Perfect (Impulse, #2)

by Ellen Hopkins

calories won’t conquer me. They are one thing I can control.

And Just Maybe If I can control them, make myself thin as I need to be, the rest of my life will turn right again.

(Hey, Dad. Hope they let you watch football in heaven!)

Mom will talk that lady into letting her suck the fat from the woman’s gut, butt, or thighs, a shortcut to perfection. Damn the bills. You’ll be the finest woman standing in the bankruptcy line.

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?

Commitment means losing yourself to gain something temporary. Nothing lasts. Not looks. Not love. I’m living large and living for today because there might not be a tomorrow.

Anger is easier than forgiveness.

love is like summer. It only lasts so long.

Death Is only the easy way out if you are the one who dies.

Living means taking chances. Risks. Playing safe all the time is being dead inside, even if you happen to still be breathing.