Pushing Perfect(66)

“I told you, I was at Alex’s,” I said. “Studying.” Even though I was in the wrong, even though I was lying, I found myself wanting them to feel guilty. The truth was that I’d never have gotten into this mess if I hadn’t felt so much pressure, and some of that pressure came from them.

Mom frowned. “I know you’re anxious about keeping up your GPA, but we’re worried about you. The SATs are over and you did a wonderful job. Can’t you relax a little before you have to start turning your attention to college applications? You’re a lock for Stanford with that score and your grades. You’ll be fine.”

Funny how even when she was supposedly taking the pressure off she added just a little bit more. How could I explain that to get into Harvard, I needed to be better than fine? How could I make them see how badly I needed to be as far away from Marbella as possible? “I thought that’s what you wanted. Perfect Kara and her perfect GPA.”

“We never expected you to be perfect,” Dad said. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Are you kidding? You’ve been pushing me to be perfect since I was a little kid. Ever since Mom started bringing home those logic problem books, it’s been all you-can-do-better-Kara and you-just-need-to-work-a-little-harder-Kara. I wish I’d never seen one of those books in my life.” Logically, I recognized that it was not my parents I was mad at. But logic wasn’t ruling the day anymore. And I was beyond mad, and they were here.

Dad was starting to sound mad too. “Don’t talk to us like that,” he yelled. He almost looked like he wanted to stand up.

Mom didn’t seem angry, though. She put her hand on Dad’s knee as if to keep him sitting down. Her voice was quiet, all the more noticeable because of Dad’s yelling. “Evan, calm down. Kara, I’m sorry you feel that way about the logic problems. I bought those books because I thought you enjoyed working on them with me. I remember those times as some of our happiest, and I thought you felt the same way.”

Great, now I had to feel guilty on top of everything else. “I do. I’m sorry. I was upset. I get such mixed messages from you guys. You want me to study hard and be smart and do well, but you also want me to have friends and be social and not worry so much. You don’t want me to have panic attacks, but you don’t want me to take medication for them, either. You want me to go to college and be happy, but only the college you want, because the only happiness that matters is the kind that you have. And even if I’m not happy, I should act like I am so people don’t figure it out. God forbid anyone realize that we’re not perfect.” I’d been talking so fast I was out of breath.

They both stared at me for a minute, their mouths hanging open a bit. I understood why, too—I never spoke to them like that. Sure, once in a while I’d get what Mom called “a little snippy,” but I never just laid out how I was feeling.

I’d never, it turned out, been fully honest with them.

It felt great.

“I didn’t realize we’d been doing that,” Dad said. He wasn’t yelling anymore, and he’d clasped his hands together, placed his elbows on his knees, and rested his head on his hands. Mom reached over and rubbed his back. She was in her nightgown, not her work-Mom clothes or her Marbella-yoga-Mom uniform, with no makeup and her hair loose from its usual updo. She looked softer, but also older, than when I pictured her in my mind. They both did.

I hadn’t meant to make them so upset, but it was my fault. I could only imagine what learning about the Novalert would do to them. Alex, Justin, and Raj were right. The police were not an option. No one could ever find out.

“I didn’t mean it to sound so harsh. I love you guys, you know that. But sometimes it’s just kind of hard to be me around here.”

“We thought we were doing what you wanted,” Mom said, leaning back into the sofa. Almost like she was giving up. “We thought we were pushing you to do the things you wanted for yourself. If that wasn’t true, I wish you’d said something. We would have stopped. I hope you know that.”

It was all so confusing. They weren’t wrong—I did want to be valedictorian, and I did want to work hard and excel and go to a great college. Everything they wanted for me, I wanted too. But I’d thought they’d wanted it first, and they’d thought I had. Did it matter, ultimately? “It was true. It is true,” I said, finally. “I think maybe I didn’t see that before. Can we talk more about this later? I’m really, really tired. I swear I didn’t mean to stay out this late.”

“We were just worried,” Dad said.

“Are you going to give me a curfew?”

They exchanged a glance. Mom raised an eyebrow; Dad gave a little head tilt. It was fascinating—they were totally communicating and I had no idea what they were saying.

“No curfew,” Mom said. “But we want a better idea of where you are, so we want texts or notes when you’re out at night, and if you’re not going to be home by midnight, you need to check in. Fair enough?”

“Totally.” I went over to the couch and kissed them both good night, then went upstairs. I couldn’t believe I had to get up for school in just a few hours. I was going to be exhausted. School would be horrible.

But sitting through math class would be worse.





26.