Andre

A Problem Is really just a solution in need of a reason to exist.

If you think about it, life would be kind of boring if it were completely free of friction. Each day presents choices. Turn this way, it's a downhill coast. Turn that way, you will stumble across obstacles.

Some are easily conquered.

Some require intelligence, will, and perseverance to overcome.

To win is to prosper.

The game is defeating doubt.

And the fun is in the game.

Today's Game Was faking my way through a trig test. I probably pa.s.sed, but just barely. Trig? What for? Not like I'll need it beyond June, except to have it, with a C or (unlikely) slightly better grade on my transcript. Okay, my mom might argue that I'll want to know math for a future career. She uses it all the time, calculating body fat percentages and how many millimeters of bone to remove or skin to tighten to achieve the desired effect. Not to mention how much anesthesia per pound of person will allow said person to wake up from deep sleep and walk out, covered in bandages, alive.

And Dad utilizes the ol' calculator to figure price points and down payments and monthly fees, and whether or not a prospective client's take-home salary can cover those things, at least on paper. But if I had to follow in either of their footsteps, I'd use math to calculate how fast I'd have to drive my car over a cliff of x feet in height to attain the proper distance to make sure I'd end up dead instead of paralyzed.

Wow. A real-world use for trigonometry. Who'd have believed it?

School Behind Me For the day, I stop by the house on my way to Reno.

Change out of my stiff white b.u.t.ton-up shirt, khaki slacks. This isn't my usual day for dance lessons, but Liana had an opening, and I'm itching to work off a little stress. Dad's relentless pressure is getting to me. He caught me on my way out the door this morning.

I'm off to Vegas for a few days. When I get

back, we'll arrange a trip

over spring break to look at those schools.

It totally hit me wrong. "Would you please stop micromanaging my life?

What if I have my own plans for spring break?"

His jaw clicked audibly as it tightened, and

he silenced me with

two words. Cancel them. End of discussion.

I Have To Make A Stop On the way to Liana's. I need two hundred dollars for this month's lessons. But I'll tell Mom the money is for a haircut and some new clothes. Last year's sweaters are dated.

If I say that, she won't even think twice.

Perception is everything to Mom, and style is a vital component.

She wants her son to be a fashion trendsetter.

Three p.m. on Wednesday, her regular day for pre-op consults, her office is humming. "h.e.l.lo, Simone,"

I say to her receptionist, eliciting her smile with my own.

"Will my mother be tied up very long?"

She's with a patient, but should be

finished soon. Take

a seat. I'll let her know you're here.

She scuttles off, and I turn toward the plush waiting room. A girl, seated in one of the cushy chairs, lifts her eyes up over a magazine.

d.a.m.n! She's a spectacular creation, the kind you'd like to paint a portrait of, so you could hang her on a wall and stare at her forever. And speaking of staring, she is staring at me, so I'm motivated to say h.e.l.lo, only it comes out, "H-he-h.e.l.lo." She smiles at the stupid stutter, and I can't help but notice the perfect shape of her plump little pout. Delicious.

h.e.l.lo back at you, she says, her voice

rich and sweet as

caramel, and all the invitation I need.

I Choose A Seat Close to her, where I can better study her. She's younger than me, maybe sixteen, but the curves of her body belong to a woman. Surely she doesn't want more nor less than what she's been gifted with.

I can't help but ask, "You're not here to see my mom, are you?" Forward, yes. But I have to know.

She smiles again, and in that smile

is something Eve-like.

Me? No way. My sister is in there

now, choosing a new nose. But I kind

of like what I've got,

you know? How could I in good faith

disagree? "You are a wise girl." One, I've just decided, I really want to know. I offer a straightforward, "I'm Andre."

Her Skin Is flawless, and the color of fine ivory.

Together we are a keyboard. Or maybe a chessboard.

My color has never been an issue for girls before, but there's a first time-or person-for everything and in Reno, ghosts of Wild West prejudice still haunt certain neighborhoods.

This girl, however, doesn't seem put off by my skin. I'm Jenna. And are you,

like, hitting on me? She

laughs at how I can't quite confess it.

It's okay. I don't mind. She watches