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Authors: Cherie Bennett
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Lit from within.”
“Hey, Lara,” Jennie Smith called, entering the store. She had on a short wrap coat, and even under tights, herlegs looked bony. She was so skinny. Her date, a tall, nice-looking guy I’d never seen before, hung back by the door talking to another guy.
“Oh, hi,” I said. “Did you just go to the movies?”
“We saw the new Brad Pitt thing,” she said. She turned and waved to her date, then turned back to us. “He goes to Father Ryan,” she explained, mentioning a private school not far from our high school. “Do you think he’s cute?”
“Sure,” I said.
“He’s okay.” She shrugged. “I’m trying to decide if I should bring him to Amber’s party.” She put her hands on her stomach. “I don’t know what I’m doing in Baskin-Robbins. I am so
fat
. Besides, this stuff is poison. Dairy and fat—ugh.”
“Ugh,” Jett echoed, trying to keep a straight face.
Jennie looked me over with X-ray vision. “
You’re
not eating
ice cream
, are you, Lara?”
“No, of course not,” I assured her.
“I
never
eat ice cream. I guess I’ll get a diet Coke and watch Taylor eat. Well, see y’all.”
“That girl is a piece of work,” Jett said ruefully.
“I don’t blame her for wanting to stay thin,” I said.
Jett turned and put his arms around me again. “Hey, how about if we blow this off and go back to my house? My parents are in New York, meeting with my mom’s agent.”
Alone with Jett. It sounded blissful. Exciting. And dangerous. What if he wanted to … and was I ready to …?
“Okay,” I said, “but not … I mean …”
He cupped my chin in his hand, his eyes searching mine. “Lara, there’s plenty of time for that.”
“There is?”
“When we’re ready, we’re ready. It doesn’t have to be now. What I meant was that I want to draw you.”
Draw
me. He wanted to be alone with me to
draw
me.
“I’d love that,” I whispered, nuzzling against his chest. I felt all these different things: relief, excitement, disappointment.
He hadn’t asked to draw me since that very first night on the beach. But now I looked “incandescent.” Beautiful. All because my anxiety about my weight was gone.
We slowly drove back to Jett’s house, careful on the slippery roads as the snow changed over to sleet. It was a ranch house, set far back on a wooded lot. It was nice, though it wasn’t nearly as large as my house.
We went into the family room. In the corner was a beautiful old upright piano. On the wall above it were framed photos of sculptures Jett’s mom had done for various corporate art collections.
“Hey, play something,” Jett said, cocking his head toward the piano. “I love to listen to you play.”
Jett sat on the couch and I went over to the piano and got comfortable. I began to play the piece I’d be playing for my upcoming recital, Chopin’s Sonata in C minor. I closed my eyes and the music washed over me, transporting me to some timeless place of perfect grace, beauty, love.
“I know how you feel,” Jett said quietly.
I opened my eyes. He was sitting next to me on the piano bench.
“I feel that way when I’m painting sometimes.” His hand gently touched my cheek. “Come on, there’s something I want you to see.”
Although I had been to Jett’s house before, I’d only been in the kitchen, dining room, and family room. Now Jett led me by the hand into the living room.
It didn’t have the sterile perfection of our white-on-white living room—instead it had more color and emotion. The couch, deep midnight-blue velvet with stripes of blue satin, was set on a jewel-toned Oriental carpet. Incredible art hung on the walls.
“The art,” I said in an awe-filled voice, looking around at the walls.
“By my mom’s friends,” Jett said. “But this is what I really wanted you to see.”
He led me to the far corner, where a sculpture sat on a black marble pedestal, illuminated by a floodlight recessed into the ceiling. It
“Hey, Lara,” Jennie Smith called, entering the store. She had on a short wrap coat, and even under tights, herlegs looked bony. She was so skinny. Her date, a tall, nice-looking guy I’d never seen before, hung back by the door talking to another guy.
“Oh, hi,” I said. “Did you just go to the movies?”
“We saw the new Brad Pitt thing,” she said. She turned and waved to her date, then turned back to us. “He goes to Father Ryan,” she explained, mentioning a private school not far from our high school. “Do you think he’s cute?”
“Sure,” I said.
“He’s okay.” She shrugged. “I’m trying to decide if I should bring him to Amber’s party.” She put her hands on her stomach. “I don’t know what I’m doing in Baskin-Robbins. I am so
fat
. Besides, this stuff is poison. Dairy and fat—ugh.”
“Ugh,” Jett echoed, trying to keep a straight face.
Jennie looked me over with X-ray vision. “
You’re
not eating
ice cream
, are you, Lara?”
“No, of course not,” I assured her.
“I
never
eat ice cream. I guess I’ll get a diet Coke and watch Taylor eat. Well, see y’all.”
“That girl is a piece of work,” Jett said ruefully.
“I don’t blame her for wanting to stay thin,” I said.
Jett turned and put his arms around me again. “Hey, how about if we blow this off and go back to my house? My parents are in New York, meeting with my mom’s agent.”
Alone with Jett. It sounded blissful. Exciting. And dangerous. What if he wanted to … and was I ready to …?
“Okay,” I said, “but not … I mean …”
He cupped my chin in his hand, his eyes searching mine. “Lara, there’s plenty of time for that.”
“There is?”
“When we’re ready, we’re ready. It doesn’t have to be now. What I meant was that I want to draw you.”
Draw
me. He wanted to be alone with me to
draw
me.
“I’d love that,” I whispered, nuzzling against his chest. I felt all these different things: relief, excitement, disappointment.
He hadn’t asked to draw me since that very first night on the beach. But now I looked “incandescent.” Beautiful. All because my anxiety about my weight was gone.
We slowly drove back to Jett’s house, careful on the slippery roads as the snow changed over to sleet. It was a ranch house, set far back on a wooded lot. It was nice, though it wasn’t nearly as large as my house.
We went into the family room. In the corner was a beautiful old upright piano. On the wall above it were framed photos of sculptures Jett’s mom had done for various corporate art collections.
“Hey, play something,” Jett said, cocking his head toward the piano. “I love to listen to you play.”
Jett sat on the couch and I went over to the piano and got comfortable. I began to play the piece I’d be playing for my upcoming recital, Chopin’s Sonata in C minor. I closed my eyes and the music washed over me, transporting me to some timeless place of perfect grace, beauty, love.
“I know how you feel,” Jett said quietly.
I opened my eyes. He was sitting next to me on the piano bench.
“I feel that way when I’m painting sometimes.” His hand gently touched my cheek. “Come on, there’s something I want you to see.”
Although I had been to Jett’s house before, I’d only been in the kitchen, dining room, and family room. Now Jett led me by the hand into the living room.
It didn’t have the sterile perfection of our white-on-white living room—instead it had more color and emotion. The couch, deep midnight-blue velvet with stripes of blue satin, was set on a jewel-toned Oriental carpet. Incredible art hung on the walls.
“The art,” I said in an awe-filled voice, looking around at the walls.
“By my mom’s friends,” Jett said. “But this is what I really wanted you to see.”
He led me to the far corner, where a sculpture sat on a black marble pedestal, illuminated by a floodlight recessed into the ceiling. It
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