Perfect. Part 19

Fight For Love?

Would I? Could I? Should I? If it came down to fighting someone else for Jenna's love, I might.

But fighting to hold on to her love is something else.

Especially considering I'm not sure she loves me, or if she's even capable of loving someone.

Hiding somewhere in that girl is a soul defined by pain. I don't know what sort of hurt left her fragile, and she would argue that she's strong as brick. But beneath her wall of bl.u.s.ter is uneven ground.

A good hard shake could bring it all crashing down. The question I keep asking myself is, do I want to be standing there when it happens?

I Really Have No Option Any crumbs of choice blew away the first time she kissed me. And she knew it too.

Now I've got you right where I want you, she said. Of course "where she wants me" seems to change, practically from day to day.

And where she wants me today is having lunch with her father and his fiancee. The one she's p.i.s.sed about. My gut tells me this may not go well. We arrive at Rose's a full half hour late. Jenna is always late.

But this was, I'm pretty sure, a deliberate grand entrance.

She never ever talks about her dad.

And I'm really very sure he has no idea about me.

That Theory Is Confirmed The second we walk through the door.

Who the f.u.c.k is that with your sister? The words slap the air, accompanied by chunks of sandwich.

Way to break it to him, Jenna. At least her mother didn't yell. I consider making a sharp U-turn and running like h.e.l.l. But Jenna tightens her grip on my hand. Come on, she says. He won't hurt you. I won't let him. And she drags me across the short distance to the food-sprayed table. Sorry we're late. I had to change my tampon. Man!

If looks could kill, I'd be embalmed already. Jenna's dad is seriously disturbed. By us? Me? Both?

Kendra says nothing. Just sits, staring at us with a mixture of amus.e.m.e.nt and-relief?-in her eyes.

The fiancee keeps one hand on Jenna's father's arm, as if that could keep him safely anch.o.r.ed.

Jenna pushes me into an empty chair.

I am starving. She checks out Kendra's plate. Not for spinach, though. We're all transfixed, even her father, who clearly can't quite process what he's seeing.

Finally Jenna notices our blank-eyed gawk. What? Oh.

Introductions. This is my boyfriend, Andre.

That's my dad. And that... She points, quite rudely. Uh, not sure what her name is. Back to the menu.

Part Of Me Wants to break the spell Jenna has put us under. Another part knows I really need to keep my mouth shut. And there is still that little voice that keeps insisting, "Run!"

I look at Kendra, eyes begging for help.

But it is the fiancee who finally speaks up.

I'm Shiloh. Glad to meet you, Jenna. And you, too, Andre.

Jenna ignores her, but my manners kick in immediately. "Thanks so much, and very pleased to meet you, too.

And you as well, Mr. Mathieson. Oh, and congratulations on your engagement." I extend my right hand.

What was anger just seconds ago swells into palpable fury.

Listen here, boy. I don't know who you are, and I don't want to know, but if I were you, I'd get the f.u.c.k out of here right d.a.m.n now.

"Excuse me, sir, but I don't understand what I did to make you so angry. Is it dating Jenna? Because I'm not the first guy she's gone out with."

I glance at Jenna, who for some inane reason seems to be enjoying the whole thing. Chill out, Dad, she says.

I don't choose who you date. Let alone who you get engaged to.

The room has fallen morgue silent. All activity has ceased.

"Uh, Jenna, maybe we should just go."

Mr. Mathieson starts to stand, only to be braked by Shiloh.

You go, he says. Jenna is staying here.

This Is Insane I have no idea what my next move should be, other than to do exactly as he has suggested. Every eye in the restaurant is looking at us-me- and that makes me extremely uncomfortable. I can't meet Jenna's father's gaze, so I speak directly to Shiloh. "Very sorry about-" Wait. What am I sorry about?

"Scratch that. I'm not sorry. I didn't do anything except walk through the door with your daughter."

Directed in a straight line at Mr. Mathieson.

"I don't know what your problem is, but I'm not going to make it mine.

I'm leaving, Jenna. You can come with me, or you can stay.

It doesn't really matter either way."

I Turn My Back On the whole ugly scene, walk away without a backward glance. Behind me, things escalate into a regular shouting match. Jenna: You had no right to do that, Dad. Andre is really good to me.

Dad: Listen to me, little girl. I'd better never see you with someone like... that... again. Never.

Someone like... that? I am almost through the door when Jenna confirms the reference.

You mean someone who's black? G.o.d, Dad. What century do you live in? Anyway, we're just going out. It's not like we're getting married and making babies together or something. Andre! Wait up.

I keep on walking. Last thing I need is for some racist jerk to come gunning for me. And that seems a likely possibility. Jenna! Get your a.s.s back here right now!

The door closes behind me, and I don't have the stomach to turn around and see which one of them prevailed. Jenna is strong-willed, but her father is a regular ogre. Can't believe a nice lady like Shiloh wants to hook up long term with the man.

Can't believe girls as pretty as Jenna and Kendra could be so closely related to someone as ugly as that.

I Reach My Car Without taking a bullet in the back.

Thank G.o.d for small miracles. As I unlock the door, footsteps come slapping up the street. Not sure I'm all that happy to see Jenna, but whatever. A quick scan of the sidewalk behind her tells me we've got all of thirty seconds to make a clear getaway. "Hurry up, okay?"

As I pull away from the curb, Jenna sighs.

Wow. I didn't know he'd get that mad. Not that I really care. Sorry.

I'm pretty sure she's not sorry at all.

But when I look at her, all wide-eyed and beautiful, I'm not sure how to be angry. "d.a.m.n it, Jenna.

You had to know how he'd feel about you showing up with me.

I mean, it's not like he just woke up one day and decided to hate black people. It's programmed."

My grandparents aren't the most open- minded people in the world, she says. He definitely learned it from them. Her hand skips across the seat, pounces on my leg. But, hey, aren't you glad I chose to break the cycle of hate? She says it with a completely straight face, then breaks out in a lunatic grin.

I can't help but laugh. "Girl, you make me totally crazy.

And just so you know, I'm still mad at you."

Yeah, but you'll forgive me. Her fingers dance up along my inner thigh. That's what love is all about, right?

Cara

What Is Love All About?

The question is asked time and again in books. Movies.

Television. Songs. Sadly, I.

have to admit I'm clueless, and the theories I've seen presented seem to have no solid footing on terra firma.

They are spores, floating in imagination, oblivious of real experience.

From what I've seen, love isn't about mutual respect.

It's more concerned with control than sacrifice.

And I wonder whether it's better or worse when love finally walks away.

Three Days Since the night Sean had s.e.x with me. Three long days, trying to make sense of the disgusting scene that replays over and over in my head-the worst-ever dirty movie, stuck in an endless loop.

In retrospect, it wasn't all Sean's fault. It's a thin line between outright a.s.sault and temporary insanity. And I was as crazy as he was, at least for a few intense moments. What's hazy is when, not to mention why, I changed my mind. My head said okay.

My body said hurry. But my heart said I'd be sorry. And I am. I am.

I Am Also Incredibly Angry At him. At me. At us. At there ever having been an us. I guess I got the answer I needed. But it was never the one I wanted.

It destroys the impeccable order of my life.

Ruins the rhyme.

Makes the meter out of sync.

I'm afraid it will never be perfect again. I am indelibly stained.

Forever redefined, but blurred around the edges.

Because the clearer it becomes that this other Cara really is me, the less I'm sure that she's the person I want to be. I'm scared there's no turning back. I loathe labels, especially those I can't free myself of. So how do I hang out a "lesbian"

shingle? How can I expose myself (so to speak) in such a blatant manner? G.o.d, it's hard enough waving around the "Stanford- bound Cheerleader" banner.

Yes, I made it. The acceptance letter came today. I should be celebrating. But I have no one to celebrate with, except maybe Dani. And I'm afraid to call her.

Because I'd have a lot more to tell her than just about Stanford. If I open that door, let the bad air out, who knows if I could close it again once the sweet breeze came wafting in? My cell phone rings, and I freeze. I know it's Sean.

I've lost track of how many times he's called in the past three days.

I know I have to talk to him.

What I don't know is where to begin.

If He Really Loves Me He should understand that I am not the princess he so desires.

Not a princess at all. If he really loves me, he will want me to stay true to who I am. The person I was born to be. What I'm trying to say is, if he loves me, he will let me go.

How frigging cliche. But I mean it.

His messages have been predictable: Please forgive me. I'll make it up to you. Tell me what you want me to do. Get down on my knees? I will.

This one is different. Cara, you are my world. I've planned my future around being with you. I need you to understand what that means.

I signed my letter of intent to play ball for Stanford. Because of you.

I thought we would be together. Live together. Maybe even... Please call.

Maybe Even What?