Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 41621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
I am really curvy, though. I can’t hide my double-F’s under my giant t-shirts, although I try. I’ve got a big butt too. Big everything, really, aside from my improbably small waist, and the fact I am a not-intimidating five feet tall.
“I’m just excited for the opportunity,” I say with a silent prayer that this is going to play out the way I’m hoping.
“And who is this?” Lindsay asks, beaming at my purring chest accessory.
“Frida,” I say, holding her up to be viewed. She’s still got baby blue eyes, oversize paws, and a stubby little tail. “As in Kahlo.”
This delights Lindsay. “Ah! You’re an artist too?”
“Sort of.” If it helps me get a job, I’ll be a freaking T. rex.
The truth is that I do like art. I drew a lot when I was a kid. If teachers are to believed, I was great at color and detail. But my mom didn’t think I’d make anything of my art—or anything else, really—so I’m best described as “former dishwasher on the lam with Frida Kahlo.”
Nowadays, my only artistic outlet is nail polish. My fingernails and toenails are my canvas. Right now, they are painted in an legit rainbow pallet starting with yellow on my pinky toes ending with red on my big toes.
There probably won’t be nail polish in the forest, I think with a sinking heart because my backpack has only two little bottles inside and both are nearly empty.
“The art retreat has already started,” Lindsay says. “Last couple days just spent meditating, drawing, free style painting and getting the community to bond. We did a sage burning ceremony last night so now, the only thing missing is you.” Another smile, then a nod toward the rusty truck. “Ready?”
“Sure,” I say. “Only… Is there anywhere I can go to take a pee?”
I glance around, and Lindsay laughs. “Truth be told, if I was desperate I’d just slip behind a tree. But if that’s not your bag, I’d hold it until we get to the campsite. It’s just a few minutes, and the plumber just did a bang up job repairing your bathroom. Shall we?”
I’m already in the pickup when Lindsay takes a good long look at me. The whole package: dirty jeans, a t-shirt that looks vintage but features Sabrina Carpenter’s face, and sneakers I haven’t replaced since middle school.
“You look a little different than the pictures in your email. Wasn’t your hair black?” She frowns.
“Oh, yeah… my hair was dyed. The temporary kind like you get at the Halloween store. It’s back to natural now.” I make it up on the fly thinking maybe I missed my calling as a spy after all. I’m pretty good at lying under pressure.
Aside from my gigantic bazoombas, my hair is my most distinctive feature. The thing most likely to set me apart. I have loads of curly auburn hair that insists upon escaping braids, buns, and ponytails. Don picked on me for my unruly hair, so I’ve been trying to braid it extra-tight, but it’s only made my curls rebel even harder.
Lindsay laughs. “Well, it’s not like your face was the focus of the photos anyway. I’ve got you on the docket today for gesture class. That’s where you do series of nude poses and our students have five to ten minutes to draw before the pose changes.”
“Oh, yeah, absolutely. Gesture classes.” I have no idea what she’s talking about, but at this point I’m just winging everything.
She nods. “I’ve had models turn up and complain about having to think of a new pose every five or ten minutes.”
I force a laugh. “Imagine!”
“Right? That’s when you start to wonder if they even have as much experience as they said, or if this is the first time they’ve even posed nude in front of a class.”
“Pose nude,” I echo faintly giving my inner lip a hard bite.
The idea hadn’t occurred to me.
I’m lying to get a job, and that job means I’ll be naked in front of strangers.
“Well, you won’t be entirely nude. That’s technically not allowed in the university charter. I can’t ‘pay’ you to be naked, although the students are allowed to make their own arrangements. Nude classes do happen outside the organized sessions, and there are a few students that are up for modeling in those.” Lindsay seems to love talking about all this, and I get the impression art has been a big part of her life. Probably her whole life. She’s a steady hand on the pickup’s steering wheel though, expertly guiding us over the jolting, bouncy dirt road up the hill. “For you, we have costumes, a drape, some props. We’ll cover the sensitive bits.”
I barely hear the rest of what she says because I swear I see someone looking at us from behind the Paint Forest Program sign as we pass. I twist in my seat to look, searching for the figure I’m sure was there a second ago.