Free Perfect by Natasha Friend

on, Heather," Talia said. "I dare you."
    "Go, girl," said Maya, taking a dollar bill out of her
pocket and laying it on the table. "Ice cream's on me if you
walk over there and say, `Hey, Brian, I've been watching
you across the caf, and I just wanted to tell you, you look
really, really good in those pants."'
    Heather stood up, tossing her hair over her shoulder
and giggling. "Okay, you guys."
    Everyone laughed and elbowed each other in the ribs.
I just watched. I couldn't believe they thought this was
funny. I couldn't believe even more that Ashley wasn't
doing anything about it. She's always so nice to Brian in
class, but when it comes to being nice to him in front of
her friends, she doesn't have the guts.
    Within five seconds, Heather was by Brian's side at
the garbage can; her hand was on the hack of his neck,
and she was smiling. Heather leaned over and whispered
something in his ear. Brian's face said that he believed her.
He looked like a jack-o'-lantern, all lit up from inside.
    "Oh, man," Heather said when she came hack to the
table, out of breath. "He totally bought it, you guys!" She
stopped and looked around at everyone, eyes resting on nee-the only one at the table not laughing. I can't make
myself laugh when I don't think something's funny.

    I looked at Ashley, watched her fake laugh some more.
When Ashley saw me looking she looked away from my
eyes, then down at the table, then up again at the rest of
them.
    "Man," Heather said, slapping her hand against the
table. "He said, `Th-th-thank you, Heather. I, I, I 1-like
your pants too.' What a riot!"
    Heather grabbed the dollar bill lying on the top of the
table and held it up in the air. "Free ice cream for me."
    Ashley looked at me again, then quickly looked away.
    I looked at her and thought, Nice friends.
    When I got home from school the house was quiet. Ape
Face was at ballet, which she has every Monday and
Wednesday. Most of the time my mother is sitting at the
kitchen table grading papers, waiting for me. Other times
she is in bed, at three thirty in the afternoon.
    I found out by going upstairs and standing outside her
bedroom. "Mom?" 1 whispered. Then, louder, "Mom?"
    She didn't say anything, so I cracked the door open.
The shades were drawn and she had the covers pulled up
over her head. "Mom," I said. "What are you doing'"
    She stayed there in a lump, silent. At first I was scared,
but then I saw the covers moving up and down so I knew
she was breathing.
    I took a step closer to the bed. "Mom. Are you sick'"
    When she spoke she sounded far away, like she was at the bottom of a well. "I'm fine, Isabelle. Just a little tired,
that's all."

    I wanted to pull the covers off her. I wanted to say,
Why are you so tired? Huh? But I knew she wouldn't tell
me the truth. Not in a million years would she say it: she
can't sleep at night because she can't stop missing him.
    I thought about what April said yesterday, when I was
the one in bed. You're not the only one, you know. I miss
him too.
    "What about April?" I said. "Don't you have to pick
her up?"
    "Hmmm?"
    "Mom!" I spoke like she was ninety years old. "Don't ...
you ... have ... to ... pick ... April ... up ... from ...
ballet?"
    From underneath the covers she mumbled, "Carpool.
Sara Winston's mom is ..." Her voice trailed off like she
was too tired to finish the sentence.
    "Oh?" I said loudly, as if my old deaf mother was still
participating in the conversation. "Sara ... Winston's ...
mom ... will ... be ... picking . . . her . . . up? Okay!
Great!"
    I felt so angry I wanted to shake her.
    Instead, I took $20.00 out of her purse. I rode my bike
into town. At Pay `n' Save I bought $19.98 worth of Prin-
gles, HoHos, and Diet Coke.
    To the checkout lady, I said, "I'm having a study party
tonight. Me and some of my friends from school."
    I lined my items up on the conveyor belt. Five cans,
four boxes, three bottles. "Thought we might need a little snack, you