The Perfectionists by Sara Shepard

you.” Much more than mine do right now. The truth was, she hated being alone right now. Whenever she was, panic about Nolan—and about her slipping grades—began to overtake her. Thanks to her evil stepmother, her relationship with her father was tenuous at best. If he ever caught wind of the Nolan rumors, that would be it.
    â€œAre you still upset about that paper?” he asked, as if reading her mind, his brown eyes warm with concern. “That was really harsh of Mr. Granger.”
    Ava suddenly flashed back to that day in class, when she and the other girls in the group had discussed vengeance and ended up talking about Nolan. What about Oxy? she heard their voices say. Not too much—just enough to knock him out. Just enough to take some incriminating pictures.
    She gritted her teeth. Stop thinking about it .
    â€œYeah, that sucked,” she said aloud. “I wonder if I should talk to him. See if I can rewrite it?”
    Alex’s gaze darted to the left. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
    Ava looked at him sharply. “Why would you say that?” Instantly she thought of the rumors about her. But Alex didn’t buy into them. “It was your idea,” she added.
    Alex shrugged. “Never mind. You’re right. You should try to change the grade.”
    â€œOkay.” Ava gave Alex’s hand a squeeze. She felt a little uncertain after Alex’s comment, but maybe Granger rubbed guys the wrong way for the same reason all the girls liked him. “I’ll ask him about it.”
    They walked down the grand staircase to the first floor. Instantly, the heady scent of the room spray Ava’s stepmother used assaulted her nostrils. Even though her father had been married to Leslie for several years, Ava still found the smell offensive. God forbid the house smell like the Iranian spices her father used in his cooking. That would be too foreign and weird.
    Of course, the rest of the place had changed as well. Gone were the Persian rugs her father and mother had bought in Tehran during their last visit, replaced with two beige couches and a leather recliner that Leslie had picked out. Gone were the gold-footed coffee table and the silk swags on the windows that Ava used to play among when she was little; in their place was a glass table and modern wooden blinds. Ava wasn’t sure what Leslie was trying to erase—her husband’s heritage, or his ex-wife’s legacy.
    They reached the front door, and Ava went up on her tiptoes to give Alex one more good-bye kiss. Ava was tall, but he still had a good six inches on her. “Call me when you get home,” she said.
    He nodded. “Love you,” he said, kissing her lightly on the forehead before stepping outside.
    â€œAva?” she heard from upstairs, as she shut the door behind him. “Is that you?”
    Her father appeared at the top of the staircase wearing a white terry cloth robe he would have never bought for himself—clearly a Leslie purchase. His graying hair was mussed, the way it always looked when he was working late, and his wire-frame glasses hung low on his nose. “How’s my girl?” he asked, just the hint of an accent left in his voice.
    â€œEverything is great !” Ava winced, realizing she’d injected far too much enthusiasm in the lie. But to her surprise, her father didn’t catch it.
    â€œI’m glad. Good night, jigar ,” he said, using their old Iranian term of endearment. Ava felt a sudden rush of affection for her father. With all her stress about the Nolan stuff, she hadn’t spent enough time with him lately. She resolved to change that.
    â€œGood night,” she replied, watching as he headed back into his room. She started up the stairs, then changed her mind and went to the kitchen for a glass of water, fumbling for the light switch on the wall.
    â€œHi, Ava,” came a slurred voice from the darkness.
    â€œ