Perfect (3 page)

I sit in the hack row, between Nola Quentin and
Georgine Miner, my friends since kindergarten. I like
Nola and Georgie all right, but let's just say that they are
not going to win any beauty contests. No boy would think
to pass a note to either one of them. Or to me.

But Ashley Barnum? Well, she is the kind of person
you wish you could be friends with, even though she
doesn't know you exist. When I was younger I even wanted to be her, so much that I used to doodle her name all
over my desk. Instead of your regular doodles-rainbows
(R.O.Y.G.B.I.V.), hearts (true love always), and cubes (3D), my doodle was Ashley Barnum (bubble letters).

So when she walked into Group that day, you can imagine my shock. Here was Ashley Barnum, wearing a
jean miniskirt and matching clogs. Her eyes were pink,
but other than that she was her usual radiant self. Obviously she'd stumbled upon our meeting by mistake. Someone should have told her that the meeting for "People
without a Care in the World" was one floor down.

Trish put her arm around Ashley's shoulder and
squeezed. She handed Ashley a three-by-five card and
guided her to a chair.

"The information you share on these cards, girls," Trish
said, "is private. The first rule of Group is confidentiality.
That means that anything that's shared in this room stays
in this room."

Trish stood next to an easel draped with grainy paper.
"Pretend this is your card," she said. With red marker,
Trish drew six big dots. She wanted our full name, the
name we prefer to he called, age, grade in school, reason
for coming to Group, and a few of our personal goals.

"This part is important," said Trish, double-underlining "personal goals." "What kind of person do you want to
be when you leave Group today? A month from now? A
year?"

Trish walked around passing out golf pencils.

"Could I possibly have something less stubby?" said
Rachel, like she'd just been handed a used Kleenex.

"Certainly." Trish smiled and handed her a Bic instead.
"Anyone else prefer a pen?"

The rest of us murmured "No, thank you" and went to
work on our three-by-fives.

When I finished, mine looked like this:

I leaned a little to the left and tried to sneak a peek
at Mathilde's card. All I could make out were the words
fat pig, before she flipped it over. Lila was hunched over
hers like it was a vocabulary quiz and we were all trying
to cheat off her. Ashley Barnum was sitting directly across
the room from me, bending sideways over Trish's desk. A
curtain of blonde hair fell across her face.

I imagined her card to read:

Trish collected our cards and told us how proud she
was of its already.

"Have a restful week," Trish said. "Be good to yourselves." She reminded its to bring a blank book to next
Wednesday's Group, for journaling purposes.

Ten minutes later, we were standing outside the hospital,
waiting for the moms to pick its up. Me and Ashley Barnum. Ashley Barnum and Me. She was drawing swirls in
the dirt with one toe. I was doing standing butt crunches.
One-and-tu'o-and-three-and-four-and ... I was on number
seventy-nine when she said, "Isabelle??"

"Yes?" I couldn't believe it. She was speaking to me.
Ashley Barnum was actually speaking to me.

"You go to John Jay, right?"

"Yes."

"8-A homeroom?"

"Yes.'

"Minx's English.?"

"Why, yes." Why, yes? Suddenly I'd developed it British
accent' Duh!

"Well, here's the thing," Ashley said. "I mean . . . I
know we don't really know each other or anything, but I'd
really appreciate it if you wouldn't, you know ..."

"I won't tell," I said.

Ashley Barnum drew another snail trail in the dirt,
nodded. "Thanks."

"Sure."

"Anyway," Ashley said, "it's not a big deal or anything.
I mean, illy mom just flipped about this gum she found in
my backpack. She thought it was, um, Ex-Lax or something.? She saw this thing on TV ..."

"Yeah," I said. "Same. I mean, my mom flipped too,
cause she thought I was throwing up or something."

"Yeah?" said Ashley Barnum.

"Yeah."

There was a pause while I tried to think of something
cool to say. Do you know I've wanted to be you since fourth
grade

But Ashley's mom pulled up in her shiny black car and
signaled with her cigarette for Ashley to hurry up, and
Ashley said, superfast, "So, thanks, Isabelle. I'll see you in
Minx's class, third period, Tay?"

"'Kay," I said. "Minx's class." You betcha, girlfriend. Call
ya later!

As the car peeled out, a little spray of dirt fanned
through the air, just above the spot where Ashley Barnum's toe had been.

THAT NIGHT I MADE IT THROUGH an entire dinner without talking to Ape Face. I wanted to drive her
honkers.

"If you think the silent treatment bothers me," she
said, "think again."

"Mom?" I said. "Would you pass the peas, please?"

"You can ask your sister for the peas, Isabelle. They're
right in front of her."

My mother had about six peas on her plate, and a piece of chicken the size of her thumb. This is how much
she eats. Before Daddy, she ate real people's meals. Now
she eats doll meals.

Ape Face held up the howl, balancing it on one hand.
"Would anyone like some peas? ... Anyone?"

"So, Mom," I said, completely ignoring Ape Face.
"How was your day? Any exciting papers to grade?"

My mother is a college professor. She teaches American
literature. There are piles of her students' papers all over
the house. People say, "Wow, your mother's pretty messy."
But they don't know she used to be neat.

"Isabelle," my mother said. "April is offering you the
peas.

"I changed my mind," I said. "I'm not in the mood for
peas after all."

"Honestly, Isabelle," said my mother.

"Honestly, Isabelle," said Ape Face, frowning and
shaking her head.

My mother shot April the look that means Enough.

"Mona, do you hear anything?" I asked. "I don't hear
anything.... What's that? ... Is that a fly buzzing in my
ear?"

"Isabelle," said my mother quietly, spearing exactly
one pea with her fork. "Stop it."

"Fine," I said.

There was a moment of silence. Then Ape Face said,
"Mom, guess what? I'm writing a story. `Group of Frogs,'
it's called. How's that for a title?"

Mom reached over to ruffle the Ape's hair. "An excellent title. I can't wait to read it. What's the plot?"

This is the way it goes with them. They are their own
mother-daughter book club. If you want to join, go right
ahead.

I got up to clear my plate. On my way to the sink I did
what I always do: try not to look at Daddy's empty chair,
but can't help myself This time there was a big, messy pile
of papers on top of it. I couldn't believe it. A lot of people
put piles of stuff on chairs and pass right by them, not
thinking a thing. But looking at this pile, my stomach hurt
so much I felt like someone punched me.

In my room, I ran straight to my closet. That's where I
keep my stash, under one of Daddy's old flannel shirts that
nobody knows I have. For the longest time after he died,
I kept the shirt under my bed, wrapped in a paper bag. I
would take it out whenever I missed him because it had
his smell. Clean and warm, like grass.

This shirt was a legend. My mother was always trying
to throw it out because of the missing buttons and the
pocket that got ripped off in a football game. But every
time Mom tried to get rid of the shirt, Daddy would rescue
it just in time. It was their special game. "There you are,"
he would say, dragging it out of the Goodwill bag and slipping it hack on. And Mom would wag her finger at him,
pretending to be angry. "Jacob Lee. You are impossible."
This was his cue to chase her all around the house until
he caught her and wrapped her up in his arms, in that big
soft shirt that smelled like him.

One time last year, right before my birthday, I took the
shirt out from under my bed and jammed my face in it, hard, because I missed him so much. That's when I realized it was all smelled out. I breathed in, and ... nothing.
It Was just a shirt. Just a ratty old shirt that could have
belonged to anyone.

There wasn't much left in my stash, only a few packages of Fig Newtons and a half-eaten bag of Doritos. I
didn't bother pushing the bureau against the door this
time because I knew Moni and Ape Face wouldn't he up
for a while.

I sat on the floor of my closet while I ate, breathing in
that mothbally closet smell. One hand on the Fig Newtons, the other on the chips. When I was finished, I put
the empty wrappers back in the box and the box back on
the top shelf of the closet, under the flannel shirt.

Before going to the bathroom I stood at the top of the
stairs and listened. I could hear Mom and Ape Face laughing together. Who knew "Group of Frogs" was a freaking
comedy?

In the bathroom I drank a glass of water as fast as I
could. I lifted the toilet seat and stuck my fingers down
my throat, so far down my middle knuckle was touching that little wiggly piece in the hack. I felt my stomach
contract hard and my shoulders hunch up to my ears.
Abracadabra, out came the Doritos, the Fig Newtons, the
milk, the pasta, the chicken cacciatore.