Watching the perfect girl.
I’ve stood in front of the podium too long because I can see Mother glaring at me, covertly motioning with her hands for me to start. Dad’s lips have thinned, and I can see the impatience settling on his face. He probably had an important meeting at the courthouse to get to. Was that my future? To follow in his footsteps, blindly doing whatever society expected? Or would I turn out like Mother? Clawing my way to the top of the network ladder, reaching for stardom on national television.
Is that what it took to be happy?
The audience began murmuring, becoming antsy. After all, they expected me to deliver a rousing speech about the merits of BA, proving to them that the forty-two thousand dollars a year they paid was worth it. I couldn’t disappoint them, yet my mind went blank as I stared into that dark abyss, that giant hole of emptiness. Maybe I could have stood there all day, refusing to face my future, but it wasn’t permitted.
I commanded myself to smile again and turn on the charm, but my body rebelled. Shit. That had never happened before. And stage fright wasn’t a possibility, not when I’d been in front of people and on display my entire life, just like Mother’s precious china. No, my body’s unwillingness to perform was entirely new. On edge, I tried again, digging deep inside the core of me, searching for the Nora they expected to see, for the girl people claimed was brilliant. Nothing. I licked my sudden dry lips, shocked by my body’s refusal to obey. Where was the girl who could win an Academy Award for her depiction of a well-adjusted person?
I couldn’t let them see the real me, the one that was obscene and gross. They’d hate me; they’d be disgusted by me. As they say here in Texas, they’d ride me out of town on a rail.
Panicked, I fiddled with my note cards, shuffling them around on the podium. I had to give this speech flawlessly, and if it wasn’t dazzling and worthy of the Blakely name, Mother would be mortified. She would punish me.
I tried to smile for the third time but got nothing. Just nothing. Not even a facial tic. I began to wonder if I could move at all. I felt frozen in place, like someone had zapped me with a ray gun.
Is this where it would all end? Was I going to break down and let this audience see my shame? God, please no. I hung my head, remembering my sins. My ruin.
My now sweaty hands gripped the note cards as my heart pounded, so loud that I would swear the people sitting on the front row could hear the blood whooshing through my veins. They were all staring at me like I’d lost it. I had. I’d finally stepped off the razor’s edge I’d been walking for years.
I closed my eyes and thought of Weissnichtwo, rolling the word around in my head, letting the syllables soothe me. My words always made me feel better. Only it didn’t work this time because I’d broken wide open. Like a cake that’s been baked too long, I was done.
Finished.
I released my note cards to the floor and watched as they fluttered down like frightened little birds, escaping at last. I raised my head and faced the audience. Clearing my throat, I leaned over the podium until my lips were right on the microphone and delivered my new opening remarks, “Fuck Briarcrest Academy, and fuck you all.”
Finally, some of the pain and darkness that had been wrapped around my soul fell away.
I smiled for real this time without even trying.
It felt good to be bad.
Chapter 2
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Leo
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“I never met a girl I couldn’t say goodbye to.” –Leo Tate
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What the hell just happened?
One thing for sure, Little Miss Buttercup just blew my mind. When she’d first walked up there all prim and proper, looking like she’d just stepped out of a Gap ad, I’d expected to suffer through some boring speech about Briarcrest Academy. But, she’d surprised me. Amused, I watched the reactions of the country club audience, most with their mouths gaping open, staring at the girl who’d just dissed the elite of BA. Welcome to Highland Park, Texas, an affluent suburb of Dallas and home to conservative past Presidents and white-gloved debutantes.