Page 36 of Time Exposure
The girl beside me leans in close. “Is it just me? Does this lady make you feel as inadequate as she does me?”
I lean an inch away and glance at her a moment. “Uh, I guess.” I shrug. Inadequate wasn’t quite the word I would choose. Maybe intimidated.
The girl smiles big at me. Her smile makes me more uncomfortable than Karen’s entrance and presence. Not able to pinpoint my discomfort, I opt for niceties and extend my hand to her.
“Hi, I’m Gavin.”
She stares at my hand a moment, a few emotions flit across her face but don’t linger. Then she takes my hand and shakes it. “Layla.” Her eyes ping to mine and she keeps our hands connected. I want to yank it back. Her touch scalds my skin. Not in the way Cora’s touch heats every molecule inside me. Rather, Layla’s skin on mine is invasive. Parasitic. Wrong.
When she doesn’t remove her hand from mine after an uncomfortable five breaths, I slip mine away. The second she looks away from me, I wipe my hand on my jeans. Something about this girl makes me uneasy. The only person I read easily was Cora. So, it confounds me to not figure out why this girl makes me uneasy.
Maybe she is just as upset about being in this class as I am. Maybe she is only trying to be friendly.
I lean back in my chair and listen to Karen prattle on about why we are all here. Honestly, if this class makes me better at modeling, I am all for it. It gets me one more step closer to Cora. The main reason I’m doing this in the first place.
For her. For us. And our future.
Hours later, the class ends. All of us numb from the lessons on facial expressions and how to achieve them. According to Karen, we will be seeing her five days a week for the foreseeable future. Once she determines we are worthy of “graduating,” she will pass such information to the appropriate people.
In other words, it may be weeks or months before I model. Weeks or months before I take a decent photo. Weeks or months before I earn a penny.
On the upside, the modeling agency pays for the classes. Only because we are “assets.” Calling me an asset is objectifying, but I suck it up. Modeling is just temporary. A stepping stone to get me where I need to be.
As I leave for the day, Layla stops me. “Hey, Gavin. You want to grab something to eat? I could eat a cow after today.” She laughs and it sounds forced. Awkward. Exaggerated.
All I want is to go home and crash. But it would be nice to know someone else in this boat. Someone I can talk to when I have a rough day. A friend. “Yeah, sure.”
The moment I agree, a rock plummets in my gut. It sinks and settles deep. Nausea threatens and I shove it down. Layla is a nice person—at least that is what I continually tell myself. Our relationship will only consist of friendship. Nothing more.
No one will ever take Cora’s place. No one.