Perfected (Entangled Teen) by Kate Jarvik Birch

completely understand their conversation, I was still to appear engaged.
    “She really is charming, John,” the silver-haired man said. “What did you say I’d have to do to get my name on that list?”
    “I’ll go over all the details with you in just a moment,” the congressman said. “But first let’s have Ella play us a little something. Did I tell you they’re classically trained in an instrument? Our Ella plays the piano.”
    He gave me a nod and I rose from the ottoman and made my way over to the piano, carefully arranging myself on the bench so my gown billowed out beside me on either side. I knew the picture I made sitting before them was as important as the music I produced.
    I folded my hands in my lap and turned slightly so they could see my profile as I spoke. “Is there a song that you would prefer to hear?”
    “Oh no,” the congressman waved his hand. “You go ahead and play us anything, love.”
    I nodded. “Very well.”
    I turned around to face the piano, my fingers shaking. It seemed so strange to think that less than an hour ago I’d ached to play this instrument. But it felt tainted now. In my mind I kept replaying Penn’s words.
    Your music won’t be important to my dad unless there’s someone to impress.
    I didn’t want to play the piano out of obligation. I wanted to play it out of joy. Even if that joy was only bringing a bit of pleasure to my owner. But what pleasure was he getting from this? I was only a replacement.
    As I played, I kept my eyes wide open, staring out at the trees that grew outside the window. It would have to be enough to bring the music into the room, without becoming a part of it. I wouldn’t close my eyes. I wouldn’t let my body dance.
    When the song was over I folded my hands back in my lap and turned around to face the men again.
    They clapped loudly, congratulating the congressman on his wonderful taste and I let my eyes glaze over a little bit. Maybe Miss Gellner was wrong. Maybe they didn’t care if I was engaged in their conversation. They certainly didn’t seem to care if the music came from my heart. It was enough just to have my fingers move. I could be a mechanical girl as easily as I could be a living one. All that mattered was how things looked on the outside.

Eleven
    A s the summer days grew longer and hotter, the novelty of my arrival wore off. A few weeks and my presence no longer shocked them. When they entered a room I happened to be in, they stopped looking surprised, as if they’d stumbled upon some unusual creature, a bird that had flapped through an open window and nested on their couch.
    By the time the congressman’s annual fundraising party rolled around, I’d figured out how to make the best of the time I was alone in the house, finding a few minutes of stolen time here and there to pound out enough songs to keep my soul fed.
    On Saturday morning I sat on the patio, the way I’d made a habit of doing each morning since I’d arrived, but it was obvious that this morning was different. It was only six thirty, but already there were people buzzing around the backyard, getting a start on the millions of small tasks that needed to be completed before the party in the evening.
    On the patio next to the pool house, a group of young men were setting up long tables for the hors d’oeuvres and the drinks. It was hard to imagine they would need so many tables just for food and drinks. Past the long tables, more men were setting up a large white tent out on the lawn.
    Men and women in white buttoned shirts had already started unloading boxes out of large trucks they’d parked in front of the carriage house, and as much as I wanted to walk over and peer inside the boxes to see what sort of things they’d needed for one party that would take up so much space, I kept still, posing with a weak smile while I sipped a cup of warm green tea.
    “Good morning.”
    I turned to see Penn walking across the patio. He was dressed in shorts and a