anchor for channel six. You might have heard of her. Beth Burke?”

  “Beth Burke’s your mom?” Rock asks, and I’m so flattered by his attention that I forget this is the only part of Kristen’s story that’s actually true.

  “The one and only,” I say.

  Touching Rock’s arm, Kristen pushes on. “She knows everyone. Her talent is completely wasted on the news. She totally belongs on ET.” Kristen takes a deep breath before finishing her lie, which I guarantee she will later call a “tiny little fib.” “Anyway, for my sixteenth birthday, she arranged for me to meet Maya Angelou when she was in town for some event.” Kristen waves her hand in the air, like she can’t be expected to remember such unnecessary details as why Maya Angelou was actually in Houston. Because, honestly, no one just drops into Houston for a little sightseeing. It’s definitely the kind of place you visit because you have to.

  “That’s amazing,” Rock says, his focus back on me. Honestly, if he has any brains at all, he’ll know this is a total lie. It’s just too unreal to be … real.

  “Who’s your favorite poet, Rock?” Kristen asks.

  He pulls his eyes back to Kristen and leans in close. “Easy. Walt Whitman.”

  “Walt, huh?” Kristen asks, like she’s actually heard his name before. “I’m sure Sarah’s mom could arrange for you to meet him. Maybe by video or something.”

  Rock stares at Kristen for what seems like an eternity before bursting into a huge laugh. “You know what, Kristen? You’re all right.” He pats her hand, then squeezes it, and her chest turns a beautiful shade of brick red, a sure sign he’s got her attention.

  Kristen glances my direction before she says anything. “You’re okay, too, Rock. Tell you what, why don’t you give me your e-mail and maybe we can chat.”

  Rock nods his head, a big smile still spread across his face. I can’t believe it. He actually thinks she was kidding. While he scribbles his e-mail address on a sheet of notebook paper, I turn, shake my head at her, and put a finger in front of my mouth, tr
ying to shut her up.

  She totally ignores me and takes the paper he’s given her, then folds it into a neat little rectangle and slides it into her purse.

  The teacher’s voice breaks through the ridiculous conversation. “Quiet down, class. It’s time to get started.”

  When Rock faces the front of the classroom, Kristen looks at me with her hands held up in question.

  “What?” she mouths silently.

  I pull out my cell phone and text her. She glances at her vibrating cell and flips it open, and I watch the panic rise to her eyes as she reads it.

  Walt Whitman died in 1892.

  Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.

  —CONFUCIUS

  Chapter Four

  I shoot out of journalism, leaving Kristen to paw over Rock. There are some things I just don’t need to see. Like the way Rock watches Kristen shimmy in and out of her desk or the way they look like they were made to be together. They seriously put Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie to shame.

  After making a detour to the restroom, I walk into lit class to find Rock leaning on Jacobi’s desk, chatting it up like they’re old friends. Rock stops his conversation midsentence when I walk past.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Jacobi,” he says.

  “Of course,” Jacobi replies with a grin. Like he knows something we don’t.

  I try my best to act like I don’t know Rock’s following me, like I don’t feel the energy radiating off his body, like my palms always sweat when I walk into Jacobi’s class.

  Rock grabs my elbow before I can sit down. “You okay?” he asks.

  My heart drops to the soles of my feet when I meet his eyes. His brows are lowered, dark eyes full of genuine concern. He leans in close, careful to keep our conversation private. But a quick glance around the room proves he’s unsuccessful.

  I force a plastic smile across my face. “Great!” I have to admit the tone in my voice is a little manic, kind of like what happens to Mom’s voice when the teleprompter gets stuck on live television and she has to wing it. I pray my eyes don’t look as crazed as hers, too.

  “The way you darted out of journalism …,” he begins.

  My eyes take a quick glance across the room of spectators, which happens to include Jacobi. I’m not averse to attention, especially when it doesn’t center on my nose. But still, I don’t need an audience right now.

  I pull my hand from Rock’s when I answer. “I just, um, I had to make a stop.”

  He nods, but the doubt in his eyes is easy to read. “If you’re sure …”

  “Pos-i-tive,” I say, enunciating each syllable with entirely too much force and sounding like a complete and total social imbecile.

  Jacobi closes the classroom door, finally breaking everyone’s interest and prompting us to take our seats. Even when Jacobi begins talking, I can feel the heat of Rock’s gaze on my back. No matter how hard I try, I can’t focus on the lecture because my head is crammed with thoughts of how seriously my life sucks. I mean, it is totally unfair that I have finally met someone worth my time and instead of doing whatever I can to snag him for myself, I’m going to just hand him over to my best friend.

  There absolutely has to be a way out of this. Think, Sarah. Think!

  Rock taps my shoulder softly and I realize every pair of eyes in the room is staring at me. Oh. My. God. I’ve turned into that loser kid in class that never knows what’s going on.

  “Miss Burke?” Jacobi asks with an edge of irritation he typically reserves for the clueless. I’ve definitely seen him tear into plenty of loafers over the past couple years, but not me. Not even close.

  Heat floods through me and I feel the tips of my ears burning. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jacobi. Can you repeat the question?”

  Jacobi levels a look on me that would freeze water. “Rock, could you please repeat the question for Miss Burke?”

  I don’t dare turn around and face Rock, doing my best to act unaffected and failing miserably. Like I always get called out of a daydream.

  “What’s your definition of love?” Rock says, just loud enough for me to hear.

  I nod to let him know I’ve heard him and take a deep breath before answering. I think about my love for Mom, for Kristen, for Ringo. What do the three things have in common?

  “I guess my definition of love is caring about someone or something so deeply you can’t imagine your life without them.” There. That sounded pretty good, right?

  Jacobi nods while pacing the front of the classroom. “Okay. Let’s take that one step further, Miss Burke. What are the characteristics of true love?”

  Shrugging, I rack my brain for the right adjectives. “Selflessness.”

  “What else?”

  Geez. He’s totally not letting me off the hook. “Loyalty. Honesty.”

  “Anyone else want to add to that?” Jacobi asks, finally moving on with one last look that lets me know he’ll be watching me. Like I’m one of “those” kids and not a straight-A student who could have easily graduated a year early.

  I feel Rock leaning close to me and have to keep myself from shuddering when his warm breath tickles my neck. “Sure you’re okay?”

  Not trusting my voice, I shoot him a thumbs-up.

  Rock stays where he is, breathing so close to my ear that if I turned, we’d be kissing. And, God help me, I want to kiss him so bad my lips are actually tingling.

  I can feel his reluctance to believe my lie, but he finally settles back in his chair, leaving me cold and wishing like hell I wasn’t such a loyal best friend.

  Rock follows me out of class, so close on my heels that we’re practically dancing. When we make it to the hallway, he finally speaks.

  “I know we just met, but I’m pretty good at judging people, and something’s bothering you.”

  I continue snaking my way through the crowded hallway and Rock keeps right next to me, people clearing the way for him like the Red Sea parted for Moses.

  “It’s nothing,” I mumble, wondering why I feel like a jerk for lying to him. I mean, he’s almost a complete stranger, for crying out loud.

  “I know you’re not telling me the truth,” he says as we reach my locker. “But I’ll drop it.”

  I spin the lock and wrestle the old locker door open. Tossing my books inside, I step back so he can do the same. “Thank you.”

  “But if you need to talk about something, I’m a really good listener.” His eyes are intense, as if the fate of the world rests on his ability to help me. He’s freaking adorable.

  “Okay,” I say. “But, really, it’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

  He slams the locker door closed, then pulls me into the flow of hallway traffic by my hand. Not to get all melodramatic, because that’s definitely Kristen’s department, but it’s like our hands are a perfect match. There’s nothing awkward about the firm grasp he has on me, and I like it. I really, really like it.

  When we clear the mass of bodies rushing to make it to the cafeteria, Rock drops my hand, but not before Kristen sees Rock dragging me behind him. Her eyes are fixed on his hand, narrowed into deadly slits, until she realizes I’m the one with him. The familiar dimples crease her cheeks when she sees me.

  “Hey,” Rock says casually. “Been waiting long?”

  Kristen shakes her head, turning her attention back to Rock. “Just got here. Y’all ready to eat?”

  “Starved,” Rock says, shooting Kristen a quick smile and a wink.

  “Learn anything exciting in Jacobi’s class today?” she asks, sliding back into sex-kitten mode. I have to force my eyes not to roll.

  Rock shrugs with a grin. “We just talked a lot about love.”

  “Oh yeah? Like what?” Kristen asks, leading the way into the cafeteria.

  “What defines love, which is really an interesting question, because it’s different for everyone. I’ve never really thought about it before. Jacobi did his best to stump Sarah, but she had an awesome answer.”

  “Whatever,” I say, blow
ing off the compliment.

  “What’d you say?” Kristen asks, studying my face and trying to read my thoughts. She’s always been way too good at that, and I’m hoping she can’t read what I’m feeling about Rock. Because if she can, I’m going to need blasters and a force field to stay alive.

  “I don’t remember,” I answer truthfully. The whole embarrassing event was a blur in my very crowded and confused mind.

  “She said it was caring about someone so much you can’t imagine life without them.” Rock smiles at me and then looks back at Kristen. “Pretty good, huh?”

  “Very,” she says. “She’s always had a way with words.”

  Rock looks back at me. “You also said it was selfless, honest, and loyal.”

  I’m so surprised he remembers what I said that I can’t even muster a response. He was totally listening to me in class and I’m more than just a little flattered.

  “Nice,” Kristen says. “And what did you say, Rock?”

  He shakes his head. “He didn’t call on me, thank God. I’m not sure what I would have said. That’s a tough question.”

  “Totally,” Kristen agrees. “I’d hate to be in that class. Ugh.”

  “It’s not all bad. Jacobi’s pretty cool.” Rock’s defense of Jacobi makes me like him even more and I curse the rotten fate that put me in this situation. Rock grabs a sandwich plate and waits for me before following Kristen to the table.

  When Kristen stops at a table in the back corner, Rock waits for us to sit. The guy’s got some killer manners. My mom would definitely approve. I’m a little disappointed he’s sitting next to Kristen until I remember I’m supposed to be helping her snag him—or at least thinking about it. It’s enough to make me wish I had some excuse to leave the cafeteria.

  “So, I was reading last night,” Kristen begins, and my head shoots up, eyes wide. She’s totally winging it and that never goes well for her. I do the only thing I know to save her from herself. I guess it’s true what they say: old habits die hard.

  “Did you pick up the new Cosmo?”

  She stops cold and glares at me. “Very funny.”