Pushing Perfect

by Michelle Falkoff

  “How do you like it here?” I wished I could come up with more interesting things to ask him. But it turned out not to matter, because once Raj led me around the enormous staircase and opened the door hidden behind it, I heard music so loud we’d have had to scream at each other to continue our conversation.

  The music got louder and louder as we walked down the stairs, bass thumping so hard that I could almost feel my heartbeat aligning with it. When we reached the bottom, I saw that the house’s lower level had been converted into a club. There was a long bar, complete with a bartender and a backlit wall of clear and colorful bottles of liquor; there was a booth for a DJ, where a girl with multicolored dreadlocks and a full-arm sleeve of tattoos was presiding over a computer and a bunch of electronic equipment I didn’t recognize; there were strobe lights and smoke piping out of machines in the corners of the room; and of course, there was a dance floor. Packed.

  “This is really someone’s house?” I asked Raj, though I knew the answer.

  “What?” he yelled.

  “Forget it!” I yelled back, at three times the volume. “This is crazy!”

  “It’s fantastic! Let’s dance.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t even dance alone, in front of the mirror. “You go ahead.”

  “Just for one song,” he said. “No one’s paying attention, I swear. They’re all out of their tree.”

  I looked at the dance floor, at the throng of improbably elegantly dressed teenagers throwing themselves around as if they really were at a club. Total abandon. I definitely wasn’t the only one at this party who was on something.

  “Come on, one song. Then we can chat.” He looked at me with this little smile, like I was the only person in the crowded room. Maybe he was just a flirt, but he was really good at it.

  One song wouldn’t kill me.

  Raj led me out onto the dance floor. Something about the touch of his hand made me feel secure, protected, and I liked it. The music throbbed as we started to dance. Raj really knew how to move, unlike most of the other people on the dance floor, myself included. His limbs seemed almost elastic; I wondered if he was high too, even though Alex had said he didn’t drink. Just because he didn’t drink didn’t mean he wouldn’t do other things. He was such an amazing dancer that I was okay with my own stuttering moves. He was right that no one was paying attention to me, but not for the reasons he’d said. It was almost like everyone else stopped to watch him, though they made halfhearted attempts to move back and forth as if to keep him from noticing.

  One song melded into another, and then another, but that was okay; I was happy just to watch Raj in his element. His eyes were closed half the time, but he was always completely in sync with the music, as if he didn’t have to think about it, he was so totally in charge of his own body. I had the vaguest memory of feeling like that, when I was in the water, but the closest I could come now was on the treadmill, when I could forget that my body was moving and hurting and I lost myself in the music, safe in the knowledge that I was in my own house and no one could see me. For a few miles I’d be free, like Raj was now.

  As I danced, I closed my eyes and tried to get somewhere close to where he was, but I couldn’t do it. It was almost like the Novalert kept me from daydreaming, kept me focused on what I was doing, even if I didn’t necessarily want to be. That boded well for the SATs, but despite the respite it gave me from my anxiety, it wasn’t helping me with the dancing at all.

  Finally, Raj snapped out of his trance. “That was probably more than one song,” he yelled. “Shall we go somewhere else?”

  I wasn’t sure if this was just more of his flirting, but it was entertaining. I’d be able to put him off if he tried something. Assuming I wanted to. He placed his hand on the small of my back to lead me off the dance floor, into a corner of the room that was far enough away to be just a little quieter, behind one of the smoke machines. I realized my heart was still pounding along with the music.

  “This should do it,” he said.

  I wasn’t sure how private it was, but at least there was smoke to shield us from view, broken up only occasionally by a strobe light, which flashed and broke the smoke into bits of sparkling dust that I could almost reach out and touch.

  “So . . . ,” Raj said, and leaned in toward me.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. Did I really want this? It was one thing to try to get into the social scene; it was another to make out with the first guy who was nice to me.

  He leaned in a little closer. “So . . .”

  I waited. If I didn’t do anything, he could make the decision for both of us.

  And then he said it.

  “Did you bring the money?”

  9.

  How could I be so stupid? Of course that’s what this was about. Just because Raj was a big flirt didn’t mean he wanted to have some random makeout session at a party. Thank god for the Novalert, which was keeping my humiliation in check. That, and the relative dark.

  “The money . . . ,” I said. “I’ve got some, but Alex didn’t say how much.”

  “It’s not cheap,” he said. “Twenty bucks a pill, so a thirty-day supply is six hundred. But Alex said you just wanted a couple, right? One for the SAT, plus a backup, just in case?”

  Alex had gotten pretty chatty with Raj about this, given that I hadn’t even decided to buy the pills before the party. “Right,” I said, looking around.

  “Don’t worry, we’re good here,” he said. He reached into his pocket for a tiny plastic bag with a Ziploc closure. There were two glossy mint-green pills in it, like the one Alex had given me before the party. “You know how they work? Alex told you everything you need to know?”

  I nodded, not mentioning that she’d given me one to test-drive tonight. I reached into my tiny purse and dug around, pulling out two crumpled twenties.

  “That will do it,” he said, handing me the pills. I put them in my bag as fast as I could. Raj might have been sure no one could see us, but I wasn’t. I tried to wrap my brain around the fact that he was a drug dealer. He didn’t sound like one; he sounded like some sort of British lord. But he also sounded like a friend who was trying to help me. Though wasn’t that how drug dealers got you hooked?

  “Got it,” I said, my voice clipped. “Thanks.” Whatever tone I’d used before, when I’d misread the situation, I had to get rid of. This was a business transaction.

  Raj gave me a strange look, one I couldn’t read. He’d heard something in my voice, though I wasn’t sure it was what I’d meant for him to hear. “Do you have your phone with you?”

  It was pretty much the only other thing I had, besides my license and keys. I took it out of my purse and held it up.

  “Nice case,” he said.

  “It’s practical.” My phone was sheathed in a case that looked like a pastel rainbow of Legos. It was cute, but it was also indestructible, and I had a tendency to drop my phone a lot.

  “Now type in my number and call me. That way you can reach me anytime, and I’ll know it’s you.” He read off the digits before I had a chance to ask why I’d need to get in touch with him. “Just in case you have questions. Or need more. Or if you just want to say hi.”

  I was losing the ability to tell the difference between him flirting and him trying to sell me something. Either way, he was smiling. And he had a really great smile. I needed to put that thought out of my head quick. “I won’t need more,” I said, sharply. “This is a one-time thing.”

  “I understand,” he said. “Then you can just call to chat.”

  That was definitely flirting. I wondered if it was calculated. “Sure,” I said, though I had no intention of ever calling him.

  “I’m going to get back out there.” He pointed to the dance floor. “Coming?”

  “No, I’m good,” I said. “I’ll go find Alex.”

  “Good luck with that,” he said.

  I left behind his liquid movements and elastic limbs and went back outside, hoping that maybe Alex and
Bryan had done whatever it was she’d decided they were going to do and that she’d be ready to go home. No such luck. I got out my phone to text her but my feet were killing me—how did anyone stay in heels for this long, even platforms? I found a bench next to one of the statues, sat down, and took my shoes off. Stretching out my toes felt incredible.

  Outside, I wrote. Ready to go whenever you are

  I waited a minute to see if she’d write back right away, but she didn’t. Good for her—I loved that she was so in charge of what she wanted to happen. She had a plan and she’d executed it perfectly. I had my Novalert, and she had her Prospect. For her, I bet this was the best night ever.

  For me? Well, I’d made it this far without completely flipping out, which was progress and which let me feel better about the upcoming SAT. I’d met some cute guys, even if I was a terrible judge of character, and I kind of liked getting all dressed up, even if I was wearing Alex’s clothes. For the last couple of hours, I’d barely thought about my skin at all, which was rare. Maybe this wasn’t my best night ever, but it was still pretty good.

  And, as usual, the person I wanted to talk to about it was Becca.

  Despite the fact that I’d bailed on cutting my hair with her, high school had started out okay. Becca, Isabel, and I were all in different classes, but we knew that was coming—they’d both focused on their extracurricular activities over academics even in middle school, but my parents would never have gone for that. Isabel joined the drama club pretty much the minute we showed up, but at first she still sat with Becca and me in the cafeteria at lunch, and we talked about the new people we were meeting and our teachers and how much fun we were going to have.

  But everything changed when swim tryouts were announced. Becca kept talking about how excited she was, kept asking me to go practice with her, but I made every excuse I could think of. I faked a cold for weeks, complained about cramps, begged off to study.

  “You know the team here is really good,” she warned me. “I’m not sure that killer freestyle is enough. We really have to get some practice in.”

  “I will,” I said. I knew I should just tell her, but I couldn’t stand the thought of how disappointed she’d be. I really hated disappointing people. I hated being Perfect Kara, and yet I was terrified of people discovering my actual imperfections. Something would have to give eventually. And though it was inevitable that the first thing to go would be the swim team, I kept putting off telling Becca.

  The day of tryouts I knew I couldn’t go to school. I couldn’t face Becca. So I stayed in my room after my alarm went off and waited for Mom to come pry me out of bed.

  “Why aren’t you up yet, honey?” she asked. “You know you’re going to be late.”

  “I’m sick,” I told her, with a fake crack in my voice. I’d debated whether to fake it with some proof—putting hot water on the thermometer, or making retching sounds in the bathroom—but I’d never pretended to be sick before, and I was counting on Mom trusting me. Which made me feel terrible, but which also made me sounding sick way more convincing.

  “Will you be all right at home by yourself? I’ve got a lot of meetings today.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  She came over to the bed and kissed my forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”

  I got nervous for a minute. “But I feel awful. I just need to sleep.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll bring home chicken soup from the deli tonight.”

  “Thanks.” And with that, I was free. I had the whole day to think about what a horrible person I was, and to debate what to do next. Should I text Becca and tell her I wasn’t coming, wish her good luck? Then it might distract her, throw her off during tryouts. Better to wait and hope she would call when they were over.

  I watched the clock all day, imagining Becca powering her way through the water, beating everyone in her heat. She was a fantastic swimmer; there was no way she wouldn’t make it. Maybe she’d be too excited to be angry with me. The clock chimed three o’clock, then four. I didn’t know how long tryouts would last, so I kept checking my phone, waiting for a call or text.

  By the time five o’clock rolled around, I knew it was over, but I hadn’t heard a word. Not from Becca, or from Isabel, who’d planned to go by the pool after rehearsal. Why hadn’t they gotten in touch? Had something bad happened? Finally, I decided to send a text myself.

  Home sick. Sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sure you killed it!

  I didn’t know if I’d hit the right tone, but I had a feeling anything I said would be wrong. And I had no idea what would happen if Becca wrote back that she hadn’t made it. She’d never forgive me for not being there then.

  I waited all night for her to write back, or for Isabel to check in, through the chicken soup and Mom’s insistence that I go to bed early, lying in bed with my phone next to me, switching it to silent mode after my parents went to sleep. Sleep wasn’t happening for me, though; with every minute that passed without a text or a call, I sensed my friends moving further and further away from me.

  I went to school the next day exhausted, practically sleepwalking through my early classes to get to the cafeteria. Isabel was in our usual spot, but Becca wasn’t. “She’s sitting with her new teammates,” Isabel told me. “Swim team tradition, apparently. She made varsity, in case you were wondering. The only freshman who did.”

  Her voice was calm, but the hostile undertone was impossible to miss. She didn’t ask me where I’d been, and I didn’t volunteer it. “I’m not surprised,” I said. “She’s an incredible swimmer.”

  “Just figured I’d let you know,” she said. “I’ve got to go run some lines with the theater kids. Didn’t want you to think we’d abandoned you.” She didn’t say “like you abandoned us,” but I heard it, loud and clear.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, though she hadn’t asked.

  Isabel walked away without turning around, and I sat there for a minute by myself, wondering if this was the end. I looked around the cafeteria and saw Becca laughing with the swim team girls, though she didn’t catch my eye. At a nearby table were some of the kids from my classes, the ones I’d met when I was younger and who I now saw every day. Unlike Becca, they noticed when I looked over at them; Julia waved at me to come sit.

  It was better than being alone, I figured. Anything was.

  That’s what I thought then, anyway. Hanging out with Alex had made me realize that there was a difference between being alone and being lonely. I was alone right now, but I wasn’t lonely, and I was okay with it.

  I wasn’t alone for long, though. I looked down at my phone again to see if Alex had texted; she hadn’t, but I looked up to see someone standing in front of me. Justin, the theater friend of Alex’s I’d met earlier. “Mind if I sit for a minute?” he asked.

  “No problem,” I said. “You enjoying the party?”

  “Oh, you know, same old thing.” He sounded like he meant it.

  “Not to me. Is this really normal for you guys?”

  “Well, define normal,” he said. “I just watched a guy in seersucker try to breakdance, but I guess that’s normal for this crew. They’re going for something; I’m just not sure what.”

  I wasn’t sure either. But I was starting to like Justin. He was as cute as Raj, but not so flirty, and talking to him was comfortable. “Guess I missed that part,” I said. “What I saw was fun, though.”

  “I don’t know that you want to get used to this scene,” he said. “I know Alex is your friend, but be careful. You seem like a nice person. This group could be dangerous for you.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Maybe I’d already misjudged Justin, like I’d misjudged Raj. Maybe he wasn’t so nice after all.

  “Thanks for the warning,” I said, and tried to sound like I meant it.

  “Happy to be of service.” His phone beeped. “Sorry, got to go. My boyfriend’s picking me up. I’ll see you around.”

  It wasn’t long after Justin left that Alex texted
back.

  Mission accomplished. Where are you?

  Bench outside, in the garden, I wrote back.

  After a minute I saw her running around the side of the house, heels in her hands. She flew over to the bench and sat down.

  “Where’s Bryan?” I asked.

  “I sent him off to dance,” she said. Her red lip stain was mostly gone, I noticed, a little bit of it smeared on her cheek.

  “Your lipstick has abandoned your lips.” I pointed to my cheek to show her where she had a smudge, and she rubbed it off with her thumb.

  “Perils of Prospect hunting,” she said.

  “I take it you had a good time?”

  “Super fun. Bryan’s adorable. He might actually be kind of into me, though, so we’ll need to get out of here pretty soon. Don’t want to give him the wrong idea.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant—wasn’t it good for someone you’d just made out with to be into you?—but Alex seemed to know what she was doing.

  “How about you? Everything all taken care of?”

  “All set.” I didn’t tell her I hadn’t realized Raj was the Novalert guy and had mistaken his casual flirting for something else. Something tempting. It was just too embarrassing.

  “Did you have fun with Raj? He likes to come off all slick, but he’s really kind of goofy and fun. And totally hot, right?”

  “He’s cute,” I said. “Not my type, though.”

  “Really? He’s not just cute; he’s a really good guy, too. What is your type?”

  I didn’t really know what my type was, but I knew one thing. “My type is definitely not drug dealers, so that’s one thing we can cross off the list.”

  “Oh, I don’t think of Raj as a dealer,” she said. “He just helps out his friends sometimes. No big thing.”

  “Not to you, maybe. But you know how easy it is for people to get reputations. And rumors can travel. I can’t have anything interfering with college stuff. I have to get ready for the SATs and work on college applications. I haven’t even started yet. Have you?”