Free Perfect by Ellen Hopkins Page B

another Percocet.
    Sheesh, if I did two, I’d probably ask her
to prom. Except, now the pills are gone.
    There were only four to start. After
the first one, I waited a couple of days.
    Then my dad decided to show up drunk
at our spring honor choir performance.
    It was the first time I’d seen him in months.
And there he was, slobbering all over some
    random woman and yelling like he was at
a football game. And then he spotted Mom
    and Patrick and, for whatever reason,
decided to go say hello. And more.
    While we were still singing. From
where I stood on the stage, I could see
    Mom trying to shush him. Which made
him get louder. Soon everyone turned
    to stare, and Patrick actually had to take
hold of his arm, steer him out of the gym.
    Then everyone was looking at me. Like
I had anything to do with it. And here’s
the capper. Mom blamed me. Why did
you even tell him about the performance?
    We were all safe at home by then (well,
not sure about Dad. Patrick handed him
    off to his girlfriend.) I couldn’t believe
it. “Well, I sure as hell didn’t invite him.”
Which made Patrick jump in. Don’t you
dare swear at your mother, little girl.
    Anger sizzled in my head. “Don’t tell
me what to do. You’re not my father.”
In light of what happened tonight,
I’d say that’s a darn good thing.
    “Darn? You can say ‘damn,’ Patrick.
I promise it won’t damage us children.”
You are still a child, and it would
be good to remember that.…
    I was pretty much boiling by then,
and Mom sitting there, blank faced,
    only made me angrier still. “Not for
long. I’ll be eighteen next month.”
Then he nailed me good. Right.
You mean after your plastic surgery.

It Was An Implied Threat
    And the threat was, “Apologize right now
or consider keeping your big, ugly nose as is.”
    Okay, he wouldn’t have put it so bluntly,
but that’s what he meant. Or something close.
    I backed off. De-escalated. Couldn’t
risk calling his bluff, though I was pretty
    sure that’s all it was. Swallowed
my anger. “I’m sorry I swore, okay?
    But I had nothing to do with Dad
being there tonight. Cross my heart.”
    As apologies go, it was snippy, but
the best I could do, and it seemed to
appease Patrick. Apology accepted.
About that time Jenna came in, messy
    hair and blurred makeup indicating
she’d had a little too much fun that night.
    The attention shifted to her, so I made
my escape, still percolating a big pot of anger.
At my back, Patrick’s voice had risen
again, this time at my sister. Where
have you been, and what have you
been doing? Buzz buzz buzz.
    I headed straight for my room, and
the little bottle of dysfunction stashed
    in a sock in my dresser. And down
went one more Percocet. Two left. Minus
    one, not quite a week later, after I found
out my dad is getting married again and wants
    Jenna and me to be bridesmaids. We
don’t even know his girlfriend, something
    my sister was very clear about. More
family drama to come on that front for sure.

I Popped The Last Percocet
    Three days ago, when I was passed over for
a Teen Vogue fashion shoot. I had my heart
    set on it. I figured they didn’t pick me
because I still can’t get into a size two. Close.
    But not quite. But when I asked Maxine
if that was, in fact, the reason, she hung
her head and admitted, That’s not why.
I’m sorry to say I dropped the ball.
It was a bad week—my daughter lost
her baby, and I had to help out with
her other kids. I just forgot to put things
in motion. But there will be other opportunities.
    I almost lost it. But how could I without
coming off as totally heartless? So I nodded
    and fumed and finally dug into my wallet
to find the business card of Xavier Winslow.

Xavier
    Cool name for an awesome agent.
We agreed to meet over Starbucks
    coffee, and though I felt a tiny bit like
a traitor, I had it in my mind from the start
    that all he had to do was say the right
things and I’d flip reps without looking back.
He said all the right