Perfectly Flawed

by Nessa Morgan

  The beauty of performance?

  I like her.

  “Thank you,” I say into the microphone on the piano.

  That’s just the first night of the competition. I made it through to the next week, singing Bridgit Mendler’s All I see is Gold. I made it through that night as well, and it was still a shock to me. I expected to get the boot immediately.

  “And you didn’t think you’d make it,” Zephyr whispers against my ear. Sometimes, he can be sweet and everything I picture a boyfriend to be, but then he speaks and I’m reminded that I still owe him that punch. “You were wonderful on that stage, and fucking beautiful.”

  “My aunt is walking behind us, you know.” However, I doubt that she will be too upset with him for dropping an F-bomb or two.

  I look over my shoulder and watch Hilary shoot Zephyr a glare for swearing. And that’s all she does. Harley and Kennie already hugged me while Avery and Jackson clapped me on the back as if I was one of the boys, which I almost am. Patrick even came, that surprised me, and he brought an air horn that was immediately confiscated as contraband, and flowers—pink lily’s—that he gave me at the end of the show. I really, really like him. As I’ve already told Hilary, that’s a keeper, right there.

  We make it home, me riding in Zephyr’s car, Patrick driving Hilary, and have ice cream in the living room. It’s some kind of bizarre double date where family’s involved. It’s really weird to explain, but a very fun time where we joke around and laugh at each other. I spent most of the time making fun of Hilary who later joined up with Zephyr to make fun of me in return.

  I felt bad for Patrick because he was missing out on all of the fun so we all, as a very nice group, ganged up on him. He can’t expect to join a group and miss out on all of the good times.

  Ignoring the little blip where I sang in front of a crowd, it was one of the best nights of my life.

  ***

  While studying the Boston Massacre at the desk I rarely use in my room, my eyes lock onto the card that Ambrielle Knight gave me when she made me the offer to interview me. That involves following me around for a week with a camera crew. Have I given it any thought? No, not a single one. In fact, it sort of left my mind when more pressing matters presented themselves. Would it be interesting to do? Sure, why not, it’d be another experience to add to the variety of my life. So why not do it? I haven’t a clue, at least nothing with viable evidence.

  That makes me think and argue in my head that I should do it. At least, until I have other opinions on the matter. That would involve some phone calls.

  I grab my phone and dial Hilary at work. I should really discuss this with her before I make any hasty decisions. While I already know how she feels about it—she strongly hates the idea, I want to be sure that she’ll be okay if I decide to do it. And that if will probably turn to a when regardless of what she says.

  It rings twice before she answers with a happy, peppy, “What up, Buttercup?”

  What the hell? Random…

  “So I was looking at the card that Ambrielle chick gave me a few weeks back,” I begin, flipping the card back and forth in my hand. It’s remained on my desk for the past few weeks so it still looks new.

  “What about it?” she asks, sounding distracted.

  Was it right that I called a doctor while she’s at work?

  “Did I call at a bad time?” I ask instead of answering her question. I don’t want to be the reason that someone dies. I definitely don’t want to be the one preoccupying my aunt with something petty and materialistic rather than letting her save a life. That really wouldn’t do well for my conscious.

  “No, not at all, honey,” she tells me, the pep and perkiness back in her voice. “I’m taking a brief break right now, Joey. So what about that card?” she asks, the loud creak of a door joining her voice as it echoes. I’m going to guess that she’s in the empty stairwell.

  “I was thinking that I want to do it,” I confess. “Like, I really, really want to do it.” I tuck a free strand of hair behind my ear. It sprung free from my hair tie.

  I wait for her to reply with some kind of snide remark about Ambrielle Knight. All that I heard from her when I got back with her Golden Oreos was how much of a bitch Ambrielle seemed to her. I couldn’t exactly disagree with her, but the woman at the door also had eyes that seemed kind enough not to worry. If she wasn’t in search of the biggest story from a few years ago—which, we have got to agree that she is—then I wouldn’t have taken the time to think about it.

  But there is silence on the other end of the line.

  Suddenly, I just hope that we lost the connection. Silence is never good when Hilary’s involved.

  “Aunt Hil?” I hesitate. “You still there?” She wouldn’t just hang up on me for making what she believes to be the wrong decision. That isn’t something my aunt would do, right? If she didn’t like my choice, she’d discuss it with me, she’d try to point me in the right direction.

  Dear Lord, she needs to say something because this argument is going to continue in my brain until I talk myself out of the Ambrielle Knight interview.

  “Are you sure that you want to do this?” she asks, her aunt/maternal (whatever I should call them) instincts are kicking in. “Like are you completely positive that you want to show the world your life today?”

  Uh, well, hmmm…

  Now that she puts it like that, let me make sure

  “Well, not entirely,” I admit quietly. “That’s why I’m calling. If I were to do it, I’d want it to be this upcoming week.”

  “That’s very soon, Joey,” Hilary reminds me. I roll my eyes knowing she can’t see me.

  I know the date, I want to whine like a little girl. It’s just instinct when someone gives me information I already know.

  “I know that,” I say politely instead. “But it seems appropriate to me,” I tell her, confident in my decision.

  “Is it because you’re in the final round of that contest?” Hilary asks, knowing me so well.

  I smile brightly. “Yep,” I acquiesce.

  She’s quiet again; I can picture her rubbing her eyes as she tries to think of the appropriate thing to say. In the background, I can hear a code sound over the intercom, calling all available people to the ICU.

  “If you’re sure you want to do it, then I don’t object.”

  That’s shocking, really. All she wanted to do was keep me away from this Ambrielle Knight, now she’s letting me call her to set up a Then and Now shoot. Now I wonder if I could go on True Life. It’d have to be True Life: My Parent Tried to Kill Me and that may be a little too morbid.

  “Honestly?” I ask, just to make sure I heard her correctly.

  “Well, I don’t love the idea, Joey, honey, but…” she pauses briefly, possibly thinking over her words. “It’s your life, you’re almost seventeen, and it’s something you want to do.” I can almost hear her smiling through the phone. It feels like the day I got my license, how scared she was to let me drive the car by myself, but she still smiled as I pulled down the driveway slowly. I could see her fingers crossed in front of her while she silently prayed I made it back safely and didn’t take out a family of four. “You’ll be an adult soon, Joey. I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do nor prevent you from doing something you do want to do.”

  Spoken like a true teen advocate.

  “Wow,” I start, taking a deep breath. “That’s very un-Aunt Hil of you,” I say into the phone.

  “I’m trying to grow, honey,” my aunt concedes.

  That makes me laugh, because I can see she’s trying, here. I also know she’s trying to do this because I leave for college a year earlier than expected.

  “I’ll see you when you get home, okay?”

  “Yeah,” I answer. I wish her a good night and safe travel, telling her to tell Patrick I say Hello!—with that much enthusiasm—and hang up the phone. I immediately dial Ambrielle Knight’s number from the card and set everything up with her. It ta
kes no time, really. The camera crew will be here bright and early on Monday morning.

  Then I call Zephyr.

  “So, I’m going to have a camera crew following me from Monday to Saturday,” I blurt out when he answers the phone.

  I treat it like a Band-Aid, ripping it off rather than going slowly.

  “That’s a bit… bizarre,” he responds, humor in his voice. “Why? What’s going on?” That reminds me, I never exactly told him about Ambrielle and her offer. I should have done that a few weeks ago when it happened but there’s no time like the present.

  “It’s a cover story on me,” I tell him. “Like some before and after thing. Joey Archembault, Eight Years Later, I don’t know all the details yet, but I thought What the hell? you know? What harm can it do, really.”

  “Is it something you really want to do?” Zephyr asks me, trying to gage my reaction. Is he thinking that someone just convinced me to do it? I wouldn’t broadcast my life like this. Though, I think it could really help my senior project. That’s the ultimate goal.

  “It’s definitely something I want to do, Zephyr,” I tell him with so much confidence and conviction that he can’t not believe it. I roll my chair to my window, looking across the dimly lit alley to the brightly lit room, connecting eyes with my beloved concerned boyfriend. “I really want to do it,” I tell him, staring into his eyes as best I can with the distance.

  “Then you should do it.” He smiles to me from across the alley, our distance more obvious now than before. “I have to finish studying for this test I have tomorrow, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “I’ll leave my window open,” I tell him before I hang up my phone and drop it onto my book cluttered desk. I glance at all the work I need to finish before tomorrow. Calculus homework, chemistry reading, this report on the Boston Massacre—it’s all scattered around me, some even on the floor. I can finish it all; I know that, I just don’t want to.

  Still, it’s time to hunker down. And I do.

  As I trudge down the stairs illuminated by the gray hazy light of Monday morning, a knock lightly raps against the door, catching my slow attention. I pad to the door in my socks, covering my mouth as I yawn, and spot Ambrielle and an older man with a large camera in his hands.

  “Good morning, Joey,” Ambrielle nearly cheers. Actually, she sings it. She’s one eager beaver in the morning; I strongly hope this doesn’t continue throughout the week. “This is Brian Horne; he’ll be filming you every day.”

  “Hello,” I mutter depressingly. Anyone standing next to Ambrielle right now will sound in need of anti-depressants.

  This is going to be an awkward week, isn’t it? Darn.

  By Thursday, it really is. I never realized how boring I am until I had someone follow me around. Though this week was decent. On Monday, I was asked by Mr. Cheney to tutor some students during an after school study sessions, on Tuesday, I had an orchestra concert, and on Wednesday, I hung out with Zephyr at the movies. I’ve had a pretty busy week.

  I just walked into the house from the sound check for the Idol competition, crashing on the couch while the camera tapes me. I don’t feel like being entertaining anymore and he’ll be leaving soon, anyway.

  Brian lowers the camera and smiles at me.

  “You are a very busy girl,” he tells me as he clicks buttons and does something to the lens on the front. I still don’t understand all of that stuff, or any of it, and just let him do his thing—I’d be curious but the only think I want is to shed my pants, crawl into bed, and sleep.

  “Only this week,” I tell him. “I’m usually lounging on the couch in sweats with a book or homework, trying to get ahead in school.” I shrug weakly, exhausted.

  I walk him to the door, wishing him a good night and safe travel back to his hotel, and decide that it’s time for me to hit the hay. My bed sounds so tempting, I’m almost asleep walking toward the stairs.

  But the world has other plans for me as the doorbell rings.

  “Shit,” I whisper to myself as I turn toward the door.

  I shouldn’t answer it, I don’t have to answer it. But…

  My bed will have to wait until after I answer the door.

  I fling the door open—I still haven’t captured the grasp of the peephole—and Zephyr sidles past me into the house, smelling fantastic, might I add. Subconsciously, I follow him in my sleep-deprived state, trailing after him briefly until I snap to attention and my steps falter. I stagger into the middle of the living room.

  “Please, come on in,” I mutter, sarcastically.

  “We haven’t seen each other so much this week,” Zephyr says, standing in my living room, looking hotter than usual. I really must be tired. All I can focus on is his tousled hair, tight t-shirt, and arms. His arms, sweet Jesus, his arms are indescribable, and yeah… I need sleep.

  I shake my head. “I know, I’m sorry,” I start, lifting my hand to rub my eyes. I only smudge up my glasses. “I somehow had plans,” I mumble, feeling my exhaustion take over. “But we did hang out yesterday.” I walk through the living room to the kitchen, if I’m not going to bed, I might as well have something to eat. “You hungry?” I call as I head toward the refrigerator.

  “You know me, I’m always hungry,” he reminds me, following me into the kitchen and leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “You’re always hungry?” I ask skeptically even though I know it’s the truth. He pilfers my food more than I realize, usually from my plate as I’m eating, saying I eat like a bird and he doesn’t want to waste food. Boys, eh?

  “Unless I’m busy and distracted, I’m hungry.”

  I slam the door to the fridge, a bit aggressively. “Then let’s get busy,” I blurt out before catching myself, my cheeks reddening.

  “Well, if you insist.” Zephyr reaches out his arms, pulling me close to him, his hands sliding down my sides until the rest comfortably on my hips, his thumbs hooking into my belt loops.

  “Forget I said anything.” I push him away. “I’m too tired,” I mumble as I walk out of the kitchen and plop onto the couch, forgetting the food. Actually, I’m too embarrassed to eat.

  I remove my glasses and let my hands move up to my eyes, gently pressing into them before pinching the bridge of my nose. When I’m tired, I get horrible headaches, and I can feel the start of one, forming in the center of my forehead. The throbbing, pounding pain behind my eyes, it’s almost like a tiny drummer took residence in the base of my brain and is starting some kind of parade, generating a large mass of drummers to march from one end of my brain to the other.

  I lean my head against the back of the couch, yanking the hair tie from my hair and dragging my hand through the curling strands. I feel the couch shift and dip as Zephyr sits next to me. He drags my legs over his lap, basically turning me to face him, and tugs off my shoes. I hear them fall to the floor before I feel a soft blanket cover me. His hand clasps mine, threading our fingers together, and I smile to him.

  Sometimes, he’s really just too good to me.

  I only meant to blink, really, but the exhaustion is too much. Sleep is consuming me. I’m out before I can realize.

  The closing of the front door is the first thing that wakes me. I stir briefly, clutching onto something warm before succumbing to the darkness once again. The second thing to wake me is the shift of a body next to mine. An arm tugs me closer and I unconsciously fist the fabric in my hands, trying to pull the warm figure next to me closer before deciding I’m comfortable enough to continue sleeping, and I’m out once again.

  But it’s the bright white flash that gets me up and moving.

  “What the hell was that?” I slur out in a raspy murmur, clutching my hand to my eyes to block out the light that surrounding me. It hurts to open my eyes, but I know it must be done. I have school today. And tests.

  Oh, the tests…

  “Five more minutes,” a groggy Zephyr growls next to me, shifting his body and reaching an arm up until he grips
my shoulder and pulls me closer to him.

  Zephyr?

  This is new.

  “Good morning, beloved teenagers,” Hilary announces loudly in the room. My eyes spring open and I see my aunt, but she’s not alone. Jamie is stand next to her, and behind her are Molly and Antonios. There’s too much family in this room. All of them are staring at us with humor in their eyes.

  Why is everyone in my room? No, this isn’t my room. I’m in the living room. What am I doing in the living room? And why is Zephyr breathing against my neck? I turn to look at his sleeping form, his breath light against my cheek as I stare at him, silently praying that he wakes up.

  He doesn’t move.

  You see, if he was awake, he could help me with whatever is about to happen.

  “This isn’t what it looks like,” I blurt, catching the attention of all the eyes in the room. I lean up on my elbows, hearing Zephyr groan in protest before his breathing evens out.

  “We know,” Hilary tells me. “We got a picture of it, though.” Molly laughs at that and my eyes widen in horror. “It’s quite adorable.” She waves her phone back and forth, mockingly.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, shrugging Zephyr’s arm from around my stomach. My body wants to resist the cold.

  “Well…” Jamie holds out her iPhone and shows me a picture of Zephyr and me on the couch, pretty much wrapped in each other’s arms. His face is buried against my neck and I’m clutching onto him. Against my better judgment, I giggle when I see it—because it is funny—and tell her to send it to me. “Will do,” she replies, tapping on her screen.

  A few seconds later, my phone sings, vibrating on the table with an incoming text message. Ah, the beauty of technology today.

  “We just fell asleep down here,” I tell everyone—though, it’s blatantly obvious. The last thing I remember is Zephyr knocking on the door and walking in, he wanted to hang out, but I just fell asleep. I’m a sad girlfriend. “Sorry,” I mutter.