do a test shoot,” Frankie goes on. “I’ve got one coming up soon that might work for you.”
Ava grins, but suddenly I’m experiencing my second cold flush, and it’s no more fun than the first one.
I can’t believe we fell for it.
Here we were, assuming that they were the real thing, and they were just a bunch of scammers after all. I must say, theydisguised it brilliantly, but how much money is it going to take to get out of here? I did google “modeling scams” like Ava suggested, and they said the scammers can be very persistent. They keep telling you that you have to spend more and more …
“The test shoot — how much would it cost?” I whisper.
Frankie looks at me quizzically, then smiles. “Oh, it doesn’t cost you anything. We know photographers who need shots for their portfolio, same as you. They don’t charge, and you don’t. See? When you get a proper job, the client pays us and we pay you , minus our commission, of course. Don’t worry, angel, we’ll look after you. We’re totally legit. It’s why we’d need parental approval, by the way. Your parents are OK with you doing it, are they?”
“Oh, definitely,” Ava chimes in. “They’re really excited. They were just, er, busy today.”
“Fine. Well, you can bring them in when you come and get your test shots. So, how was that?”
I am having an out-of-body experience.
They say they’re “legit,” but they’re talking about signing me up. Did they not notice my legs? Or the unibrow? Or the hair? Or the fact that I’m still in school? Or that I don’t know who Mario Testino is? Or that I’m sitting next to a goddess and they haven’t shown the slightest interest in her? These people clearly have NO IDEA WHAT THEY’RE DOING.
“Ted? Ted? What do you think?”
But I suppose I should be polite. I put on my brightest smile.
“Amazing.”
“W asn’t that fantastic?” Ava says on the way to the Underground afterward. “Just let me call home.”
“You’re not telling them what we did?” I ask, appalled.
“Of course not. Duh!”
In a serious voice, she explains to Dad that we were badly held up at the hospital, but we’re finally on our way home. She lies so brilliantly and fluently that I’m in total awe of her talent. Then she grins happily at me.
“See? Easy! Frankie loved you!”
“It was horrific!”
“You were great.”
“You should have seen the way that boy looked at me. Like I was a worm.”
“Ignore him. You’re gorgeous, it’s official. Ooh, I must call Jesse.”
She whips her phone back out to tell him the news.
“He’s totally impressed,” she informs me afterward. “He says congratulations.”
“I thought he didn’t like models.”
“He doesn’t like his girlfriend to be a model. Sisters can do what they like. Aw, look, smiley face.”
She shows me her phone. Jesse has sent her a bug-eyed picture of himself stretching out both sides of his mouth with his fingers, so all you can see are teeth, gums, and tonsils. He still looks better than I did in those Polaroids. I sigh quietly to myself.
“I’m not doing that test shoot, Ava. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, you are,” she says cheerfully.
I don’t even bother to argue. There are a million reasons why I can’t do it, from not really knowing what a test shoot is, to lack of “parental approval,” to sheer terror at the very idea of it, to — hello? — my whole face and body. But Ava seems so happy right now that I can’t bring myself to list them. I’ll do it later, when her excitement has worn off.
It’s not difficult for us to keep what happened at Model City a secret from Mum.
Monday is what Ava calls “C Day” — the day her chemo starts — and Mum’s totally focused on making sure she’s read all the paperwork, obeyed all the instructions on how to prepare, blown the budget on fresh, organic fruit and vegetables, and got everything ready for making Ava feel comfortable afterward, in case
Ava grins, but suddenly I’m experiencing my second cold flush, and it’s no more fun than the first one.
I can’t believe we fell for it.
Here we were, assuming that they were the real thing, and they were just a bunch of scammers after all. I must say, theydisguised it brilliantly, but how much money is it going to take to get out of here? I did google “modeling scams” like Ava suggested, and they said the scammers can be very persistent. They keep telling you that you have to spend more and more …
“The test shoot — how much would it cost?” I whisper.
Frankie looks at me quizzically, then smiles. “Oh, it doesn’t cost you anything. We know photographers who need shots for their portfolio, same as you. They don’t charge, and you don’t. See? When you get a proper job, the client pays us and we pay you , minus our commission, of course. Don’t worry, angel, we’ll look after you. We’re totally legit. It’s why we’d need parental approval, by the way. Your parents are OK with you doing it, are they?”
“Oh, definitely,” Ava chimes in. “They’re really excited. They were just, er, busy today.”
“Fine. Well, you can bring them in when you come and get your test shots. So, how was that?”
I am having an out-of-body experience.
They say they’re “legit,” but they’re talking about signing me up. Did they not notice my legs? Or the unibrow? Or the hair? Or the fact that I’m still in school? Or that I don’t know who Mario Testino is? Or that I’m sitting next to a goddess and they haven’t shown the slightest interest in her? These people clearly have NO IDEA WHAT THEY’RE DOING.
“Ted? Ted? What do you think?”
But I suppose I should be polite. I put on my brightest smile.
“Amazing.”
“W asn’t that fantastic?” Ava says on the way to the Underground afterward. “Just let me call home.”
“You’re not telling them what we did?” I ask, appalled.
“Of course not. Duh!”
In a serious voice, she explains to Dad that we were badly held up at the hospital, but we’re finally on our way home. She lies so brilliantly and fluently that I’m in total awe of her talent. Then she grins happily at me.
“See? Easy! Frankie loved you!”
“It was horrific!”
“You were great.”
“You should have seen the way that boy looked at me. Like I was a worm.”
“Ignore him. You’re gorgeous, it’s official. Ooh, I must call Jesse.”
She whips her phone back out to tell him the news.
“He’s totally impressed,” she informs me afterward. “He says congratulations.”
“I thought he didn’t like models.”
“He doesn’t like his girlfriend to be a model. Sisters can do what they like. Aw, look, smiley face.”
She shows me her phone. Jesse has sent her a bug-eyed picture of himself stretching out both sides of his mouth with his fingers, so all you can see are teeth, gums, and tonsils. He still looks better than I did in those Polaroids. I sigh quietly to myself.
“I’m not doing that test shoot, Ava. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, you are,” she says cheerfully.
I don’t even bother to argue. There are a million reasons why I can’t do it, from not really knowing what a test shoot is, to lack of “parental approval,” to sheer terror at the very idea of it, to — hello? — my whole face and body. But Ava seems so happy right now that I can’t bring myself to list them. I’ll do it later, when her excitement has worn off.
It’s not difficult for us to keep what happened at Model City a secret from Mum.
Monday is what Ava calls “C Day” — the day her chemo starts — and Mum’s totally focused on making sure she’s read all the paperwork, obeyed all the instructions on how to prepare, blown the budget on fresh, organic fruit and vegetables, and got everything ready for making Ava feel comfortable afterward, in case
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