Read Online The Truth About Delilah Blue by Tish Cohen - Free Book Online

thought to herself. Nothing gray about this subject. Nothing soft, shadowy, open to interpretation. The black widow may have had nothing more sinister planned for the day than repairing the tear in her web or pushing a giant sac of babies out her swollen belly, but her very form demanded respect. You were drawing horror in cold, hard black and white.
    Lila heard footsteps behind her and looked up, stiffening when she saw Adam walking toward her. He held up a black bag. “You took mine.”
    “Oh. Sorry.” They exchanged backpacks. “You’re done with your posters?”
    “Ran out of tape. And paper. Plus I lost my Sharpie.”
    “Excellent progress.”
    He looked at her art board. “Lichty has a thing about people using the supplies when he isn’t here.”
    She looked up at him. “What…You’re going to tell on me now?”
    “No. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”
    “I was about to leave.”
    Renderings of herself, as well as other models, dotted the walls, and she bristled when she realized he was lookingat the drawing tacked above Lichty’s desk, a closeup of her shoulder, hair draped across her skin, only a sliver of her downward-turned face visible. It was exquisite, actually. A private moment. This was done by the Indian girl with the navy hair, a quiet and a sensitive artist Lichty singled out the first day for her ability to zoom in on the real charm of a pose.
    “You’ll get used to it,” he said.
    “What?”
    “Their interpretations.” He pointed to another drawing. “Surfer dude did this one. I can tell. Shows you with Jessica Rabbit breasts and hips so narrow you should be unable to walk.” Then he nodded toward another Lila. This one was padded around the middle. The nose was longer too. “Remember that older woman? She had short, grayish hair?”
    Lila nodded. “So they’re not really drawing me.”
    “More like the you they see through their own crap. And noncrap. The model can offer whatever pose she wants; it will never be interpreted the same way by two students.”
    “Are they all female?”
    “The models? No, why?”
    She shrugged. “You said she.”
    “No. We’ve plenty of guys. I’ve even modeled here. I fill in sometimes when a model doesn’t show.”
    “It doesn’t bother you?”
    “Nope. Makes me feel good about my body.” He sniffed and stretched his neck from one side to the other as if to prove it. “If you ever need a model, I’m happy to pose.”
    “No. I’m good.”
    “Whatever.”
    Hoping he would take the hint and leave, she went backto her drawing, sharpening the edge of the spider’s front leg. Instead of sensing her desire for privacy, he moved closer and peered down at her work, and she tried to lean forward to block his view. “I don’t really like people to see my drawings…”
    “You’re good.”
    The praise felt wonderful. She allowed herself a quick glance at him. With a nonchalant sniff, she asked, “You think?”
    “You could be a student here.”
    “Yeah. Well. I’m not.”
    “Money? Because you could try for a scholarship.”
    “I’m not that good. They’d never take me.”
    “You never know, right?”
    “No. Sometimes you really do know.”
    He said nothing, just pulled out his bottle of NyQuil and twisted open the lid, sipped hungrily. “I’m going to New York.”
    She turned her pencil around to erase a tiny mistake. “So you said.”
    “Right. Sorry.” He burped into his hand, then stuffed the bottle in his bag. “I say it twice and now you think I’m this self-centered jerk who loves his own stories so much he can’t keep track of what he’s said to who.”
    She couldn’t resist. “Whom.”
    “Perfect. Now you’re thinking, ‘Linguistic ignoramus.’”
    Trying not to smile, she said, “Actually, the who/whom thing wasn’t a deal-breaker for me, but ‘linguistic ignoramus’…You don’t actually expect me to move past that one.”
    He hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and started to weave