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School Behind Me
    For the day, I stop by the house on
    my way to Reno.
    Change out of my stiff white button-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. “Hello, 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.
    Damn! 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
    hello, only it comes out,
    “H-he-hello.” She smiles at the stupid
    stutter, and I can’t help but notice
    the perfect shape
    of her plump little pout. Delicious.
    Hello 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
Simone scurry back
to her desk. Do you want to call me?
    Her forwardness is both a little scary
    and a lot refreshing.
    “You know, I really would.” We exchange
    appreciative smiles and cell phone
    numbers, as down
    the hall a door slams open, followed
    by scattered voices. One of them belongs
    to my mom. The others,
    I’m guessing, are Jenna’s mother
    and her sister. Both of them look like
    her, except her sister
    lacks the abundant flesh that makes
    Jenna so attractive. She notices where
my eyes keep roaming.
My sister is a pageant girl, she says in
    a low (luscious) voice. She also wants to
model, which is why
she thinks she needs her nose “fixed.”
    “I hope it’s enough for her. Some people
    get addicted to
    the ‘fixing.’” Some are never satisfied.

Jenna, However
    Appears