Flawless

by Lara Chapman

  As soon as he’s out of the house, I unplug the toaster and dig out the bread. “Why in God’s name are you massacring this defenseless bread?”

  “He was hungry,” she says, like that explains the two slices of Texas toast and slab of cheese she’d been forcing into the toaster.

  “So you thought you’d burn the house down?”

  “I was trying to make him a grilled cheese,” she whines, dropping onto the stool in defeat. “This is exhausting.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, tossing the mess into the trash. “I’ll take over. Just relax.”

  Kristen grabs my Sonic cup and takes a swallow. “Heaven in a cup,” she says, taking several more deep draws on the straw.

  Knowing Kristen’s kitchen almost as well as my own, I grab a skillet from the cabinet, the loaf of Texas toast from the pantry, and butter and cheese from the fridge.

  The door slams closed, but Kristen doesn’t look up. She keeps her lips on the straw and sucks the drink in big gulps. “Here you go,” Rock says, putting my nearly empty backpack on the counter.

  “Thanks,” I answer, keeping my eyes on the food in front of me.

  “You taking over kitchen duty?” Rock asks me.

  “What can I say? Cooking’s my passion.”

  “Why’d you come over? Everything okay?” Kristen asks, getting herself back into the conversation.

  “Do I need a reason?” I reply, eyes still on the skillet, my back to Kristen and Rock.

  “You don’t need a reason, but you almost always have one.”

  I nod. “Something really weird happened after school today.”

  “What?” Kristen asks.

  “Jay was waiting for me by my car.”

  Rock lets out a little half grunt. “Why would he do that?”

  “Hel-lo,” Kristen sings. “He’s totally hot for Sarah. Can’t you tell by the way he looks at her? I swear, Sarah, that boy’s got it bad for you.”

  “After the brush-off you gave him at lunch, I’m surprised he had the guts to face you again,” Rock says, eyes narrowed.

  “That’s what I was hoping,” I say, redirecting my attention to the skillet to flip the trio of grilled sandwiches.

  “I swear, as long as I live, I will never understand you,” Kristen says, shaking her head like a disappointed teacher. “You don’t know a good thing when you’ve got it.”

  Without answering, I slide the spatula under the buttery sandwiches and place them on a bright blue platter. I cut them into quarters and set them on the bar so we can all reach them.

  “So, anyway,” I say after putting the plate between the three of us, “he said some things that really made me think.”

  Rock pops one whole quarter sandwich into his mouth and gives me a thumbs-up.

  “Like what?” Kristen asks, grabbing a sandwich and taking a healthy bite. I, on the other hand, only manage to pick at the crust of one of the sandwiches. My conversation with Jay has my stomach in knots.

  But watching Rock with his elbows on the table, attention focused entirely on what I’m saying, I realize I can’t come right out and ask Kristen what I’d intended. The last thing I want to do is point out more of my faults with him standing right in front of me.

  I shake my head. “Never mind.”

  Kristen slaps her hands on the counter. “Would you please just tell me already?”

  Of course she won’t drop it. “It was nothing,” I hedge.

  “Come on, Sarah,” Rock says. “It’s just us.”

  When I look up, Kristen and Rock are sitting side by side, but not touching. Both of them are watching me way too closely, letting me know there’s no way I’m getting out of this. “It was just something he said.”

  “Which was …,” Kristen leads.

  “Stupid, really. That’s what it was.”

  “Am I going to have to pull this out of you, word by word?” she asks. “Because you know I will.”

  Rock leans back in his stool, arms folded across his chest. The look on his face is very overprotective, like a big brother would have. And I guess I should think it’s sweet he wants to protect me, but the heat spreading across my chest is anything but sisterly love.

  “For starters, he claims he’s had some sort of crush on me since we started high school.”

  “I knew it!” Kristen squeals.

  “Calm down,” I grumble. “First of all, you most certainly did not know it. If you had, you would’ve been pushing me to go out with him for years. Secondly, I’d bet anything he’s just saying that. There’s no way Jay, or any guy for that matter, has been eyeballing me for four years. How could I not notice that?”

  Kristen pouts from her seat, angry I haven’t jumped on the “Jay for Boyfriend” campaign.

  Rock leans forward, stretching his arms across the counter that separates us. “How can you possibly think a guy wouldn’t jump at the chance to go out with you?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “History.”

  Kristen speaks quietly, eyes on the counter. “You really haven’t given anyone a chance.”

  The sandwich I’d been holding drops onto the plate. Of all the things I expected Kristen to say, that wasn’t it. “Come again?”

  “Think about it,” she says.

  “I’ve thought about it plenty.” When I hear how defensive my voice sounds, I cringe.

  Rock raises an eyebrow at me, as if he has a clue what it’s like to be teased his entire life about something he can’t control.

  “What did you say when he told you that?” Kristen asks, finally meeting my eyes again.

  “I didn’t have time to say much of anything,” I say. “He jumped right into his second beef with me, rambling on about how I push people away, but that’s just more lunacy. I mean, sure, there are people I totally avoid, but that’s only because they’ve given me grief over my nose.”

  Kristen doesn’t say anything, just looks at me.

  “He also asked me out again,” I say.

  “Again?” Rock asks.

  Smiling, Kristen laughs. “That’s because he really likes you. What did you say?”

  “No, of course.”

  “You should be careful, Sarah,” Kristen says. “You can only say no so many times before he’ll quit asking.”

  Rock puts his brown eyes on me. “Is that what you want, Sarah?”

  Staring at Rock, I want to scream out how much I want him and only him. I want to tell him that no one will ever come close to measuring up now that I’ve met him. That I’ve poured my heart into the Facebook and e-mail messages and how can he not see that it’s me? But I wisely keep those words tucked safely inside my throbbing head.

  I ignore him, facing Kristen instead. “You never answered my question. Do I push people away?”

  Kristen’s smile falls. “The answer’s complicated,” she says.

  My heart stutters when I realize she isn’t going to disagree with Jay. “So you think I do push people away? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”

  Kristen leans across the counter to get closer to me. “No one knows you better than I do, right?”

  I nod in answer; there’s absolutely no one who knows me better than Kristen.

  “Well, I think Jay might have a teeny tiny point,” she says, fingers held up with a minuscule space between them.

  “And what would that point be?”

  “Look, it’s not your fault. It’s human nature to protect yourself from getting hurt. But you know as well as I do that Jay Thomas isn’t out to break your heart.”

  “Come on, Kristen. Think about it. It’s not like guys are burning up the cell-phone satellites calling me every night, so how could I possibly push them away?”

  “But you’ve spent years putting up a wall to keep people from hurting you. You can be so defensive. Maybe it’s intimidating.”

  Part of me is completely proud of that statement (not that I believe it’s entirely true). After all the wisecracks about my monstrous nose, I think it’
s only fair that they’re a tad bit intimidated by me. The best defense is a strong offense, right? Didn’t someone famous say that?

  “I wish you knew how amazing you are,” Kristen says quietly.

  I smile, so thankful I have her.

  Rock pulls himself forward and rests his tan arms on the counter between us. “So the question stands.”

  “What question?” I ask, lost.

  “Do you want Jay to quit asking you out?”

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I try to picture myself with Jay, and it’s not an entirely unpleasant sight. We’re both blond, attractive, and have great smiles. Even so, I just can’t force the image to come together in a convincing way.

  When I close my eyes, there’s only one guy.

  Slowly opening my eyes, I look at Rock. I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. Or maybe not. I definitely don’t need to hear how much he pities me.

  I nod my head, then pull my eyes from Rock, afraid I might jump over the counter and start kissing him as if I have a right to. “Yeah. I want Jay to quit asking me out.”

  “Omigod,” Kristen says, fully exasperated. “Ron White’s right. You can’t fix stupid.”

  “Ron White?” Rock asks, shaking his head like he’s just woken up from a dream.

  “Please tell me you know who he is. He’s one of the comedians from Blue Collar Comedy. Tell me you’ve heard of him.” Kristen’s got one hand on her hip, disbelieving.

  “Oh yeah. Sure,” he mumbles.

  I put the plate in the dishwasher along with the skillet and spatula. “Don’t forget that’s in there,” I tell Kristen.

  “You’re leaving?” she whines. You’d think she wasn’t sitting here with the hottest guy to ever walk through her front door.

  “Yeah, I shouldn’t have barged in.” I smile at Kristen, then at Rock. “You kids have fun.”

  Before I can grab my backpack, Rock lifts it from the counter and puts it on his shoulder. “I’ll help you out,” he says.

  “Thanks,” I say, reaching for my backpack. “But I’ve been lugging that thing around for years. I can manage.”

  “Don’t bother arguing with him,” Kristen says, slurping the last of my drink. “He’s totally hardwired to be a gentleman.”

  I shrug. “See you in the morning, Kris.”

  “Okay,” she says with a sad smile, like she’s about to face judgment from God himself. If Rock weren’t standing six inches from me, I’d drill her about it. The only thing she should be feeling right now is pure joy. She’s beautiful and has Rock in her back pocket. What could possibly be wrong?

  Rock puts his hand on my back and guides me from the kitchen, keeping me from asking Kristen what’s bothering her. But I don’t fight him and promise myself I’ll call her later tonight.

  Once outside, Rock walks next to me with a lazy comfort and ease that’s about as charming as it gets. I swear, the guy doesn’t have a single insecure bone in his body.

  He opens the back door to my car and drops the backpack on the seat. “So,” he says.

  “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, wondering why the air around us has suddenly become thick, making it hard to breathe.

  He leans closer to me, eyes on mine. “Sure you’re okay?” he asks.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” I practically whisper. Honest to God, his face is a foot from mine and I’m struck positively stupid.

  “You seemed pretty upset about Jay,” he says, eyes still fastened on mine in that completely unnerving way he has. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the guy could see every thought racing through my mind.

  I shake my head. “I’m fine. Thanks, though. And thanks for the help with my bag.” Which, I realize, I never used. Thank God he never asked why I needed it.

  “Sarah—” Rock says, then stops.

  I wait for a second, and when he doesn’t say anything more, I ask, “Yes?”

  “We’re friends, right?”

  Friends.

  The word slams into me like I’ve run headfirst into a brick wall.

  “Of course,” I tell him. Friends is all we’ll ever be.

  “And you trust me?” he asks, still close enough for me to enjoy the heat from his body.

  “Of course,” I repeat, worried he’s about to unload the brutal facts on me. Something to the tune of “If you’d just fix your nose …”

  He rocks back on his heels, eyes shifting to the ground between us. “The truth is … I think you’re incredible.”

  Incredible? Did he just call me … incredible? I stand frozen with my heart doing Olympic-worthy gymnastics in my chest.

  He raises his eyes back to mine, a grin on his face. “You don’t believe me.”

  I won’t even let my brain go where my heart has already raced. I won’t let myself believe Rock actually likes me. Really likes me. And so what if he did? My loyalty would still be to Kristen. It always will be.

  I smile back at him. “I think you’re a really good friend. A protective friend. And I really appreciate it, but—”

  Rock shakes his head, impatient. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then I’m lost,” I tell him.

  He clears his throat abruptly. “I don’t know how to—” he begins, then stops when Kristen opens the front door.

  “Y’all lose something out here?” she calls from the front door.

  I close my eyes, willing him to finish what he was going to say. It could have been anything.

  I don’t know how to read braille.

  I don’t know how to crochet.

  I don’t know how to tell you I love you.

  I nearly laugh out loud at the last thought. Geez, maybe I do need to get out of town this weekend.

  Even when I look around him to answer her, Rock doesn’t move, keeps his eyes on me. “Just chatting,” I call back with a small wave.

  “So …,” I say, wishing he’d tell me what he’s thinking. There’s something going on in that gorgeous head of his and I’m dying to know what it is.

  I open the car door and slide into my seat. Say something, Rock.

  Rock holds the door, an unreadable expression on his face. “Good to see you tonight, Sarah.”

  “You, too, Rock.” I pull the door from his grip and close it, but roll the window down, giving him one last chance to say whatever was on his mind.

  His eyes are on me; his unspoken words are hanging between us. “See you around,” he says quietly, then taps the hood twice before he turns around and strides back up the sidewalk, where Kristen’s waiting for him.

  Even as I pull from the curb, I can still feel Rock’s eyes following me, his unspoken words now question marks swirling around in my head.

  There is no cosmetic for beauty like happiness.

  —MARGUERITE GARDINER BLESSINGTON

  Chapter Eighteen

  When I get home, I find Mom reading on the couch, feet enjoying the warm vibrating water of her favorite footbath. It’s one of those supercool ones that keep the water hot for hours.

  “Hi, sweetie,” she calls over her shoulder as I enter the living room. The smell of lavender fills the room. Those aromatherapy hippies know what they’re talking about. The scent immediately loosens the tightness in my shoulders.

  I drop my backpack and purse on the floor and fall into the cushion next to her.

  “Tough day?” she asks, dropping the book and grabbing my hand for a squeeze.

  “Confusing,” I tell her.

  “Feel like talking about it?”

  One of my favorite things about Mom is that she doesn’t force me to talk about anything. It’s always my choice. And nine times out of ten, I talk. A lot.

  I tell her about the things Jay told me, right down to the impossible-to-believe story that he’d had a crush on me for years.

  When I finish telling her how our conversation ended, Mom stays quiet. Her eyes are soft, intense, like she’s choosing her approach with me very carefully.

  “Jus
t say it,” I tell her.

  “Sweet Sarah,” she says. “How can you be so smart and still so …”

  “So what?” I demand when she pauses.

  “So unaware,” she finishes.

  I stare at her like she’s officially lost her mind. Because, let’s be honest, she has. “I know you’re still reeling from the whole Jen thing, but that’s your issue. Don’t make it mine.”

  “This has absolutely nothing to do with Jen,” she says, spitting out Jen’s name like she just swallowed a huge gulp of sour milk, “and everything to do with you.”

  I laugh out loud because if I don’t, I seriously might cry. Why can’t she just support me 100 percent, no questions asked?

  She reaches down and turns off the footbath, then dries her feet with the towel in her lap. She sits cross-legged on the cushion, facing me. “Sarah, I know it’s hard to believe, but I was your age once. And I had the same nose you do.”

  “You keep saying that, but I’ve never seen a single picture that proves it.” Trust me. I’ve done plenty of digging for old pictures and yearbooks over the years, but I’ve never unearthed a single photo of her pre-rhinoplasty.

  “That’s because I moved heaven and earth to erase that part of my life. I didn’t have the confidence you have. There wasn’t a single day I wanted to keep that nose. Not one single day.”

  None of this is new information. Mom’s told me a million times about how she saved every penny from her after-school job at the mall for three years to get her nose job. It’s clear she felt imprisoned by her nose.

  “You hated your nose. Got it. What does that have to do with me?” I ask.

  Mom sighs a deep breath, then speaks so quietly I have to strain to hear her. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you’re not as tough as you let others believe?”

  “Who said I was tough?” I ask, matching her tone. As much as I don’t want to have this conversation, something deep in my gut tells me I need to. Not that Mom would ever let me escape now. She’s got me and we both know it.

  Mom smiles, a sad little smile, one full of regret. “You’ve been fighting to prove that since the day you were born, Sarah.”

  I shake my head. “Whatever.”