Sara Shepard - Perfect

Her mother gave her a watery smile. “Well, hello, Emily.”

Emily blinked a few times. “Um, hi…” She looked from her parents to the stranger on the love seat.

“You want to come in?” her mother asked. “We have someone here to see you.”

The older woman, who was wearing high-waisted black slacks and a mint-green blazer, stood and offered her hand. “I’m Edith.” She grinned. “It’s so nice to meet you, Emily. Why don’t you sit down?”

Emily’s father bustled into the dining room and dragged another chair over for her. She sat down tentatively, feeling jumpy. It was the same feeling she used to get when her old friends played the Pillow Game—one person walked around the living room blindfolded, and, at a random moment, the others bombarded her with pillows. Emily didn’t like playing—she hated those tense moments right before they started smacking her—but she always played anyway, because Ali loved it.

“I’m from a program called Tree Tops,” Edith said.

“Your parents told me about your problem.”

The bones in Emily’s butt pressed into the bare wood of the dining room chair. “Problem?” Her stomach sank. She had a feeling she knew what problem meant.

“Of course it’s a problem.” Her mother’s voice was choked. “That picture—with that girl we forbade you to see—has it happened more than once?”

Emily nervously touched the scar on her left palm that she’d gotten when Carolyn accidentally speared her with the gardening shears. She’d grown up striving to be as obedient and well behaved as possible, and she couldn’t lie to her parents—at least not well. “It’s happened more than once, I guess,” she mumbled.

Her mother let out a small, pained whimper.

Edith pursed her wrinkly, fuchsia-lined lips. She had an old-lady mothball smell. “What you’re feeling, it’s not permanent. It’s a sickness, Emily. But we at Tree Tops can cure you. We’ve rehabilitated many ex-gays since the program began.”

Emily barked out a laugh. “Ex… gays ?” The world started to spin, then recede. Emily’s parents looked at her self-righteously, their hands wrapped around their coffee cups.

“Your interest in young women isn’t genetic or scientific, but environmental,” Edith explained. “With counseling, we’ll help you dismiss your…urges, shall we say.”

Emily gripped the arms of her chair. “That sounds… weird .”

“Emily!” scolded her mother—she’d taught her children never to disrespect adults. But Emily was too bewildered to be embarrassed.

“It’s not weird,” Edith chirped. “Don’t worry if you don’t understand it all now. Many of our new recruits don’t.” She looked at Emily’s parents. “We have a superb track record of rehabilitation in the greater Philadelphia area.”

Emily wanted to throw up. Rehabilitation? She searched her parents’ faces, but they gave her nothing. She glanced out to the street. If the next car that passes is white, this isn’t happening, she thought. If it’s red, it is. A car swept past. Sure enough, it was red.

Edith placed her coffee cup on its saucer. “We’re going to have a peer mentor come talk to you. Someone who experienced the program firsthand. She’s a senior at Rosewood Senior High, and her name’s Becka. She’s very nice. You’ll just talk. And after that, we’ll discuss you joining the program properly. Okay?”

Emily looked at her parents. “I don’t have time to talk to anybody,” she insisted. “I have swimming in the mornings and after school, and then I have homework.”

Her mother smiled tensely. “You’ll make time. What about lunch tomorrow?”

Edith nodded. “I’m sure that would be fine.”

Emily rubbed her throbbing head. She already hated Becka, and she hadn’t even met her. “Fine,” she agreed. “Tell her to meet me at Lorence chapel.” There was no way Emily was talking with Little Miss Tree Tops in the cafeteria. School was going to be brutal enough tomorrow as it was.

Edith brushed her hands together and stood up. “I’ll make all the arrangements.”

Emily stood against the foyer wall as her parents handed Edith her coat and thanked her for coming. Edith navigated down the Fieldses’ stone path to her car. When Emily’s parents turned back to her, they had weary, sober looks on their faces.

“Mom, Dad…” Emily started.

Her mother whirled around. “That Maya girl has a few tricks up her sleeve, huh?”

Emily backed up. “Maya didn’t pass that picture around.”

Mrs. Fields eyed Emily carefully, then sat down on the couch and put her head in her hands. “Emily, what are we going to do now ?”

“What do you mean, we ?”

Her mother looked up. “Don’t you see that this is a reflection on all of us?”

“ I didn’t make the announcement,” Emily protested.

“It doesn’t matter how it happened,” her mother interrupted. “What matters is that it’s out there.” She stood up and regarded the couch, then picked up a decorative pillow and smacked it with her fist to fluff it up. She set it back down, picked up another, and started all over again. Thwack. She was punching them harder than she needed to.

“It was so shocking to see that picture of you, Emily,” Mrs. Fields said. “ Horribly shocking. And to hear that it’s something you’ve done more than once, well…”

“I’m sorry,” Emily whimpered. “But maybe it’s not—”

“Have you even thought about how hard this is for the rest of us?” Mrs. Fields interrupted. “We’re all…well, Carolyn came home crying. And your brother and sister both called me, offering to fly home.”

She picked up another pillow. Thwack, thwack. A few feathers spewed out and floated through the air before settling on the carpet. Emily wondered what this would look like to someone passing by the window. Perhaps they’d see the feathers flying and think that something silly and happy was happening, instead of what actually was.

Emily’s tongue felt leaden in her mouth. A gnawing hole at the pit of her stomach remained. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Her mother’s eyes flashed. She nodded to Emily’s father. “Go get it.” Her father disappeared into the living room, and Emily listened to him rooting through the drawers of their old antique bureau. Seconds later, he returned with a printout from Expedia. “This is for you,” Mr. Fields said.

It was an itinerary, flying from Philadelphia to Des Moines, Iowa. With her name on it. “I don’t understand.”

Mr. Fields cleared his throat. “Just to make things perfectly clear, either you do Tree Tops— successfully —or you will go live with your aunt Helene.”

Emily blinked. “Aunt Helene…who lives on a farm?”

“Can you think of another Aunt Helene?” he asked.

Emily felt dizzy. She looked to her mom. “You’re going to send me away ?”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Mrs. Fields answered.

Tears dotted Emily’s eyes. For a while, she couldn’t speak. It felt as if a block of cement were sitting on her chest. “Please don’t send me away,” she whispered. “I’ll…I’ll do Tree Tops. Okay?”

She lowered her gaze. This felt like when she and Ali used to arm wrestle—they were matched for strength and could do it for hours, but eventually, Emily would surrender, letting her arm go limp. Maybe she was giving up too easily, but she couldn’t fight this.

A small, relieved smile crept over her mother’s face. She put the itinerary in her cardigan pocket. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”