THE WILD SEASON

Chapter 2

One Year Later

Perfection isn't a goal; it's a survival technique. If I can control everything around me, I can breathe. If I can breathe, I can live through the day. One day leads to a week. A week to a month. And a month to six years since my mom died and look how well I'm juggling, juggling.

Three more days until summer starts.

Three more days until the most important day of my life.

I check my lipstick for the third time in the visor mirror. Take a moment to run my thumbnail around the edges of my mouth. Then reapply because now it looks like I took off too much on my lower lip. There we go.

I lock my car and head inside, find my place in the school cafeteria as we wait for the bell to ring. My friends file in around me, pulling their chairs closer, leaning their heads forward as if in silent prayer. They don't do this because I'm the prettiest, or the smartest, or the most talented girl in our group. They do this because every day I offer myself to them. What do they need? Advice? I'll listen longer than your lonely grandpa. Mascara? I've got three colors in my bag. How about help on your homework? Just show me what's throwing you and we'll get cracking.

I help because that's what a good friend does.

That's what a perfect friend does.

This morning it's Lani that needs help. Her cousin has been staying with her family for the past six months as she undergoes chemo, and while the rest of my friends are talked-out about it, I am here. I will always be here.

"So yesterday we went to a doctor's appointment and, I don't know, I started getting really lightheaded," Lani says.

"Where you nervous about what the doctor would say?" I ask.

Anna sighs next to me, barely covering her frustration. Everyone has a story for me this morning, and they're tired of Lani's cousin taking up more than her fair share of my time.

"I guess," Lani says. "I had to end up going out in the car by myself, which of course pissed off my mom."

"How did you feel once your mom and cousin came out after the appointment?"

As Lani talks, I slip farther away from my own issues. And when Olive says she needs to finish her chem homework, and we clomp our bags onto the table and pull out notebooks and pens and papers, I lose myself in highlighting my planner.

"You're the only person on the planet who still uses a paper planner, Mol," Anna teases.

"Look how pretty it is though," Ellie says.

"Did you think if Molly had a planner that she wouldn't make it pretty?" Anna says, feigning outrage. "Did you think it wouldn't be perfect?"

"Oh, you just know it would be spectacular," Olive laughs. "Molly, tell us the truth, do you organize your underwear drawer too?"

"It's probably color-coded!" Ellie laughs.

"I can come organize yours if you want me to," I say, wagging my eyebrows like I'm hitting on her. Everyone laughs, and I laugh too, but another part of me shrinks. Am I being too rigid? Should I try to relax more? Maybe I should pencil in time to get a pedicure.

Lani leans toward me. "Speaking of perfect, and for the last time, is your hair color real? There's no way you get that shade of blond naturally."

"Pfft. Molly probably has a standing appointment with God himself to get her roots touched up," Olive crows. "And then she says, 'Can we tweak my eyes today, Bob'—that's God's name, you know, Bob. Anyway, she says, 'Can we make my blue eyes a little more, oh, I don't know, blue?"

"First of all, God prefers Robert," I say. "And you know I dye my hair. I've told you that a half dozen times."

Lani flips her hair like she's disgusted with it. "I dye mine too, but it never looks like yours."

Because I don't go a day over four weeks before I touch up my roots. Even if I'm exhausted. Even if I have a hundred other things I need to do for Dad or me.

Juggle, juggle.

It's Anna that sees the sadness creeping into my eyes even as I smile. Even as I laugh and pretend I'm in on the joking.

"Molly, we're just playing." She shakes my shoulders. "We know you're not perfect. And we love you anyway."

How do you know that? Is it because I forgot to floss this morning? Does my breath stink?

Why do I always forget important things?

"Hey, Molly?" Ellie says. "Do you have an extra pen I can borrow for Ms. Landon's class?

I pull out my pencil case. "Yeah, black ink or blue? Or I have pink!"

"Ooh, pink," Ellie says, and takes the pen.

All is right with the world again. Problem. Solution. Disaster. Perfection.

Until the bell rings and I stand up too suddenly. Someone's back collides with my own, and I spin to see who it is. Colt swings around and some of the neon orange juice in his hand swishes out of the bottle onto my blouse.

My heart skips a beat and my pulse skyrockets.

"Oh. Shit."

That's all he says. Not, 'Oh, shit, my bad.' Or, 'Oh, shit, I'm sorry. Let me get you a napkin.'

Just two simple words. And then, a shrug.

He walks away, and as I stare at his back, my intricately woven control unravels. The orange juice seeps through my shirt, dampening my stomach. My hands shake next to my sides. A lock of my hair falls from the topknot I spent twenty minutes securing this morning, and I don't even reach up to fix it.

He does that to me. Brings me back to that day and I can't pretend, no matter how hard I work, that anything is okay. For a moment, I am back in that place. Standing just behind my dad as he talks to the police officer. I am blinking, spinning, not understanding.

Mom.

Mom is gone.

After Colt disappears into the crowd, I find my senses and jog toward the parking lot, toward my car, where I always store an extra change of clothing.

Just in case.