Paint Me Beautiful

any better, your story made me think about one of my own. It involves a high school boyfriend of mine and how he had all the right equipment, too.” I blush as soon as I finish speaking, and there's this second of fearful silence before a burst of laughter bubbles up out of Emmett's throat. He slaps his hands against the steering wheel.
    “ I was so asking for that,” he tells me as he shakes his head. I look out the window, hoping that he won't see the bit of pink on my cheeks and forehead. I'm so pale that it's horribly obvious, like my emotions are scribbled in rose colored ink over my skinny nose, the long line of my jaw, over the tops of my too-small ears. I should get a tan. Tans are back in this season. I shake my head to clear it. My dreams are always on the brain now. They're giving me a headache. I can't even have a single moment without thinking about my waist size and my portfolio and my runway walk … About fucking apples. I'm still thinking about two slices of apple. “Want to know where we're going?” Emmett asks me, and I turn back to face him.
    “ No, surprise me,” I say and he laughs again. Guess that means he likes me? Trees flash by outside Emmett's window, framing his face in brown and green. The skin above his nose is wrinkled like he's thinking hard about something.
    “ Did you get the job?” he asks me suddenly. “I mean, the modeling gig?” I try not to sigh. After all, he can't know that every single member of my family asked the same question or how tired I am of saying no. No, I did not get the job. Maybe I never will? I'm too fat. My ribcage is too big. My face is too plain.
    “ Let's talk about you,” I tell him instead. “This is a nice car. Forgive me if I'm not familiar with the make; I'm not really into cars. It's fancy though. Must stand out in the Super Smoothie parking lot?” I sound like a bitch again. I'm not trying to, but it just comes out that way. I spend too much time turning down male model wannabes. I need to loosen up. God, I'm thirsty. I'd kill for something to drink. I pause in my own thoughts. No, not something. Water. Just water. I need to start carrying around a bottle.
    “ Well,” Emmett says and he's not smiling anymore. His eyes are focused on the road, but his mind is elsewhere. “I didn't buy this with my Super Smoothie money. I took it when I left home.” I sense a tragedy in Emmett's background. Troubled pasts are not something I'm used to. My life has been a boring one. All my friends' parents are still married; they all live in the same houses they grew up in; they all go to the community college. I've only dated three guys and slept with two. I don't really know what to say.
    “ I'm sorry.”
    “ Don't be,” Emmett says, and he's smiling again. “I just wanted to make my way in the world is all, give it a shot on my own. 'Cept I couldn't leave my baby behind.” He laughs again, but it sounds pretty forced. Besides, I sense that he's making light of the situation. I don't think Emmett's lying per se, but he isn't telling me the whole truth. I feel less guilty about lying to him earlier. “What I can tell you is that I'm in my last year at school and that once I have my degree, I'm going places.”
    “ Where?” I ask him, though it sort of seems like a stupid question to ask about a turn of phrase. Emmett scrunches his brows together and tightens his hands on the wheel like he's thinking really hard about this. I appreciate the effort. I'm used to people just spewing whatever garbage is inside their heads out of their mouths. It's amazing to actually see somebody think before they speak. I make a note to take up the practice. Like that'll get you far in this industry. It's all about smoke and mirrors.
    “ I don't know yet,” Emmett says and then smiles softly. “But when I do, I'll let you know.” I smile back and then my stomach growls and cramps painfully. I take a deep breath and try to keep smiling. “You sure you don't want to grab dinner?” Emmett asks again. “It's on me.”
    “ I don't like to eat in front of people,” I blurt and blush again. I tap my nails on the door and wait for Emmett to say something judgmental, something like, Do you have a problem or something? He doesn't. He stays quiet for a moment as he slows the car down and turns into a square parking lot with a few faded lines to mark out the spaces.
    “ Me neither,” he says with a shrug and that's that. Emmett parks the car and opens his door.