You Asked for Perfect

by Laura Silverman

  “No cheating!” Sara says.

  “They started it!” her dad responds.

  The timer buzzes. Amir’s lips set into a firm line.

  Mrs. Naeem winces. “Oh, I’m sorry, beta.” She picks up her phone. “Here—you want more time? We won’t talk.”

  Amir shakes his head and sits down next to me, sinking into the couch. “It’s fine,” he says. “Who’s next?”

  Mrs. Naeem looks truly sorry, and I want Amir to let her off the hook. But he’s already staring at his phone, scrolling through a photo blog. Then, my alarm goes off.

  “Crap,” I mutter. “I need to head out.”

  Amir is quiet, retreated into himself. I don’t want to leave him like this. But Sook needs me at practice. This gig is huge for her, and we have to prepare.

  “Talk later tonight, okay?” I ask Amir.

  He nods, still looking at his phone. So, I pull mine out and send him a message. A second later, his phone chimes. He looks at it and smiles, then nudges my side. I smile and nudge back.

  As I get up to leave, my phone buzzes: I ship us more than I ship Harry and Cedric too.

  Twelve

  By the end of the week, I’m exhausted, but I actually feel good, in control. Buckling down the last couple of days has been nice. Familiar. I get this weird high when I’m hyperproductive and always checking something off my list. And I have a lot on my list.

  I planned out all of my classwork by the hour. So if I pull an all-nighter tonight and only sleep for five hours a night going forward, I’ll be back on track within a week. Maybe four hours a night. But it’ll be fine. I can sleep when I graduate.

  As we sit down for Shabbat dinner, I have the giant novel Mrs. Rainer gave me to read in my lap. I’ll finish it tonight and pick out a comp book this weekend. Mom recites the prayer for the candles and joins us at the table.

  “Ariel, Rachel, books away,” Dad says, raising the wineglass.

  I glance in Rachel’s direction. She’s reading a book that looks heavier than mine.

  “One second,” I respond, scanning the rest of my page, then shutting the novel and looking up.

  Rachel’s still bent over her book. She’s twists a piece of her hair, round and round, tight around her finger. “Book away, Rachel,” Dad repeats.

  “I’m not hungry,” she says.

  “Ra-chell,” Dad warns. He pulls out the Hebrew pronunciation, so he means business.

  Rachel sighs loudly and slams her book closed. “Fine, whatever.”

  “What is that?” I ask.

  “An encyclopedia,” she tells me.

  “But…internet…” I say.

  “They want us to cite sources.” She groans. “I don’t know. It’s so old. And boring. It’s about weather.”

  “What’s the assignment?” Mom asks.

  “It’s nothing. Boring. Next topic.”

  Mom hesitates, raising an eyebrow at Dad, but moves on. “What about you, boychik? Good book?”

  “It’s fine. For school.”

  “We couldn’t keep you away from the library when you were Rachel’s age,” Dad says. “Maybe you should ease back on some of that work. Read something for fun.”

  I give him a weak smile. “Yeah.”

  I don’t get my parents. They brag about me applying to Harvard, but then they nag me for working too hard. They don’t understand, I guess. They can’t understand. Harvard demands perfection. So many of these schools demand perfection. And I’m not like my parents. Perfection isn’t natural for me—I have to make sacrifices.

  We say the prayer for the wine and challah and dig into dinner, but I can’t concentrate on conversation. There’s still so much to do. Our game of bloopers and highlights goes by in record time, Rachel and I giving short answers. As I butter my end-of-meal third slice of challah, Rachel asks, “May I be excused?” Her plate is already empty, and she’s kicking her legs against the chair.

  Mom and Dad have another silent exchange. “We were thinking we could go for ice cream after dinner. What do you guys think?”

  “Awesome,” Rachel says. “Bring me back some, please. Mint chocolate chip!”

  She scampers upstairs. Dad sighs. “What about you, Ariel?”

  I know it’s a jerk move, but I also pretend to not get their point. “Mint chocolate chip sounds great.” I stand up and grab my book. “Thanks, guys. Have fun!”

  * * *

  At least I can read this absurdly long book from bed. I prop it up with a pillow on my stomach. My window is cracked open, so the brisk October wind blows into my room, while my speakers play the Grateful Dead’s “Touch of Grey.”

  It’s late, almost one in the morning, and I’m reading by the light of my lamp. The book isn’t bad. It’s just long. Three hundred pages is enough for me to get the gist, but it keeps going and going. I yawn, then take a sip of the Coke next to me. It’s getting warm, but the ice machine is loud, and I don’t want to wake anyone up. I grab a bag of Sour Patch Kids off my nightstand and eat them two at a time.

  Next door the floor creaks. Is Rachel awake? I wait a moment, and the house settles. I pick up my phone and see a message from Sook: Adding a practice tomorrow. What time works for you?

  I groan. I’m tempted to text back and say, I’m sorry, Sook, I can’t do this. I have too much work and not enough time. But this gig is so important to her. So I text back: 4 but I can only do a couple hours

  Sook: Okay thank you love you

  I was hoping to squeeze in time to see Amir tomorrow, but that’s going to have to wait until Sunday. Besides, I don’t need him seeing me this stressed. I probably already weirded him out with my math panic. He can’t see me at Peak Ariel.

  I yawn, eyes blinking closed. No. Can’t sleep.

  I take another swig of Coke and keep reading.

  * * *

  “Coffee anyone?” I ask, thudding downstairs to Sook’s basement. It’s Saturday afternoon. This morning I practically sleepwalked through services and my shift at the animal shelter. I was in such a daze, I almost forgot to put three of the dogs back in their cages before leaving. At Dunkin’ Donuts, I asked for a double shot in my coffee.

  “Oh my god, yes please.” Malka gratefully accepts a cup.

  “I’m good,” Sook says.

  “Cool, I’ll drink yours.” My phone buzzes, telling me it’s time for practice to start. My pulse races, and my leg shakes up and down. Maybe I didn’t need a double shot after drinking coffee at both Kiddush and the shelter. “Y’all ready to play? I have to head out at six.”

  “Oooh,” Sook says. “Going out on a date with Amir?”

  “Nah, dinner with the family.”

  And then I’ll be up late working. I allotted myself five hours of sleep tonight, but this caffeine might keep me awake until dawn. Good. Maybe I’ll get ahead.

  We set up our instruments and start a new song. It’s a small set, but Sook pleaded until I agreed to play five full songs with them instead of just the couple I remember signing up for. The violin interludes are easy, but each note is painful. To keep first chair, I’m practicing constantly. Calluses can’t form soon enough.

  My mind drifts to my to-do list as Sook and Malka pause to discuss song order. In my rush to make up points in English, I forgot I have to read a thirty-page short story for Spanish lit and also take an online quiz for AP Psychology. Weirdly, calculus is now one of the few classes I’m not worried about. Studying with Amir has set me on the right track with the material, and I’ve gotten used to Mr. Eller’s haphazard teaching style.

  Practice continues. This session is supposed to have us ready for the gig. But even though I play each note right, we don’t fit together yet. As much as I plan and prepare, nothing seems to go right.

  * * *

  The next morning, I climb out of the shower yawning. I rub the fogg
ed-up mirror to see red eyes. “Crap,” I mutter and then move around stuff in my junk drawer until I find my Visine. I squeeze two drops in each eye and blink.

  Yesterday, my alarm buzzed at six, and I told the girls I had to leave, but our sound still wasn’t right. I reasoned it was better to get the practice over with than have Sook asking me to come back again, so I stuck with it until we blended together seamlessly.

  But then I didn’t get home until nine and stayed up until five in the morning finishing that damn book. My sleep after that was short and fitful, body still buzzing from caffeine.

  I’ve got to get some sleep before school tomorrow. Maybe even sneak in time for a run. At least there’s no zero period this year. Last year, Sook picked me up during pitch-black winter mornings to make it to school on time for zero period health class. The year before that, Mom drove me in early for AP Latin.

  I crack another giant yawn and force myself out of the bathroom. Rachel’s soccer game starts soon, and no matter my workload, I can’t miss it.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m parked and walking down to the field. I scroll through my phone, looking at popular twenty-first-century novels and trying to find a short one that will work. But not so short that Mrs. Rainer will suspect I’m cutting corners.

  “Ariel.”

  “Hmm?” I didn’t realize I’d gotten so close to where everyone is standing. Amir is right in front of me. It’s been days since I’ve seen him outside of school. It’s like my brain put him in this other compartment, but now I’m inhaling spearmint and basil, and I’m so damn tired, I just want to put my head on his shoulder and have him wrap his arms around me.

  Instead, I yawn. “Hey.”

  “Hey, sleepy.” He smiles, and my stomach flip-flops. “I missed you.”

  I’m too tired to subdue my unruly grin. “Missed you too. Sorry I’m so busy.”

  “It’s okay. You warned me. How’s English going?”

  I shrug. “Getting there. It’s a ridiculous amount of extra work. Between that and Spanish lit, I never want to read another book again.”

  “Except Harry Potter,” Amir says.

  I laugh. “Except Harry Potter.” I glance at our families, talking and gathered around the food as always. “I should probably go say hi to everyone.”

  Amir tsks. “You’re probably right.”

  We chat with our parents and Rasha as the game starts. It’s kind of nice. As we get into the first half, my phone buzzes, reminding me to go to the bookstore after the game. I need to pick out a novel now so I can be in and out when I get to the store.

  Amir is talking with Rasha, so I head down the sideline and scroll through books again. The sun beats down through scattered clouds. I sit in the grass and hunch over my phone, tapping my calendar. The Harvard application date looms closer. I click my screen off and try to force away the thought. Then before I know it, my eyes dip shut. I don’t fall asleep, but I’m in some half state, the sounds of the game in the far background.

  “You okay?” Amir asks.

  My eyes are slow to open. I focus on him, having to squint. “Hmm, yeah. A little tired.” I pat the grass next to me. “Come sit. It’s so nice out.”

  Amir hesitates, like he wants to say something else, but then he sits close enough that his shoulder presses against mine. His touch steadies me. I lean into him, and my eyes blink closed. “You missed a goal,” Amir says.

  “Rachel or Sara?”

  “The other team.”

  I wince. “Bummer. They’ll get it back.” I pick up a piece of grass and shred it with my fingers. Amir does the same. “So what’s going on with you?” I ask. “How was the rest of your week?”

  “Well…”

  I glance over, and Amir is smiling one of the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen from him. It’s an Ariel-sized smile, but he doesn’t try to hide it. I perk up a bit and lean forward. “Tell me.”

  “You know that art show I was applying to? The one with the scholarship?” I nod. “I got in!”

  “Holy shit, Amir. That’s amazing. Congrats!”

  Without thinking, I lean forward and kiss him quick across the lips. He kisses me back, softer and longer, and I melt against his touch. God, I missed him.

  “Thank you,” he says, nudging into my shoulder. “For the congrats and the kiss. It’s this Friday. Will you come?”

  I stay smiling, but beneath the surface, my pulse races. Of course, I want to go, but will I have caught up on enough work by then? I can’t keep adding things to my schedule and expect to get it all done. The gig Saturday night is already going to devour a large part of next weekend. This is why I never date during the school year.

  But being with Amir seemed more like an inevitability than a choice.

  Amir looks hopeful, happy. This is huge for him. “Of course I’ll be there.”

  Eager shouts erupt from the sidelines. We look to the field and watch as Rachel scores a goal.

  “Told you they’d get it back,” I say.

  “She’d make a great chaser.”

  “Does everything relate to Harry Potter in your mind?”

  “Hey, don’t knock it. What’s so bad about seeing magic everywhere?”

  “You’re right.” I lean against him again, my body at ease. “Nothing wrong with a little magic.”

  Thirteen

  “All right, everyone. You may get started. Feel free to brainstorm with your classmates,” Mrs. Chen says.

  I grip my pencil and try to concentrate, but my eyes won’t focus. A vicious headache beats against my skull. I should’ve packed more than a granola bar, or made time to run by the cafeteria for a slice of pizza. I need sleep, and if not, calories. Covertly, I sneak a sip of my energy drink under the table.

  We’re supposed to make up our own government and map out the power structure. At least it’s only a completion grade.

  I feel Pari’s stare on me. “Are you okay, Ariel?”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “You can talk to me, you know,” she says. “Whatever it is.”

  She probably means it. Probably.

  But my interior is already cracking. I can’t let my exterior fall apart also. Soon we’ll both play the Rimsky-Korsakov solo. If I show weakness now, she’ll know she has a chance to steal my chair and practice harder to do so.

  “It’s nothing.” I twist my pencil. “A busy week. I’m fine.”

  “I know it’s hard, but keep perspective. None of this will matter in a year.”

  “Really?” Hostility edges into my tone. “You really think this won’t matter?”

  “It’s only high school. I’ve been telling myself this for months. I still don’t always believe it, but it’s true. We’ll graduate and go to college, and none of this will matter.”

  Every muscle stiffens, prepared for flight or—

  “It all matters, Pari. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She opens her mouth, then shuts it. Her eyes shine. When she speaks, her choked voice cuts into me. “I’m not being ridiculous.”

  The energy drink churns in my stomach. I shouldn’t have said that. I start to apologize when she continues, “You can be a jerk, Ariel. I’ve worked as hard as you. I’m as smart. You think I’m ridiculous, why? Because you found the online AP class and I didn’t? Congratulations. That definitely makes you better than me.” She clenches her jaw. “I was trying to help you, but I guess you’re fine on your own. Good luck. I hope you end up with everything you think is so important.”

  She turns away from me and leans over her paper, hair falling to block her face.

  I go back to my empty page.

  * * *

  I wince as I button my shirt. It’s Wednesday morning and Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year, so I’ll be at services instead of school. My fingers are tender with new blisters. Last night I skipped my family’
s annual tradition of pizza dinner before fasting for Yom Kippur because Sook called for an extra emergency practice. Then I was about to go to sleep at two in the morning, when I remembered I had to email my Spanish teacher a short story analysis since I’d be missing the in-class quiz.

  By the time I crawled into bed, the sun was threatening to come up, and then the wink of sleep I did get was filled with stress dreams, snatches of Mrs. Rainer lecturing me and Pari’s eyes filling with tears. She doesn’t get how difficult this is for me, but still, I shouldn’t have treated her like that. I owe her an apology.

  My stomach growls as I walk into synagogue. My family is already here. I took my own car since I was running late. There are hundreds of people streaming in and milling around the lobby. My stomach growls louder, but the noise covers it. I think I might have only had lunch yesterday, a rushed turkey sandwich between classes. Not a smart move the day before fasting for Yom Kippur.

  I find my parents standing near the sanctuary doors. Rachel usually skips off to say hi to her friends, but today she’s glued to our parents’ sides. “How was pizza last night?” I ask her.

  “Fine.”

  I gnaw a hangnail. She seems down. “You going to the animal shelter with me next weekend? Ezekiel misses you.”

  Rachel gives a half smile. “I miss him too. I’ll come.”

  I knock into her shoulder lightly. “Good.”

  We head into services, bodies pressing around us. I falter a step, feeling light-headed and overwhelmed by the crowd. We make it inside and sit on folding chairs near the back of the shul. Sitting feels good. I run my hand through my hair before pinning my kippah. My fingers fumble with the bobby pin.

  My phone buzzes. Malka: Where are you?

  I reply: Near the back. Folding chairs. You?

  Malka: Benches on the left. Parents aren’t going to stay the whole time. Can you give me a ride home after?

  I text back: Sure

  I check my to-do list for the rest of the week. I should reassess, break the work down by the hour again, but I’m worried if I do, I’ll realize I don’t have enough time to get it all done. At least I finished reading both the books for English. Now I just have to write the paper.