Free Perfect Fifths by Megan McCafferty Page A

mouth, imagining how she might react to different moments in his life without her. It has been many months since Marcus has spoken her name aloud, but that hasn't stopped the conversations inside his mind. Like when he sees a film he knows she would appreciate (Before Sunset), reads a book that
    could speak to her like it has spoken to him (Youth and Life), or hears a song that should be on her iPod (anything by the Mighties—that is, before the group's lead singer/songwriter made himself the "my," Marcus the "he," and Jessica the "you" in their viral sensation,
    "My Song Will Never Mean as Much [As the One He Once Sang for You].") Marcus sees, hears, reads, and thinks of Jessica, inventing her side of the dialogue in the absence of the real thing. Far less inspired and more shameful are the artless, mundane moments like this, when it's almost as if his subconscious is reaching for excuses to remember Jessica for no legitimate reason other than that he can't stop himself from doing so. And what a word to put in her mouth—Frankenskank! It's hardly charitable of him to think of Jessica as being as snarky and judgmental as ever. And if she is? So be it. He always loved her because of, not in spite of, her flaws. Her biggest flaw, in his mind, was her inability to believe that was true.
    Marcus delivers a wan smile.
    "I can help you," Jonelle promises.
    Marcus focuses on a tiny heart-shaped gold charm trapped between her mountainous breasts like an unlucky climber abandoned in a crevasse. He identifies with the poor guy. "I doubt it," he replies.
    "I really want to help," she insists huskily.
    Marcus takes off his glasses and looks at her through fuzzier, more forgiving 20/60 vision. He wonders if this change in perspective makes it easier to see what she looked like before she felt like she had to do this to herself in order to be loved. Make no mistake, no matter what explanations or excuses or equivocations she's given—from "It's my body and I can do whatever I damn well please" to "Everyone gets a little work done these days" to "It's a low price to pay for high self-esteem"—what else but the need to be loved could motivate someone to do this to herself? She never gave herself a chance, Marcus thinks, to be loved for who she is, flaws and all.
    His watch feels like a shackle around his wrist, immediate punishment for his presumed superiority.
    "I'm in the business of helping anxious passengers." Jonelle sneaks a fingernail into the pocket that conveniently calls redundant attention to her breasts. She pulls out a small white card and hands it to him:
    Jonelle Jenkins
    Aeroanxiety Specialist
    thAIRapy spa @ Newark Liberty International Airport
    Marcus's heart sinks with the revelation that she is a clinical therapist, perfume spritzer, and masseuse all Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    in one. He had wanted Jonelle to surprise him, to teach him a lesson about false first impressions. Against his better judgment, he tries to salvage the conversation by asking a question. "Do you always target clients like this?"
    Jonelle's mouth widens, better for showing off a full set of custom veneers. "Only when they look as anxious as you do."
    Marcus stands up to his full height for the first time during the conversation, stretching well over six feet tall. "How anxious?" He needs to get an objective opinion.
    "Bordering on terrified," she says. "You want to move forward, but you can't. You aren't brave enough."
    Marcus nods in reluctant agreement, and Jonelle is encouraged by his gesture of approval. She edges one step closer, body-slamming Marcus with the full impact of a heavyweight perfume that evokes a nineteenth-century opium den. "You're trembling," she says. When Jonelle gently presses her hand into his palm, Marcus yanks his hand away and stuffs it into his pocket. The sudden fierceness of this gesture makes Jonelle gasp in a rather unwholesome way. "Well!" she cries out, taking