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“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Heidi.”
“Jenna.”
She pivots on her stool to face me. “Heidi, I love you. I adore you. You’ve been my bestie since we were five. All I want is for you to be happy.”
“I appreciate that,” I say, waiting for the punchline.
“That’s why I want you to drink and be merry and invite cute boys over on a whim to touch your naughty bits.”
And there it is.
I blink twice. “How sweet.”
“Seriously. Every day that I come home and I don’t see a hair scrunchie on your doorknob, I die a little inside.”
I snort at her dumb system. “Okay, Jenna.”
“So, please, do it for me.” She reaches out and pats my knee. “Do it for your naughty bits, Heidi. We need this.”
“Please stop calling it that.”
“Bring a boy home and I will.”
“If I say I’ll think about it, will you drop it?” I ask.
“Yes,” she answers.
“Then, I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you. But don’t over-think it. It’s just naughty bits.”
I cringe as I twist back to face my portrait. With blushed cheeks, I raise my charcoal and try to focus on finishing his lips.
I glance up at the model’s face. His eyes turn away again, sending a brief shiver down my spine.
Can he hear us?
No, definitely not.
Dear lord, I hope not.
* * *
I stuff my sketchpad into my backpack as thunder rumbles just outside the doors of Ramsey Hall. Rain pours down from the sky. Lightning every few seconds. This storm isn’t going anywhere. I try to find a way to keep my backpack — and my precious sketchpad — from getting soaked on my way to the parking lot.
No more rain, the weatherman said.
Leave the umbrella at home tonight, he said.
No wonder my allergies are going nuts tonight.
Jenna groans as she flicks up the hood on her jacket. “Another storm?” she asks.
“Another storm,” I repeat.
