Perfect by Ellen Hopkins Page B

proud he is
of your accomplishments. Did you
know he keeps a scrapbook of newspaper
clippings about you? Photos of your
pageants and cheerleading?
    I shake my head. Don’t want to listen.
Anger is easier than forgiveness.
We are strangers. But I hope that will
change. Your father and I want you
and your sister to be part of our family.
And here’s the thing. I’m worried about
you. Are you aware of the damage
an eating disorder can do to your body?
I know you want to be thin so you can
model.… What is she talking about?
    “I don’t have an eating disorder!”
I’m practically shouting, something
    that becomes obvious when Yummy
Guy’s head snaps in my direction.
    I lower my voice. “I am in perfect
control and know exactly what I’m doing.”
She starts to say something, changes
her mind. Here comes your dad.
But, honey, you are way too skinny.
You definitely have a problem,
and when you’re ready to ask for
help, I will be here for you.

Who the Hell
    Does she think she is? I have
a problem? She’s the one who
    is marrying some loser guy ten
years her senior. He settles in again
    across the table, head swiveling
back and forth between Shiloh and me,
    nothing but love for either of us reflected
in his eyes, and I feel like a total bitch.
You two didn’t have to wait for me.
Dig in, girls! He takes a giant bite
    of a very big turkey sandwich, and
is trying to manage chewing it when
    I hear the door open behind me.
Suddenly, food flies out of his mouth.
Who the fuck is that with your sister?
Guess it’s time for Dad to meet Andre.

Sean
    It’s Time
To quit overthinking.
Quit plotting. Planning.
Worrying about outcomes.
    Time
for action. Reaction.
Putting things into motion.
Emotion, something it
    isn’t
easy for me to communicate.
But there’s more. Lust.
This snarling inner animal.
    Always
in the past I have controlled.
it. For her. But pleasing a girl
is confusing. You can be
    on your
best behavior and still not
make her happy. And she won’t
tell you what’s going on in-
    side
her head. You generally find
out the hard way. So I’m taking
a risk. But it’s definitely time.

I Have Never Insisted
    On Cara having sex with me.
She didn’t seem ready for
the longest time, and being
in love with her meant more
    than getting off with her.
    It was enough to hold her.
Kiss her. Inhale the “her”
of her. Enough to gather
in the heat of her skin,
    knowing that she was mine.
    Then something changed.
That night in the truck,
something had opened
inside her—some sudden
    bloom of womanhood I didn’t
    expect. She was a wildcat,
come into season—enough
to drive any man crazy,
and that’s what I became
    when I couldn’t give her
    what she wanted. Practically
begged for. Betrayed by
my own body! Thank God
she didn’t think I was gay
    or something. She gave me
    another chance, and tonight
we will make serious love
right here, right now, on
Chad’s sweat-reeking, not
    real comfortable couch.
    Those girls on the TV are
beautiful. But I’ve got
the real deal, stripped
down to nothing but skin,
    beneath me. She moves like
    an eel. Sinuous. Cautious.
My kiss is a question.
Her tongue answers.
Now she pushes my head
    lower, asking for much more.
    She tastes of soap and salt.
A knockout combination.
It makes me high. Makes
me thirsty. Makes me hungry
    for even more. This could
    easily become addiction.
Tonight my body hints
zero treachery. Tonight
it wants to go for hours.
    “I love you,” I promise,
    though she can’t doubt it.
I prove it with my mouth.
My fingers. My tongue.
This is her first time,
    so I want her to be ready,
    and I think she has to be.
“I don’t want to hurt
you,” I tell her. “Ever.”
She is flushed, her skin
    hot as summer sand.
    I’m crazy again, this time
with the need to make
this all real. I lift myself
over her, working forearms.
    Biceps. She closes her eyes,
    moans as I move into place
right up against her sweet
spot. Pause at the resistance.
“I need you,” I say,