Perfectly Imperfect Page 4

  “Poor thing.” She frowns and shakes her head. “It’s that time of year, isn’t it?”

  I nod and adjust my backpack on my shoulder. “I can give her a message if you want.” Anything to prevent her from coming back over and knocking on the door when I’m not home.

  “You’re such a dear.” She clutches my arm in what I guess is an affectionate gesture, but her hands are cold and rough and wrinkly. “I just wanted to tell her that our book club is resuming now that summer’s over. We’re meeting next week, but if she’s got the flu, she’s going to be out of it for a while.”

  “Probably,” I agree, silently thanking God for not striking me down for lying.

  “Okay, well, you tell her I said to get well and to come see me as soon as she’s feeling better.” She pats my arm and pulls her hand back. Her metal bracelets jangle loudly. She must be wearing at least a dozen of them.

  “I will. Have a nice evening, Ms. Rhoades.” I wave and head inside. “Mom?” I don’t know why I bother calling for her. She never answers.

  The living room isn’t messy. In fact, it looks as though no one has been in here all day. I drop my bag onto the floor and toe off my shoes. The framed photo of my brother sits on the mantle. I pick it up and run my fingers over the cracked glass, and the memories crash over me.

  “Mom! Where are the car keys?” I shout for the millionth time. “I’m going to be late for church.”

  “Church?” She stumbles out of the kitchen, brandishing a half-empty wine bottle. Her hair is a mess, mascara streaks her face, and her sneer is sharper than ever. “You’re seriously going to church?”

  “Yes.” I slip my feet into my favorite sandals. “I go to church every Sunday. You know that.”

  “How dare you!” she shrieks, her eyes wild.

  I take a small step back, fear wrapping around my heart. I don’t dare speak, not when she’s like this. It’s not my mom screaming at me. It’s the alcohol. She’s been drinking a lot lately.

  “How can you go to church and worship a God who stole my son from me? Your God killed my baby, and you want to praise Him?” She lets out a shrill scream and hurls the wine bottle across the room. It smashes against the picture of my brother, shattering both frame and bottle.

  I yelp and shrink back against the wall. This isn’t my mom. It’s the alcohol.

  Tears slip silently down my face. I shake the memory away and return the frame to its spot on the mantle. After my brother died, my father buried himself in work, and my mother turned to booze. Me? I’m doing the best I can to hold everything together. Without Brandon, I have to be twice as good, twice as smart, twice as responsible. It’s downright exhausting, but I’ll keep trying until my family’s whole again—if that’s even possible.

  I blow out a breath and walk into the kitchen. The sink is overflowing with dirty dishes, wine glasses, and empty beer bottles. At least I know Mom ate today—that’s better than most days. I push up my sleeves, plug the sink, and begin filling it with warm, soapy water. As it’s filling, I run upstairs and gather my hair into a ponytail. Then I peek inside Mom’s room. She’s face-down on the bed, snoring. Relief settles over me.

  Snoring means she’s alive.

  The room reeks of alcohol and sweat. I open the window a crack to let in some fresh air and then drape a blanket over my mother. She doesn’t move a muscle, even as I gather the empty wine bottles from the floor. Back downstairs, I shut off the water so it doesn’t overflow onto the floor. The last thing I need is to create another mess for myself. After rinsing the bottles, I bag them and set the bag out on the back porch, where none of our neighbors can see the evidence of our dirty family secret.

  I spend the next two hours cleaning the kitchen, vacuuming the floors, and making dinner. By the time I sit down with a plate of spaghetti, I’m exhausted. But bedtime is hours away. I lower my head and say a quick blessing. Dear God, thank You for this food and for my health and for always providing for us, no matter our circumstances. Amen.

  Before I take my first bite, I open social media on my cell phone and scroll through my feed. Lots of selfies of my friends to showcase the first day of school. There are none of me and my friends, though. Hannah doesn’t like having her picture taken, and I only saw Andrea briefly—I’m still convinced she’s mad at me for some reason. Cam has profiles, but he doesn’t use his social media all that much.

  He was acting odd today. Distant. Usually, he’s waiting for me after every class, holding my hand, chatting away about anything and everything, making plans to hang out. But today, I barely saw him, and when I did, he didn’t hold my hand or talk much. I’m not mad about it. In fact, it’s sort of a relief. I don’t have the emotional strength to unravel his twisted emotions on top of my own. Does that make me a bad girlfriend? I push away my insecurities and continue to scroll through my newsfeed.

  Does Grayson have a profile? I twist a forkful of noodles into my mouth and then search for him. His name and picture pop up. Excitement swells inside me as I click on his profile. Man, he’s hot. Stalking the new guy isn’t one of my proudest moments, but I’m bored. And curious. I mean, he did the one thing no one has been able to do in a long time—he made me laugh. Not to mention, he never knew Brandon, so I don’t have to worry about him looking at me with pity or asking how I’m doing. There’s something freeing about letting loose without wondering if the other person felt I was betraying Brandon.

  There are a lot of pictures of Grayson and his dad, who’s dressed in military fatigues. Every written post Grayson has made is to announce he’s moving—Virginia, North Carolina, Washington, Texas, New York—followed by a check-in at some big military base. The most recent move: Michigan. Strange. There aren’t any big military bases in Michigan. Grayson hasn't checked in anywhere.

  I take another large bite and continue scrolling. No mention of friends. Or girlfriends. I refuse to smile about that little tidbit of information, even if it does send a tiny thrill through me. My finger hovers over the button to send him a follow request. It’s stupid to even think about clicking that button. But… we are partners on a very large project. It makes sense to stay in touch, right? It’s not like I have his phone number, so social media is the best way to contact him outside of school. For homework purposes.

  Before I can actually press down on the screen, a text message pops up. It’s a voice recording from Andrea. I shove another forkful of noodles into my mouth, close out the app without sending a request to Grayson, and press play.

  “Hey, sorry about today. I’m just really stressed. We’re cool, okay? So, don’t worry. Let’s hang out this weekend.”

  I pause with my fork mid-air. Did Hannah say something to Andrea? I don’t know if I should be relieved or angry that Hannah went to Andrea behind my back. This is exactly what we always do, though, so I don’t dwell on it any longer. Instead, I type out a text response. i get it. no worries. i’m cool with hanging this weekend. lmk.

  As soon as I send it, I press the phone icon at the top of the screen and call her. Part of me expects it to go straight to voicemail, but she actually answers. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Andrea. Hey. I didn’t think you’d answer.” I drop my fork, causing sauce to splatter on me and the table. I grab my napkin and wipe it up.

  “I got your message. Is something wrong?” She sounds like she’s far away.

  “No.” I take a drink. “I’m just… are you okay? You were acting kinda weird this morning. Did I do something to make you mad?”

  “No. I’m just really stressed,” she says much too quickly, almost like she’s been rehearsing her answer.

  Yeah, she said that, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s something else bugging her. “Are you sure that’s all?”

  “Yeah. You know how I am when school starts.” She yawns. Every year since we started high school, Andrea has borderline freaked out during the first week. Last year, she stressed herself out so much, she forgot her schedule and ended up going to the wrong cla
ss. She was embarrassed for days. On the other end of the phone, she laughs. “I don’t know why I get like this. It’s not like I haven’t been at this school for years. I know what to do and where everything is.”

  “For real.” I push away from the table, prop my foot on the edge of the chair, and rest my chin on my knee. “So, did you hear about the new guy?”

  “Yes.” The word rushes out on a whoosh of breath. “Tall. Wears a leather jacket. Eyes to die for.” She lets out a dramatic sigh.

  “That’s the one. I have a couple of classes with him.”

  “Lucky.” Andrea giggles.

  “He’s kind of a jerk.”

  “So, don’t talk to him, then. Just look at him. That’s fun, right?”

  “Andrea!” I gasp. All my worries from earlier disappear the longer we talk, and half an hour later when we end the call, my face is warm and probably flushed, and my cheeks hurt from laughing so much. First, Grayson made me laugh. Now, Andrea. Maybe there's hope for a normal life, after all.

  My food is cold now, but I don’t care. I move to take care of it when I get a text from Cam. hey, want to go get ice cream?

  Ice cream does sound good, but I have no idea when Dad will be home, and if Mom wakes up and realizes I’m not here, she’ll freak out. I reply: would love to but i can’t. sorry.

  Cam: bummer. everything ok?

  No, Cam, everything isn’t okay. It hasn’t been for months now, but I can’t tell him that. I can’t tell anyone. Instead, I do the one thing I know I shouldn’t, the one thing I’ve become way too good at, the thing that would end my relationship with Cam in an instant if he ever finds out—I lie.

  everything’s fine. dad’s working late so mom and i are hanging out. girls’ night. since brandon died, she likes to have me close. I add a smiling emoji and hit send.

  We never did girls’ nights before, but it sounds good, right? The part about keeping me close is true. At least, it was before Mom really started drinking. Now, I stay close because I have to, because someone needs to be around to make sure she doesn’t drink herself to death. Lord knows my father isn’t that person.

  I scrape my uneaten food into the trash and then wash my plate. After fixing a plate of leftovers for Dad and setting it in the microwave, I grab my bag and trudge upstairs to start my homework.

  Halfway through a website on the best Spanish speaking countries to visit, I hear a car outside. I check the time on my phone—8:21 PM. It’s too early for Dad to be home, which means we have a visitor. Panic wraps around my chest. Who is here? I scramble off my bed and rush down the stairs. I reach the front door, yank it open, and step onto the porch just as Cam climbs out of his car. What is he doing here?

  “Hey,” I say and walk down to greet him. “Is everything okay?”

  He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  My stomach knots. This can’t be good. “Um, yeah. Mind if we sit in your car? My mom fell asleep on the couch, and I don’t want to wake her.” It isn’t a total lie. Mom is sleeping.

  “Sure.”

  We get into his car, and I fidget with my hands. The silence stretches for an uncomfortable amount of time. I’m just about to ask him what’s going on when he finally speaks.

  “Today was weird,” he says more to himself than to me.

  I tilt my head. “Weird how?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Just… everything. We don’t have any classes together. Then there’s that new guy… He seems like a jerk.”

  “Grayson?” I ask with disbelief. I mean, I’m not fond of him myself, but hearing Cam talk about Grayson like this rubs me the wrong way. It’s not like Grayson tries to run everyone over with his motorcycle.

  Cam gives me a dirty look, like he can’t believe I know Grayson’s name or that I just said it. “Yeah, him.”

  I don’t know what to say. Do Cam and Grayson have classes together? Did something happen between them that I don’t know about? They didn’t exactly hit it off at lunch, but that can’t be the reason Cam dislikes him so much.

  “And…” He sighs. “I don’t know. You were acting different today.”

  I raise my brows in surprise. “I was acting different?” I sound like a parrot with the way I’m repeating what he says, but I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around his words.

  He nods.

  “You were acting differently, too, you know.” I slouch in the seat and cross my arms. “I barely saw you between classes, and when I did, you basically ignored me.”

  “I know.” He hangs his head. “I’ve had a lot on my mind today.”

  A nagging in the back of my mind is telling me to get out of his car and run back inside, that whatever is about to happen next is going to be really bad. But I ignore my instincts and ask, “Like what?”

  “I think we should break up.” His shoulders heave with the effort of his words.

  I stare at him. Did he say we should break up? No. That’s not what he said. “You want to break up?” I ask slowly. There’s no way I heard him correctly.

  “Yes.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, Isabelle. I really like you, but we’re both seniors, and we’re probably going to end up going to different colleges… It’s best if we just end this now.”

  Tears sting my eyes. I try to blink them away, but it’s useless. “I don’t understand. I thought…” We’ve talked about what will happen after high school, and I thought we agreed to try a long-distance relationship. “What about everything we’re supposed to do together this year? Homecoming. Prom. Senior trip. Graduation.” My voice rises with each word, and I force a calming breath.

  “We can still do those things. We’ll just do them as friends.” He looks at me with sad eyes. “No different than if you were doing them with Vick or Hannah.”

  My jaw ticks with barely suppressed anger. “It’s very different, Cam.”

  “This is what I mean. You’re different, Isabelle. The way you talked to Brittany today. Just your entire attitude. It’s like I don’t know you anymore.”

  He’s kidding, right? I don’t even know what to say to that. I was defending myself against Brittany—it’s not like I went out of my way to attack her or anything.

  “I know you’ve been through so much these past few months with your brother’s death, and I’m sure losing someone like that changes a person, but…”

  I sit, stunned, as tears stream down my face. I can’t believe Cam is breaking up with me. Worse, he’s using my brother’s death as some sort of excuse for doing so.

  “I can’t be with someone who isn’t—”

  “Who isn’t what?” I snap between sobs. “Perfect?”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.” He refuses to look at me, and I’m not sure if that makes this easier or harder. “Look, even though we’re not going out anymore, I’m still here for you, okay?”

  I don’t respond.

  “So is my family,” he continues, either oblivious or ignoring the fact that I’m crying. “Please promise me you’ll keep coming to church.”

  Does he truly believe I’ll stop going to church simply because he’s breaking up with me? I can’t even look at him right now. “I promise,” I whisper. Then I push open the door and run back inside.

  6

  GRAYSON

  “HEY, GRAYS,” DAD SAYS AS I enter the shop. He’s wearing faded jeans covered in grease and a T-shirt with the garage logo printed on the back. He cleans his hands on a rag and wipes his brow with the back of his hand. A bright red semi-truck is jacked up, parts strewn below it. “How was your first day of school?”

  “Same stuff. Different school.” I sit on a metal stool and watch as he rifles through a toolbox. “I’m in an exclusive Senior Spanish class.”

  “Impressive.” He picks up a wrench and turns his attention to me. “Probably gonna be here late tonight.” He motions toward the truck. “Rush job. Owner will be here bright and early in the morning.”

  “Okay.”

 
; “I left some money on the counter at home. You can order a pizza or something for dinner.” He turns his back to me and mutters something I can’t quite understand.

  Until a month ago, my father was a mechanic in the Army. Now, he’s just a mechanic working at his brother’s garage, which specializes in tractor trailers. When he decided to retire—thanks to my mother’s betrayal and untimely death—he moved us to Michigan to live closer to his family. Hopefully, this is the last time I’ll have to move until college.

  “Make any friends today?” he asks as he slides under the truck.

  My mind flashes to Isabelle, and I can’t help the smile that forms. But then I remember she has a boyfriend, and my smile fades. “Yeah, I met a few people.”

  “Well, it’s just the first day. I’m sure you’ll have tons of friends by the end of the week.”

  I don’t know about that, but his optimism is contagious.

  “Did you meet with the principal and guidance counselor?”

  “Yeah, the principal.” I shift on the stool, knowing full well where this conversation is headed.

  Even though half his body is hidden beneath the truck, I can hear his heavy sigh. “Grayson.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “You can’t keep putting this off, or else you’ll never get into college.”

  I grit my teeth and remain silent.

  “If you don’t figure this out soon, I’m driving you to the recruitment office.”

  Over my dead body. “I’ll set up an appointment tomorrow,” I say just so he’ll get off my back about college and stop threatening me with enlisting. The military is his thing, not mine, and the sooner he accepts that the better. Now, if only I can figure out what I want to do about college.

  “Thank you.” He grunts and twists hard enough on something that his entire body tenses. “So, I was talking with Bryan earlier.” Bryan is my uncle—Dad’s brother. “He said we can store your bike in the garage out back for the winter.”