Free Perfect by Ellen Hopkins

driveway
    is a moving van, and now I notice
    the FOR SALE sign staked in the lawn.
    Men hustle in and out, carrying boxes
    and wheeling furniture-laden dollies.
    I watch for a minute, absurdly
    feeling like I am somehow responsible.
    No. Not me. And not Conner. This
    is my mother’s doing. Well, okay,
    Emily Sanders has to take some
    of the blame, but it bothers me
    that my mom not only got her fired,
    but also strong-armed her into
    selling her house and moving away.
    That is wrong on so many levels.
    The most messed-up thing about
    it is that Conner’s warped need started
    the whole thing. Yes, it takes two
    to dance. But somebody has to lead.

I Run Home
    Blow through the door, down
    the hall. Mom and Dad are drinking
    coffee. At the same table, even.
    It’s all so civilized, so domestic,
    I can hardly believe it and almost
    forget what upset me to start with.
    Almost. “What have you done?”
    I glare at Mom, and she responds
with an amused stare. I’m sure
I don’t know what you mean .
And are you dripping sweat on
the tile? She is always so measured,
    sometimes I wish I could make
    her yell. But I can barely get her
    to frown. “How did you manage
    to make the Sanderses sell their house?”
We have a restraining order in
place. I pointed out the obvious—
it would be easier if she and Conner
simply never came face-to-face .
And anyway, their divorce is no
doubt imminent. It’s just as well
they think about how to divide
things up when the house does sell .
    God, she is smug. “Oh, so you
    talked them into getting a divorce,
    too? Awesome, Mother. Who
    knew you could be so persuasive?”
She levels me with her eyes.
I had nothing to do with that .
It was Emily Sanders’s extremely
bad judgment that got her into
this mess. No husband in his right
mind would stay with a woman
like her. Isn’t that right? Directed
at Dad, who dares not say a word
    unless it’s the exact word Mom
    wants to hear. Dad shrugs, goes
    back to his paper. And all I can
    do is quit dripping sweat on the tile.

I Turn The Shower Hot
    I feel dirty, and not from my run.
    Nothing Mom said was totally
    wrong, but I just can’t get it out
    of my head that she has taken
    the Sanderses’ tattered lives and
    made sure they could never be
    sewn back together again. And
    I think she would do the same
    to me, if I ever gave her a reason.
    All she cares about is being right.
    Winning. And taking out anyone
    who might tarnish her sterling
    reputation. No wonder Conner
    went to such an extreme. If you’re
    going to make a statement, make
    it a big one, not that I’d dream
    of taking on Mom. Now that is crazy.
    I wash my hair with coconut shampoo.
    Scrub my skin with lemongrass soap.
    When I’m through, I am almost clean.

The Afternoon Is Looking Long
    I need to get out of here. I could
    call Sean. He’d probably stop
    lifting long enough to do something
    with me. But we haven’t seen all
    that much of each other since
    the night I basically threw myself
    at him and he left me still a virgin.
    Not sure who was more embarrassed.
    Instead I try Dani, who answers
    right away. Almost as if expecting
    my call. Was she? “I was wondering
    if you had plans for today.”
Glad you called. No plans. What
did you have in mind? In mind?
    “I don’t know. Just have to get out of
    the house for a few.” Hours, that is.
    Movie? No. I want to talk, get to
    know her better. “It’s pretty out
    today. We could take a walk.”
    She agrees to meet me at Rock Park.

It’s A Twenty-Minute Drive
    In my stomach is a tentative flutter,
    moth wings against a muted light.
    On the radio (some kind of sign?),
    Katy Perry sings about kissing a girl.
    And liking it. I take myself back
    to that day in the trees. Kissing Dani.
    And liking it so much it made me
    turn feeble in the knees. Did kissing
    Sean ever make me feel that way?
    I don’t think so. Don’t think
    kissing any boy ever made me feel
    that way—like standing at the brink
    of a very tall cliff, wind at