I wash my hair with coconut shampoo.

Scrub my skin with lemongra.s.s soap.

When I'm through, I am almost clean.

The Afternoon Is Looking Long I need to get out of here. I could call Sean. He'd probably stop lifting long enough to do something with me. But we haven't seen all that much of each other since the night I basically threw myself at him and he left me still a virgin.

Not sure who was more embarra.s.sed.

Instead I try Dani, who answers right away. Almost as if expecting my call. Was she? "I was wondering if you had plans for today."

Glad you called. No plans. What did you have in mind? In mind?

"I don't know. Just have to get out of the house for a few." Hours, that is.

Movie? No. I want to talk, get to know her better. "It's pretty out today. We could take a walk."

She agrees to meet me at Rock Park.

It's A Twenty-Minute Drive In my stomach is a tentative flutter, moth wings against a muted light.

On the radio (some kind of sign?), Katy Perry sings about kissing a girl.

And liking it. I take myself back to that day in the trees. Kissing Dani.

And liking it so much it made me turn feeble in the knees. Did kissing Sean ever make me feel that way?

I don't think so. Don't think kissing any boy ever made me feel that way-like standing at the brink of a very tall cliff, wind at my back tipping me forward, the rock beneath my feet starting to crumble, but not afraid to go slipping into the unknown. I could retreat from this place. Instead I take a deep breath, plunge into some mysterious s.p.a.ce. And I like it.

The River Is High Winter-fed currents rush down- stream, chew at the rocky banks.

Dani sits on a picnic table, watching a few intrepid kayakers, and even in profile, she defines stark beauty-all steep slopes and sharp tilts and spikes of russet hair. I call her name, and when she turns, her smile is like April sun on the March snow drifted deep inside me. Just seeing her has lifted the morning's weight.

She senses something, or it shows in my eyes. You okay? What's wrong?

I could say nothing, but why lie?

"It's a long story. Let's walk."

We start down the riverside bike path, and I begin my lurid saga.

Cool, distant father. Frigid, twisted mother. Sad, sick twin.

When I get to the stuff about Emily, Dani's fingers knot into mine. Wow.

That's like something you see on TV.

But darlin', you're not the only one with a messed-up family. My mom left us for heroin when I was six.

She OD'd a couple of years ago.

In between, she was turning tricks, and got pregnant with my little brother.

She came crawling back. Dad was great.

He took her in, and when she left us for smack again, he raised Caleb like his own. We were doing okay, except when Mom died, Caleb freaked out.

Like she'd ever been his mom, you know?

Anyway, he fried his brain on ecstasy.

Stole a car and drove it the wrong way down the freeway, head-on into a semi.

He was only fourteen. So now it's just Dad and me. Everyone else is dead.

Her Hand Trembles In Mine And now it's my turn to be strong.

I stop. Pull her very close to me, swim into the glittering pools in her eyes.

"I'm sorry." She nods, parts her lips, and when our mouths meet, it is with urgency. Need. l.u.s.t. And understanding that this might be only the beginning.

We feed on each other. Draw strength from the nourishment. We are alone here, but were we not, I wouldn't care who might be watching as we wrap each other in each other, caught up in a net of desire so strong there can be no breaking free. Her skin is softest leather.

Her tongue, b.u.t.ter melting on mine.

She smells of ginger. Tastes of mint and strawberry. She is angle. I am curve. Together, we are geometric sculpture, and we make perfect sense.

But just how far am I willing to go?

Kendra

How Far Down can this one drop me?

Will it plummet me into a no- man's-land so pleasure-dense that memory can't follow?

How high will this one launch me? Will I soar above this pain-infused planet, no fear, and no desire to ever turn back?

Who knew so many answers might be found inside little amber bottles? Sad?

Pop a pill. Fat?

Run screaming for the medicine chest.

Calorie counting becomes obsolete when all you want to swallow is water and Mommy's Little Helper makes that happen for you.

I Don't Know Why It took me so long to find my way to Pharmaceuticalville. I guess I thought pill popping was for losers. People who couldn't hack reality. Couldn't control themselves or conquer their weaknesses.

Ha. I never thought I was weak before, not even when the mirror insisted I was a total wuss. It's all very clear now, though.

And I can't believe how easy it is to not feel hungry. To not feel sorry. To not feel sad or worried or like the whole world just wants to crush me, and all I have to do is match the messed-up mood to the proper chemical adjuster. If that makes me weak, oh well. But I think it makes me smart.

Why push uphill when you can coast?

I Was Only Going To Take One Percocet. I needed it the day I found out about Conner and his s.k.a.n.k.

His old s.k.a.n.k. The one who just moved away. Thank G.o.d I don't have to see her ever again. But even if I did, all I would have to do is down another Percocet.

Sheesh, if I did two, I'd probably ask her to prom. Except, now the pills are gone.

There were only four to start. After the first one, I waited a couple of days.

Then my dad decided to show up drunk at our spring honor choir performance.

It was the first time I'd seen him in months.

And there he was, s...o...b..ring all over some random woman and yelling like he was at a football game. And then he spotted Mom and Patrick and, for whatever reason, decided to go say h.e.l.lo. And more.

While we were still singing. From where I stood on the stage, I could see Mom trying to shush him. Which made him get louder. Soon everyone turned to stare, and Patrick actually had to take hold of his arm, steer him out of the gym.

Then everyone was looking at me. Like I had anything to do with it. And here's the capper. Mom blamed me. Why did you even tell him about the performance?

We were all safe at home by then (well, not sure about Dad. Patrick handed him off to his girlfriend.) I couldn't believe it. "Well, I sure as h.e.l.l didn't invite him."

Which made Patrick jump in. Don't you dare swear at your mother, little girl.

Anger sizzled in my head. "Don't tell me what to do. You're not my father."

In light of what happened tonight, I'd say that's a darn good thing.

"Darn? You can say 'd.a.m.n,' Patrick.

I promise it won't damage us children."

You are still a child, and it would be good to remember that....

I was pretty much boiling by then, and Mom sitting there, blank faced, only made me angrier still. "Not for long. I'll be eighteen next month."

Then he nailed me good. Right.

You mean after your plastic surgery.

It Was An Implied Threat And the threat was, "Apologize right now or consider keeping your big, ugly nose as is."

Okay, he wouldn't have put it so bluntly, but that's what he meant. Or something close.

I backed off. De-escalated. Couldn't risk calling his bluff, though I was pretty sure that's all it was. Swallowed my anger. "I'm sorry I swore, okay?

But I had nothing to do with Dad being there tonight. Cross my heart."

As apologies go, it was snippy, but the best I could do, and it seemed to appease Patrick. Apology accepted.

About that time Jenna came in, messy hair and blurred makeup indicating she'd had a little too much fun that night.

The attention shifted to her, so I made my escape, still percolating a big pot of anger.

At my back, Patrick's voice had risen again, this time at my sister. Where have you been, and what have you been doing? Buzz buzz buzz.

I headed straight for my room, and the little bottle of dysfunction stashed in a sock in my dresser. And down went one more Percocet. Two left. Minus one, not quite a week later, after I found out my dad is getting married again and wants Jenna and me to be bridesmaids. We don't even know his girlfriend, something my sister was very clear about. More family drama to come on that front for sure.

I Popped The Last Percocet Three days ago, when I was pa.s.sed over for a Teen Vogue fashion shoot. I had my heart set on it. I figured they didn't pick me because I still can't get into a size two. Close.

But not quite. But when I asked Maxine if that was, in fact, the reason, she hung her head and admitted, That's not why.

I'm sorry to say I dropped the ball.

It was a bad week-my daughter lost her baby, and I had to help out with her other kids. I just forgot to put things in motion. But there will be other opportunities.

I almost lost it. But how could I without coming off as totally heartless? So I nodded and fumed and finally dug into my wallet to find the business card of Xavier Winslow.

Xavier Cool name for an awesome agent.

We agreed to meet over Starbucks coffee, and though I felt a tiny bit like a traitor, I had it in my mind from the start that all he had to do was say the right things and I'd flip reps without looking back.

He said all the right things. You've got the look, that's for sure. His eyes crawled all up and down my body. If you want to do runway, you could maybe lose a couple of pounds, but I can help you with that. Then his creeping gaze stopped unapologetically right beneath my clavicle.

And... have you considered implants?

He was so straightforward, I somehow didn't feel the slightest embarra.s.sment.

"As a matter of fact, I have. But my parents don't want me to." I went on to tell him about my upcoming rhinoplasty, and even asked what he thought about Botox.

He just kept nodding until I was through.

You are serious about this as a career, then. I suspected as much. Here's the deal.

I have the connections to take you to the top.

But you have to be willing to do things my way. If you have an opt-out in your contract with Maxine, jumping agencies won't be a problem. And I can be very persuasive when it comes to reticent parents.

Give me fifteen minutes with your mom, she'll come around. Your stepdad may be tougher. But that's what moms are for.