Simon asks. “She messed him up big-time.”
“You wouldn’t believe,” Frankie agrees. Click. “Don’t get involved with the girls. Rule One.”
She throws her head back and laughs as if it’s the stupidest rule ever invented — or at least the one least likely to be obeyed.
Which girls? Who’s Sheherezade?
“There you go, angel. All done,” Frankie says to me. “Let’s see what we’ve got, shall we?”
But how can we be all done? I haven’t posed or stuck my chest out or anything. I just stood there while she chatted with Simon and moved around, taking pictures from a couple of different angles. I thought she was testing the camera.
“Done?”
“Yep,” Frankie says, as she and Simon examine the Polaroids. Ava crowds in, too. “And they’re not bad. I’ve taken worse.”
“Really?”
She laughs at my surprise. “See for yourself.”
The photos are very plain — just my face and top half — but compared with Ava’s efforts at home, they’re mini-masterpieces. It’s amazing what a white background and some decent lighting can do.
“So, can you walk for me?”
I must have misheard her. I thought she said “walk.” Of course I can walk. But when she explains it to me, it’s worse than I could possibly have imagined. It is walking, but it’s across the office next door, in front of the twenty staring people.
“I — I don’t think so,” I stutter.
“Don’t be silly,” Frankie says with a hint of a sigh. I suppose she must be used to people who can talk in foreign languages while typing and flirting. I found “just standing there” enough of a challenge. “It’s walking. Up and down. It’ll only take a moment.”
Ava does her pleading face. Simon smiles encouragingly. I’m still about to say no, but when he opens the door back into the main office, I realize that everyone is still mesmerized by what’s going on between Cassandra Spoke and Nightmare Boy. Frankie nods in their direction and, without thinking, I set off. I’m curious to get a clearer view of him and see what all the fuss is about. It’s quite nice to have an excuse to go closer, actually.
Nightmare Boy is sitting hunched over, with his back to me, so all I can see is rumpled hair, a faded pink T-shirt, paint-spattered jeans, and dirty sneakers with holes in them. His voice is a low, insistent growl, but he must hear me approaching, because he stops talking to scowl at me. Black-rimmed glasses. His mother’s blue eyes. Pale face. Cute lips. Nice hair. I wish I wasn’t wearing hiking shorts.
As I near the desk, Cassandra looks up, too. Oh my goodness. The über-agent of über-agents is staring straight at me. I turn around quickly and head in the opposite direction.
Back where I started, Frankie grins. “Cute walk,” she says cheerfully. “It’s coltish. Don’t lose it.”
I promise not to, and breathe a sigh of relief. The ordeal is over. There are no further humiliations they can put me through.
But it turns out that yes, there are more humiliations.
“We just need to measure you now,” Frankie says, rummaging in her desk and pulling out a tape measure. She wraps it around my nonexistent chest and calls out my measurements to a guy three desks away, so that everyone can hear them.
Ava giggles. I glare at her. She had better be grateful for this. Buzz Lightyear has now paled into insignificance in the catalog of mortifying moments she has subjected me to.
Frankie has a quick muted conversation with Simon before taking us over to her desk and laying my Polaroids out on top of the general mess. I’m just relieved I don’t have Snoopy on my head in these pictures. I must remember to ask Ava to delete the ones on her phone.
“Well, you’ve definitely got something,” Frankie says. “And if you end up working with us, you’ll have such a good time. We’re a close family at Model City.”
I glance across at Cassandra and her son. Really?
“But before we make any decisions we need to
“You wouldn’t believe,” Frankie agrees. Click. “Don’t get involved with the girls. Rule One.”
She throws her head back and laughs as if it’s the stupidest rule ever invented — or at least the one least likely to be obeyed.
Which girls? Who’s Sheherezade?
“There you go, angel. All done,” Frankie says to me. “Let’s see what we’ve got, shall we?”
But how can we be all done? I haven’t posed or stuck my chest out or anything. I just stood there while she chatted with Simon and moved around, taking pictures from a couple of different angles. I thought she was testing the camera.
“Done?”
“Yep,” Frankie says, as she and Simon examine the Polaroids. Ava crowds in, too. “And they’re not bad. I’ve taken worse.”
“Really?”
She laughs at my surprise. “See for yourself.”
The photos are very plain — just my face and top half — but compared with Ava’s efforts at home, they’re mini-masterpieces. It’s amazing what a white background and some decent lighting can do.
“So, can you walk for me?”
I must have misheard her. I thought she said “walk.” Of course I can walk. But when she explains it to me, it’s worse than I could possibly have imagined. It is walking, but it’s across the office next door, in front of the twenty staring people.
“I — I don’t think so,” I stutter.
“Don’t be silly,” Frankie says with a hint of a sigh. I suppose she must be used to people who can talk in foreign languages while typing and flirting. I found “just standing there” enough of a challenge. “It’s walking. Up and down. It’ll only take a moment.”
Ava does her pleading face. Simon smiles encouragingly. I’m still about to say no, but when he opens the door back into the main office, I realize that everyone is still mesmerized by what’s going on between Cassandra Spoke and Nightmare Boy. Frankie nods in their direction and, without thinking, I set off. I’m curious to get a clearer view of him and see what all the fuss is about. It’s quite nice to have an excuse to go closer, actually.
Nightmare Boy is sitting hunched over, with his back to me, so all I can see is rumpled hair, a faded pink T-shirt, paint-spattered jeans, and dirty sneakers with holes in them. His voice is a low, insistent growl, but he must hear me approaching, because he stops talking to scowl at me. Black-rimmed glasses. His mother’s blue eyes. Pale face. Cute lips. Nice hair. I wish I wasn’t wearing hiking shorts.
As I near the desk, Cassandra looks up, too. Oh my goodness. The über-agent of über-agents is staring straight at me. I turn around quickly and head in the opposite direction.
Back where I started, Frankie grins. “Cute walk,” she says cheerfully. “It’s coltish. Don’t lose it.”
I promise not to, and breathe a sigh of relief. The ordeal is over. There are no further humiliations they can put me through.
But it turns out that yes, there are more humiliations.
“We just need to measure you now,” Frankie says, rummaging in her desk and pulling out a tape measure. She wraps it around my nonexistent chest and calls out my measurements to a guy three desks away, so that everyone can hear them.
Ava giggles. I glare at her. She had better be grateful for this. Buzz Lightyear has now paled into insignificance in the catalog of mortifying moments she has subjected me to.
Frankie has a quick muted conversation with Simon before taking us over to her desk and laying my Polaroids out on top of the general mess. I’m just relieved I don’t have Snoopy on my head in these pictures. I must remember to ask Ava to delete the ones on her phone.
“Well, you’ve definitely got something,” Frankie says. “And if you end up working with us, you’ll have such a good time. We’re a close family at Model City.”
I glance across at Cassandra and her son. Really?
“But before we make any decisions we need to
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