My reply is instant. “Absolutely. We can make a day of it.”

“Want to go right now?”

Her exuberance says I don’t have much of a choice, so I nod just as eagerly. “What are we still standing here for? Let’s go!”

We end up spending the rest of the day out shopping. By the time we make it back to her apartment, it’s dusk. We made out well. Maybe a little too well. Both of our arms are loaded up to the elbow with goodies, and I help Annie carry the bags up the two flights of stairs, complaining the whole way about her only asking me along because she needed a pack mule. Her tinkling laughter carries through the hallway all the way to her door and is replaced by a warm smile when the door to her apartment swings open.

Jason is standing on the other side, his semi-muscled shoulders tensed and his cold stare trained on me. My good mood instantly evaporates. As he reaches out to take Annie’s bags, he leans down and gives her a lingering kiss.

Giving them their privacy, I look away. Now that the mood is significantly subdued, it’s time for me to leave. Jason holds the door and I shuffle inside, laying the rest of the bags on the dining room table.

“Okay, lady, I had fun today, but you wore me out,” I tell Annie as I stretch my fingers and arms, which are marked with deep grooves and tinged a deep shade of red from holding the bags. “I’m going to head home and veg out on some Mafia Wives.”

“Are you sure?” Annie looks disappointed as she returns my hug. “We’re ordering pizza tonight. You’re welcome to stay and eat dinner with us.”

She means it, but one look at Jason and I know that invitation is one-sided. I wouldn’t have accepted anyway. “No, thanks. I need to keep my figure up,” I say, patting my flat stomach. “Eat an extra slice for me?”

“You know it. Hey,” Annie says as she sees me to the door. “I know I already said it, but I think it bears repeating. If by the end of this class you’re still hung up on this guy, you need to give him another chance. It’s a tough situation, but it sounds like he really liked you.”

I almost regret telling her what happened between me and Ransom. Almost. The fact is, she’s good at dishing out advice, and I’d be stupid not to eat at her table. I take her words to heart, but I can’t be sure what, if anything, I will do with them. Only time will tell. “I’ll think about it.”

I wave as I slip past Jason, flashing him a tight smile on my way out. He mumbles a very unenthusiastic goodbye and I hear the door click closed before I reach the top of the stairs.

What she sees in him, I don’t know, but if she’s happy, then I’m willing to pretend I’m happy, too. Lord knows, I’m great at lying. What must it be like, looking at life through a pair of rose-colored glasses? And where can I find a pair?

***

The last few weeks of the semester fly by. Between work and school and spending time with my friends, I hardly notice it. Keeping busy is the secret to maintaining any level of sanity, especially during the tough times life hands out.

That’s how I got through my mother’s passing: I threw myself into soccer and friends and adopting the role of daughter and homemaker. It’s also how I got past my father’s death. Before you know it, time has skated by you and wounds that used to ache are beginning to scab over.

Ransom has shown up at the club a few times. He’s watched me dance, but I don’t watch him. He’s asked for me personally, but I decline. Then he left a number for me with Bernice—I assume, out of desperation—and even though I have no intention of calling it, it sits buried in my purse.

It’s a small source of comfort to know that I could hear his voice anytime with just the push of a few buttons. It’s also a big source of stress because each day that passes makes me wonder how much longer I can prevent myself from picking up the phone.

The problem has only grown deeper as my impending show approaches, and now that it’s finally here, I find my hand searching for that scrap of paper. I won’t call it, but I desperately want to. I spent a lot of time preparing myself for this night, but now that it’s here, all of my insecurities are jumping to the forefront of my mind.

Is this how I want people to see me? Is it really worth taking my clothes off for? Does this cheapen me somehow? It’s supposed to be art, that’s what Mrs. Jackson said, but blending nude art with education somehow feels wrong.

But it’s a paying gig, and that’s what ultimately has me walking into that room Wednesday night.

There are easels set up in a circle around the edges of the room, creating a stage for the table placed dead center. It’s draped with white fabric that I think was intended to make the space more inviting, when in reality it lends it a clinical feel. I hate it instantly and a voice inside my head whispers that it’s not too late to turn around. I’m the only one here, so they would just assume I never showed up, right?

The idea is blown to hell when I turn to find Mrs. Jackson approaching. She’s dressed in a long, flowing tie-dyed dress and she’s pushing a cart stacked with paint, brushes, and other supplies. And she’s looking right at me with a pleased smile. “Good, you’re here. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d show.”

As I move to the side to give her room to pass, I feel my brows pull down.

Even though she hasn’t seen my expression, she continues speaking. “You probably wouldn’t know it from the level of cockiness in your fellow classmates, but there are a lot of cold feet at this school, especially the boys. They’ll strip down and blaze a naked path through a football field on game day for a laugh, but they’re shaking in their sneakers if you ask them to get naked and take a load off so a few people can draw a picture.”

I laugh nervously as I set my purse down on a nearby table and follow her deeper into the room. She stops the cart midway and positions it near a large sink basin.

Before I forget, I fish the paper Ransom gave me from my pocket and hold it out. “I need you to fill this out. It’s a questionnaire and proof that I was here.”

She takes it, and unfolding the paper, gives it a once-over. “This is for your final project?”

“Yes, it is.”

She nods and reaches over to drop it on top of her desk, sighing wistfully. “What I wouldn’t have given to have such a cool assignment for my final exam when I was your age. I’ll have it back to you at the end of class.” Leaning back, she props herself on the edge of the desk, and her expression is all business. “Okay, here’s the drill,” she says as she eyes me. “I assume this is your first time?”

“Yes.” That single word reveals the nerves currently creating a maelstrom inside my stomach.

Her smile is kind, but her words are frank. “You think you’re nervous now? Just wait until my class shows up. That’s the true test for everyone.” Pointing to the table in the center of the room, she says, “That’s your stage tonight. Once everyone is seated and ready to go, I’ll have you start by lying down on your side, facing my desk.”

Crap. I have to walk into a crowded room and get naked. I don’t suppose she has a stripper pole that I can warm up on. “That’s it? I just lie down and they draw me?”

“To start. The class is expected to draw three images tonight from three different angles. So we’ll get you lying down facing one direction, then have you flip over so they can draw you from a new perspective, and we’ll finish with a sitting portrait.”

I gulp. “How long is the class again?”

“Only an hour, and don’t worry, you’ll survive,” she says, her voice ringing with laughter. Clasping my shoulder, she looks me in the eye with utmost sincerity. “I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but everyone is nervous the first time. I can tell just standing here that you have a gorgeous figure and most important, you’re confident in your looks. Don’t let a little case of the nerves run you off. I am a firm believer that facing the things that strike fear in you is a great way to build character.”