Almost Perfect (8 page)

It was a glorious cold, late-autumn afternoon. The sky was a deep, cloudless blue. Flocks of geese honked their way from horizon to horizon, off to Texas or Mexico or wherever. You could feel the bite of the coming winter in your ears and lungs. It was the sort of day that made you want to run outside, take a deep breath, and then go back in and watch TV all day.

Sage literally skipped as we made our way down County Road 1124. She seemed inclined to stop and inspect every rock, blade of grass, and shattered whiskey bottle beside the road.

“This is so neat!” she said, laughing. “Back in Joplin, you had to drive everywhere. You couldn’t go twenty feet without passing a Burger King.”

I thought that actually sounded kind of nice. “Watch out for hypodermic needles,” I warned.

Sage stopped prancing around and started walking next to me. “So, did you have a good Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah. My sister was in town.”

“She goes to Mizzou, doesn’t she?”

Hmm. Sage had actually been paying attention when I’d mentioned Laura. With Brenda, I’d sometimes gotten the impression she listened to me just to be polite.

“Yeah, she’s a freshman.”

“I bet that’s hard on your parents, her moving out and all.”

“Um, I guess I never told you. I don’t have a father.”

Sage froze. “I’m sorry, Logan. I didn’t know. When did he pass away?”

She was looking at me with such gentle compassion that I didn’t want to tell the truth. “He actually ran away. I never really knew him.”

Divorce was part of life in Boyer. Half of everyone’s parents were divorced, and the other half had never been married in the first place. But Sage didn’t look any less sorrowful than when she’d thought my father was dead. For a moment I thought she was going to hug me again, but instead she offered me her arm. I slipped my hand over her elbow, and we began walking. I wanted to wrap my arm around her waist. I wanted to tell her she was pretty. I wanted to reach up and kiss her.

We arrived at the cemetery before I could do anything stupid. It consisted of about three dozen ancient tombstones, mostly too eroded to read. Whatever farmer owned the property kept the small plot mowed.

Sage found a bare patch of earth and spread out our post-Thanksgiving feast. I choked down a prepackaged corned beef sandwich while Sage gulped down two sandwiches and a bag of chips.

There was something very natural and insanely frustrating about being here, quietly eating with Sage. I tried to put my finger on it. Maybe it was the silence. When was the last time I’d just sat quietly with someone? Certainly not around Jack. Or my mom. Or Brenda. Silence with her had always been awkward; I’d always felt like she was bored.

But with Sage, we didn’t talk and it was okay. Two good friends, enjoying each other’s company.

“Penny for your thoughts, Logan.” Sage leaned against a tree, smiling at me. Her reddish-brown hair contrasted against the yellow leaf that was stuck on top of her head. With her freckles and tomboyish ways, she looked like something out of an Outdoor Missouri ad. Maybe without the purple jacket.

“C’mon, Logan, what are you thinking about?”

And that was the frustrating part. I didn’t want to be friends. I didn’t want to be the guy she leaned on, the rock in the storm, the best pal who was always there for her. Well, I
did
, but I also wanted to kiss her. I wanted to take her face in my hands, press our lips together, and enjoy another type of silence.

“It’s nice out,” I said. “Warm for this time of year.”

Sage stood up and dusted off her legs. Then she joined me, sitting back against the rotten rail fence around the cemetery.

“Logan, can I ask you a personal question?”

Never, ever a good sign. “Yeah?”

“Tell me what happened with you and your old girlfriend.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Will you
tell me what happened?”

I didn’t want to talk about it. I’d only ever talked about it with Laura. “Why?”

Sage touched my cheek lightly. “Because you’re my friend, and I want to know.”

I could have reminded her that she was keeping secrets,
but I didn’t. “She cheated on me. We broke up. End of story.”
C’mon, let’s play the quiet game
.

Sage tucked her long legs up under her chin. “There’s more to it than that,” she prodded.

“You really want the whole sorry episode?” When I’d told Laura what happened, I’d summed everything up in one sentence:
Brenda cheated on me
. Why did Sage want to know more than that? And why was I about to tell her? Maybe I wanted her pity, or I thought that if I told her my secrets, she’d be more open with me.

Mostly, I think I just wanted to vomit out the whole humiliating incident. Lance it like a boil. Purge my breakup like a bout of diarrhea. The fact that I was thinking of my ex in terms of gross bodily functions was probably a sign that it was time to move on.

Sage nodded, staring at me with wide eyes.

“Okay.” I tried to keep my voice steady. If I was going to tell this story to Sage, the last thing I wanted was to sound whiny. “Brenda and I started going out in ninth grade. We’d never dated anyone else. She’s the only girl I’ve ever kissed. And that’s all we ever did.”

Sage’s eyes got wide. She must have thought I had more experience with girls. I wished I’d kept that detail to myself. Sage might not be a virgin. I’d just made myself look inexperienced and awkward.

“Anyway, we’d been together for three years. We were going to go to Mizzou together. Live in the same dorm.” I paused. “I thought, you know, we were in love. I was stupid.” I let out a fake, sarcastic laugh. This was sounding a bit too much like
poor, poor Logan
.

“You weren’t stupid!” yelped Sage suddenly. “Don’t ever think that.”

I reddened at the compliment. But Sage was wrong. I’d wasted almost all of high school feeling giddy and in love with a girl who didn’t even like me enough to tell me she didn’t like me.

I walked away from Sage and sat down near Ida Woodlawn
(1899–1960, loving wife and mother)
. I closed my eyes to the world and continued.

“Then I was a fool. Every time I saw her, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. We’d hang out all the time. We went to dances; she’d go to my track meets. It was like I’d won the lottery.”

I paused for a minute, remembering Brenda. Our first kiss. The first time she told me she loved me. Those nights after basketball games when I tried to get her to go out to the rock quarry. When did she start having second thoughts? How many times had she told me she loved me when she didn’t mean it? How many kisses? I hoped to God I’d never find out.

I sighed. Sage had asked for the whole story, so I might as well tell her everything. Opening my eyes, I braced myself for the best part. The really funny part.

“So back in October, Jack came up to me. He was all nervous and stammering, but it was Jack, after all. He said that he was cruising downtown and saw Brenda in a car with some guy out behind the Dollar General.”

Sage no longer looked compassionate; she looked furious. It was probably for the better that she hadn’t been around during the breakup. Brenda might not have been safe.

“So what did you do?” she asked.

“I punched Jack. Right in the gut.” Not very hard, but enough that he’d lost his footing and fallen on his ass right in front of everyone in the parking lot.

Sage looked at me with awe. “You
punched
him?”

I flicked a dandelion, causing the seeds to spray everywhere. “My best friend. I was that sure he was lying. Brenda and I had never … you know.”

“I know.”

“She’d always stop me. Kept telling me that the time wasn’t right. Telling me that we should wait, that then it would be all the more special when it happened. I never even got to second base. Not that I minded. I mean, I
minded
, but I was willing to do whatever she asked. And then, one night, she just jumps into the backseat with some prick from Moberly. She’d known him less than a week, and was willing to …” I couldn’t finish. Three years of convincing myself what a great, wonderful guy I was for respecting Brenda like that—never pushing, never insisting, never demanding. What a sap.

“Maybe they didn’t,” offered Sage, as if the idea might not have occurred to me.

“They did. She told me the next day. She tried to be nice about it, but once your girlfriend gets naked with some guy … I haven’t talked to her since.” I stood and began picking up our trash.

“Logan. Listen to me—”

“Please don’t say anything. Seriously.” I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. In fact, I didn’t want to talk about it ever again. Or think about it. Or about Brenda. Maybe that
was for the best. There was more to life than wondering what I’d done wrong. Maybe telling the story had helped drive that home, just a bit.

“But … thanks for listening, Sage. I … it was good to get that off my chest.”

Unlike most girls, Sage didn’t force conversation. When we were ready to go, she paused and took my hand.

“Remember, you can always talk to me if you need anything. I promise, Logan.” She smiled and moved in for a hug.

I knew I shouldn’t ask. She’d told me not to talk about it again. But I’d just opened up. Now it was her turn.

“Why were you homeschooled, Sage?”

Sage’s expression didn’t change. “So how are the Chiefs doing this year?”

“I know you told me not to ask …”

“Or the Rams? What’s your favorite team?” She was grinning like a funhouse clown.

“I just thought maybe you’d talk to me.”

“How about baseball? You like the Cardinals?” There was a defiant smirk on her lips. Obviously, her life was still a closed subject. We started walking back to the road.

“Hey, Sage?”

She turned and gave me a real smile. “Yes, Logan?”

“You’ve got leaves on your butt.”

We didn’t talk all the way back to town. It wasn’t the serene silence of earlier. It was heavy. It was like our thoughts had congealed and were hanging in the air like humidity. I wanted to thank Sage for listening. And I almost wanted to holler that she could trust me and tell me
her secrets, to let her know that I was worthy of her confidence.

Maybe Sage was thinking her own heavy thoughts.

When we reached the highway, Sage turned to me. “I’m going the other way. See you at school.”

“Yeah.” I felt like I was standing on a stage somewhere and it was my turn to speak but I’d totally forgotten what to say.

“Logan, I …” Sage’s jaw was frozen open, like she’d been paused. She stood there, immobile, for close to a minute. There was something frightening about her posture. It was almost like she was fearful of some impending disaster. She looked as if something horrible was happening. There was no reason for it; I was the only person nearby.

“Sage?”

She spun on her heels and silently walked away.

T
HE FEW STORES
in Boyer put up their Christmas decorations the day after Thanksgiving. The town council erected the faded Nativity in Vets park, political correctness be damned. The first week of December, I made nearly three hundred dollars shoveling walks when we got a foot of snow. I turned half of it over to Mom and saved the rest for gift shopping.

The football season ended with a surprising victory over Higbee, leaving Boyer with a 2–8 record. Tim and Dawn continued to be seen together.

December marked the time when I shucked my self-destructive obsession with Brenda for a self-destructive obsession with Sage. I still spent every morning hanging out in the lobby, but now Sage joined me, snacking on vending machine food and making fun of the other students. We’d walk to bio together and spend the whole hour
giggling and poking each other under the table. Mr. Elmer threatened to separate us more than once, but he never did.

Sage had a different lunch hour, but we’d run into each other between classes. I’d find little notes in my locker, pink stationery covered with smiley face stickers, wishing me a good day. After school, Sage would walk me to the track, or the gym, or my bike, often under the scowling gaze of Tammi. But that was where it ended. Once we left the high school grounds, Sage vanished. No walking me home. No heading out for a bite to eat. No going over to Jack’s to watch monster movies on Friday night. It was like we were in a long-distance relationship, even though we lived less than five miles apart.

It’s not like Sage forgot about me after school. Two or three times a week, she’d call me at home, asking forced questions about biology and trying to get a rise out of me by saying she was phoning from the shower. Mom never commented on her frequent calls, though she would gaze at me slyly over the top of her
Soap Opera Digest
. It was obvious Mom thought I’d landed a new girlfriend. But when I invited Sage over for an innocent study date, she’d always change the subject.

I should have been happy, or at least resigned. Sage was a good friend. I enjoyed hanging out with her. If that was all there was, then that was all there was.

But that was not all there was. Because sometimes she’d let me hold her hand, provided her sister wasn’t around. She’d place her hand on my knee and leave it there for most of first hour. She pinched my butt on more
than one occasion. But when I tried to put my arm around her or give her a little kiss, she’d jerk away.

Sage’s other maddening habit was her absolute refusal to talk about her home, her past, or why she was treated so differently from her sister. Tammi already had a boyfriend, was in the French club, and had found a group of friends. But Sage couldn’t date, didn’t participate in any after-school programs, and hung out only with me. It was like I was dating a woman in prison. I could visit her, but she lived under someone else’s strict rules. It didn’t matter how much I cared for her; she feared the warden more than she liked me.

Why wouldn’t Sage talk to me about anything serious? Was she waiting to see if I could be trusted, or was something else going on? There was no one I could talk to about this. Asking my mother for dating advice was a tad too Norman Bates for my liking. Tim would accuse me of being too chickenshit to put the moves on Sage. Jack had already decided that Sage and I were secretly doing it; he’d given me a graphic description of the problems we’d encounter due to our height difference.