Pushing Perfect(22)

“The money . . . ,” I said. “I’ve got some, but Alex didn’t say how much.”

“It’s not cheap,” he said. “Twenty bucks a pill, so a thirty-day supply is six hundred. But Alex said you just wanted a couple, right? One for the SAT, plus a backup, just in case?”

Alex had gotten pretty chatty with Raj about this, given that I hadn’t even decided to buy the pills before the party. “Right,” I said, looking around.

“Don’t worry, we’re good here,” he said. He reached into his pocket for a tiny plastic bag with a Ziploc closure. There were two glossy mint-green pills in it, like the one Alex had given me before the party. “You know how they work? Alex told you everything you need to know?”

I nodded, not mentioning that she’d given me one to test-drive tonight. I reached into my tiny purse and dug around, pulling out two crumpled twenties.

“That will do it,” he said, handing me the pills. I put them in my bag as fast as I could. Raj might have been sure no one could see us, but I wasn’t. I tried to wrap my brain around the fact that he was a drug dealer. He didn’t sound like one; he sounded like some sort of British lord. But he also sounded like a friend who was trying to help me. Though wasn’t that how drug dealers got you hooked?

“Got it,” I said, my voice clipped. “Thanks.” Whatever tone I’d used before, when I’d misread the situation, I had to get rid of. This was a business transaction.

Raj gave me a strange look, one I couldn’t read. He’d heard something in my voice, though I wasn’t sure it was what I’d meant for him to hear. “Do you have your phone with you?”

It was pretty much the only other thing I had, besides my license and keys. I took it out of my purse and held it up.

“Nice case,” he said.

“It’s practical.” My phone was sheathed in a case that looked like a pastel rainbow of Legos. It was cute, but it was also indestructible, and I had a tendency to drop my phone a lot.

“Now type in my number and call me. That way you can reach me anytime, and I’ll know it’s you.” He read off the digits before I had a chance to ask why I’d need to get in touch with him. “Just in case you have questions. Or need more. Or if you just want to say hi.”

I was losing the ability to tell the difference between him flirting and him trying to sell me something. Either way, he was smiling. And he had a really great smile. I needed to put that thought out of my head quick. “I won’t need more,” I said, sharply. “This is a one-time thing.”

“I understand,” he said. “Then you can just call to chat.”

That was definitely flirting. I wondered if it was calculated. “Sure,” I said, though I had no intention of ever calling him.

“I’m going to get back out there.” He pointed to the dance floor. “Coming?”

“No, I’m good,” I said. “I’ll go find Alex.”

“Good luck with that,” he said.

I left behind his liquid movements and elastic limbs and went back outside, hoping that maybe Alex and Bryan had done whatever it was she’d decided they were going to do and that she’d be ready to go home. No such luck. I got out my phone to text her but my feet were killing me—how did anyone stay in heels for this long, even platforms? I found a bench next to one of the statues, sat down, and took my shoes off. Stretching out my toes felt incredible.

Outside, I wrote. Ready to go whenever you are

I waited a minute to see if she’d write back right away, but she didn’t. Good for her—I loved that she was so in charge of what she wanted to happen. She had a plan and she’d executed it perfectly. I had my Novalert, and she had her Prospect. For her, I bet this was the best night ever.

For me? Well, I’d made it this far without completely flipping out, which was progress and which let me feel better about the upcoming SAT. I’d met some cute guys, even if I was a terrible judge of character, and I kind of liked getting all dressed up, even if I was wearing Alex’s clothes. For the last couple of hours, I’d barely thought about my skin at all, which was rare. Maybe this wasn’t my best night ever, but it was still pretty good.

And, as usual, the person I wanted to talk to about it was Becca.

Despite the fact that I’d bailed on cutting my hair with her, high school had started out okay. Becca, Isabel, and I were all in different classes, but we knew that was coming—they’d both focused on their extracurricular activities over academics even in middle school, but my parents would never have gone for that. Isabel joined the drama club pretty much the minute we showed up, but at first she still sat with Becca and me in the cafeteria at lunch, and we talked about the new people we were meeting and our teachers and how much fun we were going to have.

But everything changed when swim tryouts were announced. Becca kept talking about how excited she was, kept asking me to go practice with her, but I made every excuse I could think of. I faked a cold for weeks, complained about cramps, begged off to study.

“You know the team here is really good,” she warned me. “I’m not sure that killer freestyle is enough. We really have to get some practice in.”

“I will,” I said. I knew I should just tell her, but I couldn’t stand the thought of how disappointed she’d be. I really hated disappointing people. I hated being Perfect Kara, and yet I was terrified of people discovering my actual imperfections. Something would have to give eventually. And though it was inevitable that the first thing to go would be the swim team, I kept putting off telling Becca.