We Are the Perfect Girl

by Ariel Kaplan

  “That’s a good game,” Sebastian said with a mouthful of lettuce. “It’s hella hard, though. I missed class for like two weeks just to get past the first level.” He pointed a finger at me. “You know the trick, right?”

  “Yeah, you have to eat the pilot right after your plane crashes. We figured that out.”

  My mom said, “Excuse me?”

  “Otherwise you aren’t fast enough to run away from the zombies,” Sebastian explained.

  “What kind of game is this?”

  “Come on,” Dad told Mom. “You know that’s the first rule of plane crash survival: you eat the pilot.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I crossed my eyes at Bethany, who rolled hers back at me.

  “That is not a rule,” Mom said. “What are you even talking about?”

  “It’s like in Lost,” Dad said. “The plane crashes on the island, and at the end of the first episode they eat the pilot.”

  “They did not eat the pilot!” Mom said.

  “Sure they did! That’s why he wasn’t there for the rest of the season! It was that guy who played the roommate on Felicity and they ate him.”

  “They did not eat the pilot! The smoke monster got the pilot!”

  “She’s right,” Delia said. Walnut had jumped up on the table, and she set him back down on the floor. “My suitemates and I watched that during finals last fall.”

  Dad said, “Ooooh.” He took a bite of salad. “Then what show am I thinking of?”

  “No one knows,” Mom said, kissing him on the head as she took a piece of pizza from the middle of the table.

  “Battlestar Galactica? No. It was that Tom Hanks movie where he talks to the volleyball.”

  “Tom Hanks did not eat the pilot in Castaway,” Mom said.

  “But he should have,” I pointed out.

  “Thank you,” Dad said.

  “That’s it!” Sebastian said, smacking the table. “I haven’t done Castaway.” He mashed his pizza with his fork. “The scene where the volleyball floats away and Tom Hanks is crying. That’s so fucking perfect.”

  Everyone stared at him. He said, “For ‘Careless Whisper.’ ”

  “Ah, yes,” Mom said, murderously stabbing a cucumber.

  “That actually would be pretty funny,” Dad admitted.

  * * *

  —

  Bethany had gone home and I was in the middle of studying for my Latin test when Greg messaged Deanna again.

  I rolled over and grabbed my phone, knowing this was all kinds of wrong, but I was already in it up to my neck, so there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about it now. He’d said, It was great seeing you tonight. I didn’t know you were into gaming.

  Yeah, well. I’m a woman of mystery.

  That much was obvious from the very beginning. Hey.

  Yeah?

  I know you get nervous sometimes. I just want you to know, you don’t have to be with me. I think you’re amazing.

  I rubbed my eye a little. I think you’re amazing, too.

  * * *

  —

  That night, I had a dream, one of those third-person things in which I get to watch myself as if I’m starring in a movie inside my own brain. These are not my favorite dreams. I prefer the ones where I am looking out through my own eyes.

  It started with me in a wedding dress, a poufy white affair with lots of lace. I’m not sure how my subconscious came up with something so cliché, since it’s not like I spend a lot of time reading bridal magazines. Anyway, I couldn’t see my own face under the veil, but Delia and Bethany were my bridesmaids, and they both looked beautiful in their strapless white dresses. My brother was playing “You Are My Sunshine” on the harp, and I walked up the aisle to find Greg standing at the altar. I looked over at Bethany to see if this upset her, but she was all smiles, daintily wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. I turned to face Greg, and he reached out to lift my veil, and I was all breathless anticipation, waiting for the moment when he would kiss me, and the veil went up, and under the veil I was a duck.

  It was still dark when I opened my eyes, and I lay in my bed and wondered how Dr. Pascal would parse this dream. I do this, sometimes, imagine conversations with her, which saves me the trouble of having to bring them up in therapy, since I already know what she’ll say.

  I imagined her asking, “Why a duck?”

  I didn’t have an answer to that one.

  I felt a little like I was going to die the next morning. On top of the weird dream, I’d been up too late studying for my Latin test, and then I’d been doing that thing where I am so stressed out for no reason that my inner monologue won’t shut up and I just lie there for hours thinking Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking. Only I can’t, and it’s like my brain is having verbal diarrhea, which makes it almost as hard to sleep as when you are having the real thing.

  I was asleep, though, when my alarm went off at 6:30, which was unfortunate because sleeping for half an hour right before your alarm goes off feels so much worse than not sleeping at all. I got up, jabbed my contacts into my eyes, and staggered into the kitchen, where my dad was downing a cup of coffee and Kit was putting his shoes on. Delia, on her way to some pre-internship orientation, was heading out the door in a pantsuit, leaving Sebastian on the couch in his boxers with a bowl of oatmeal.

  “Remember,” Dad told me. “It’s your day to take Kit to the allergist.”

  “I remember,” I said. “I put a reminder on my phone and everything.”

  “Are you sure you can manage? It’s pretty tight for you, schedule-wise.”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “Everything is in a three-mile triangle. It’ll be cake.” I patted Dad on the head. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything, Dad-o.”

  He ruffled my unbrushed hair. “I’m taking him to school,” he said. “Don’t forget to eat breakfast.”

  “I never do.” He went out the door with Kit, and I poured myself some cereal.

  “Hey,” Sebastian said. “Look at this.”

  I went into the living room and looked over his shoulder at his phone. On it was a video of Tom Hanks crying in Castaway while his volleyball floated away and “Careless Whisper” played in the background. I laughed with my mouth full and spat some of my Cheerios back into the bowl.

  “Right?” he said, pointing at the number of hits in the corner of the screen. “Right?”

  “Yeah, okay,” I said, wishing it had been maybe 20% less funny.

  * * *

  —

  I watched the clock all through third block, waiting for the bell to ring. I had exactly thirty minutes to leave, get Kit, drive to the allergist, drive back, drop Kit off, and be at my next class. For Kit, this was no problem; using lunch and recess time, he had an hour before he had to be back. But for me, despite what I’d told my parents, it was going to be tight. I ran slalom through the halls, dodging and weaving, until I came face to face with Officer Barry by the back door.

  I really didn’t have time to banter with him, and I certainly didn’t have time to bring him a burger that day, so I just started babbling my explanation as rapidly as my larynx would allow. “I have to take my brother to the doctor I’ll be back as soon as I can and I’ll bring you a donut tomorrow morning but I can’t talk now okay sorry please thank you.”

  To my surprise, he continued to block the door.

  “Uh,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “I really do need to go.”

  He stared back down the hall. I followed his gaze to where Ms. Turner, the junior vice principal, was staring at us with her arms crossed.

  “Damn it,” I said.

  “She’s been standing there for fifteen minutes,” Barry said, grinding his teeth. “Please try to look like you’re not expecting me to let you out of the building.”

  I glanced
back to Ms. Turner, who looked like she’d just eaten a lemon. “HA HA HA,” I said to Barry. “And then he said, ‘YOUR MOM? I THOUGHT IT WAS AN ESPRESSO MACHINE!’ ”

  He looked at me oddly, then slapped his thigh and let out a very obviously fake laugh.

  “Seriously,” I said through my own fake laughter. “I need to leave.”

  “There’s a fire door at the end of the arts wing,” he muttered. “I was smoking out there earlier and I forgot to lock it when I came back in.”

  This didn’t make me feel too great about the security of the building, but I nodded and went back down the hall. As I passed Ms. Turner, I said, “He’s so funny. You should ask him the one about the chicken and the milkshake.” And then I ran like hell back down the arts wing.

  * * *

  —

  I arrived at the front office of Kit’s school five minutes late. I was on the list of people who were allowed to pick him up, but I’d never picked him up in the middle of the day before, so I hoped they wouldn’t notice that my ID said I was still seventeen.

  “I’ll bring him right back,” I said. “He’s just getting allergy shots. Your blouse is gorgeous, by the way. Where did you get it?”

  The secretary smoothed the floral print over her torso. “Oh,” she said as she ran my ID through the scanner. “You know, I got it at the outlet mall in Leesburg last spring.”

  “So pretty,” I said, taking my ID back while she smiled and preened a little.

  Just then, Kit came into the office, scowling and saying, “You’re late.”

  “Long story,” I said. To the secretary, I added, “I will bring him right back.”

  “Nordstrom Rack,” she said. “I think it came from Nordstrom Rack.”

  “Perfect!” I said, ushering Kit out of the office. “Thank you!”

  Back in the car, I glanced at the clock and said, “Oh, crap.”

  “You were really late,” he said. “I’m going to miss the movie about the lost colony.”

  “Yeah, well. Spoiler alert: the colony gets lost.”

  “Yeah, I know. They carved CROATOAN on a tree and no one knows why.”

  “Seems like you already know all the important parts.” I pulled out of the lot as fast as I could. Kit’s allergist is only two miles from his school, so I figured with any luck, I could make up some time on the drive over.

  “Why are you driving so fast?”

  “No reason,” I said.

  I sprinted with Kit into the doctor’s office and was relieved to find there was no line for the shot clinic. Kit rolled up his sleeves and took the shots like a champ. I waved a grape Dum Dum at him and held the door so we could leave.

  “I’m supposed to stay twenty minutes,” he said.

  I stopped short. “What?”

  “After the shots. I’m supposed to stay twenty minutes. To make sure I’m not having an allergic reaction or something.”

  “That’s…What? Really? Mom didn’t mention that. Is that really a thing?”

  He pointed to a sign on the wall: PLEASE REMAIN FOR 20 MINUTES AFTER THE ADMINISTRATION OF ALLERGY SHOTS.

  “Ugh,” I said.

  “Can I play on your phone?”

  “Sure,” I said, handing it over and descending into the nearest plastic chair.

  I watched the minutes tick by on the big analog clock next to the door. After fifteen minutes, I said, “Hey, let’s go.”

  “It’s only been fifteen minutes.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure that last five minutes is kind of a grace period anyway, let’s go.”

  “I’m supposed to show my arms to the nurse.”

  “What?”

  “To make sure I’m not having an allergic reaction.”

  “Fine, fine, go do that.” He flashed his triceps to the nurse, who was too busy to notice he was five minutes early, and then I hauled him out of the office.

  “I’m hungry,” he said.

  “What?” I was, too, but I’d brought a PowerBar and a yogurt drink to have on the way back to school, since there was no time for me to have lunch. Kit was supposed to bring whatever Mom had packed so he could eat it while I drove. “Why didn’t you eat on the way here?”

  “I forgot my lunch. It’s still in my cubby.”

  It was now 12:23. I was three minutes late to Latin. “Can’t you just eat when you get back?”

  “Lunch’ll be over by then,” he said.

  “Ugggghhh,” I said.

  “I’m really hungry,” he whined. He pointed across the parking lot. “There’s a Potbelly over there.”

  I reached into my bag and handed him my PowerBar.

  “That isn’t lunch,” he said.

  I growled a little, but I couldn’t very well drop him off for four more hours of school without having eaten something, so I parked in front of the Potbelly and said, “We have to be quick.”

  But there was a line, and by the time we’d gotten up to the front, I was fifteen minutes late for class, and I realized I didn’t have enough cash to get both of us lunch. I ordered Kit a grilled cheese and a bag of chips, and then it occurred to me that I’d forgotten to specify I wanted it to go.

  At this point, I decided Latin was not happening. So I took Kit’s lunch, along with two (free) cups of water, and went to sit down at one of the tables.

  “Why didn’t you get anything?” Kit asked.

  “Wasn’t hungry,” I said.

  “But they have those hummus wraps you like.”

  “I know. I ate before I left school.”

  Kit frowned at me. Then he tore off half of his sandwich and handed it over. I started to object, but then I just said, “Thanks, bud.” I chewed for a while and then asked, “How’re your arms?”

  “Okay,” he said. “Do you think Walnut can sleep in my room again soon?”

  “I…don’t think so. Sorry. I think that part’s permanent.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

  Just then, I got a text from Mitzi, saying, We’re about to take the unit 21 test. Where are you?

  I felt a little faint. How had I managed to forget about that? How?

  “What’s wrong?” Kit asked.

  “Nothing.” I put my phone away. Kit was done, apart from his barbeque chips, so I said, “Mind if we head out now?” in my calmest voice.

  He threw out his trash and I drove him back to school, pulling into the kiss ’n’ ride and then putting the car in park.

  “See you at home,” I said, and then, when he didn’t get out, I said, “What?”

  “You have to sign me back in.”

  “Oh, for crying…” I turned off the car and put on the hazard lights. “Let’s go.”

  When I got back to the car, there was a police officer there.

  He said, “You’re parked in a fire lane.” He pulled out a pad of paper.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I was bringing my brother back to school.”

  “Your brother. How old are you?”

  I started to say nineteen but realized that if he asked to see my driver’s license, I was screwed. I said, “You know, time is kind of a relative thing, making age a sort of theoretical black hole.”

  He said, “Age?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “Why aren’t you at school?”

  “I am going there right now, actually, as soon as I’m done talking to you.”

  “Really.”

  “Yeah, see, here’s the thing: my brother is allergic to his cat, and he had to either get shots or give him away, but my parents can’t take him to his shot appointment today because they have meetings, so I said I’d do it, and I did think I could get there and back during my lunchtime, but I was running late because the junior vice principal chose today to narc on our nar
c, and then my brother hadn’t eaten, so I had to feed him, and now I have missed the first half of a very significant Latin test, but if you call my parents they are going to make my very adorable little brother give up his cat and he’ll probably have a breakdown and possibly even end up in the juvenile justice system, and do you really want that on your conscience?”

  He frowned. “Do you always talk that fast?”

  I said, “Yes.”

  Just then, I heard the officer’s radio turn on with the dispatcher’s report of a shoplifting at the local pet store, where someone had made off with a puppy in their purse.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  “Go!” I said. “Save the puppy!”

  “Tell me you aren’t going to do this again.”

  I said, “Um.”

  He waved me off and went back around to the driver’s side of his car. “Just don’t park in the fire lane next time.”

  “I won’t! Thank you!” He turned on his ignition. “And that puppy thanks you!”

  * * *

  —

  By the time I got back to school, I was forty minutes late for Latin.

  “Aphra,” Ms. Wright said. “Do you have a late pass?”

  I did not, and I was lucky I hadn’t been caught coming back into the building by the still-unlocked art door. “Sorry. Long story.”

  “You’ve missed almost the entire test.”

  I swallowed.

  “Where were you?”

  There were a limited number of things I could tell her. If I told her I’d been at the doctor with Kit, she’d probably call my parents. If I told her I was smoking behind the dumpster, I’d get suspended. If I told her I was in the nurse’s office, she’d want to know why I didn’t have a pass. I said, “I fell asleep. In the cafeteria.”

  “And…none of your friends woke you up?”

  “No,” I said, then added, “Dirtbags.”

  She handed me the test. “You have ten minutes left,” she said. “You might want to write fast.”

  I was still writing furiously when the bell rang. I heard the rest of the class shuffling their way out of the room, and then Ms. Wright was standing in front of my desk, her hand hovering above my test, which I’d very nearly finished, except for the last page. “Aphra,” she said. “Time’s up.”