Paint Me Beautiful

other three senses. Emmett smells fresh, clean, like he's just stepped out of the shower, and he tastes like spearmint and warmth, trust – if that even has a taste. And he feels so damn good that when he steps away and my eyes pop open, I feel cold and empty. I blink in surprise and search for words. Nothing intelligent comes to mind, so I'm relieved when Emmett fills the silence for me.
    “ See you around.” He smiles. “Claire Simone.” And then Emmett walks away, slinging his plastic grocery bag over his shoulder. I watch him leave and then my cheeks fill with pink heat as I turn to glance at my friends.
    “ New boyfriend?” Leanne asks, sounding ashamed at her previous behavior. Jennifer, on the other hand, looks annoyed.
    “ I just met him yesterday,” I admit and both girls raise their eyebrows. They exchange a glance that makes me feel so left out that I want to chase down Mr. Sinclair and throw my arms around him. It's a weird sensation considering I just met the guy. These girls, on the other hand, I've known my whole life. Maybe that's the weirdest part of all?
    “ You two seemed pretty familiar,” Jenn says and suddenly, I get this really intense feeling to just tell her off.
    “ We didn't sleep together,” I say, pulling out my phone and looking for any excuse to get away. I didn't want to be rude, to distance myself any further from my friends, but I can't control the feelings of disgust I'm having for my childhood pal. “My mom just texted me. She wants to meet up early. I gotta go.”
    “ Oh!” Leanne says, pushing out her puffy lower lip. “We need to hang out though! I feel like I don't even know you anymore.” She hugs me; Jenn doesn't. I turn away from my friends feeling like they're right – even I don't know me anymore. I blame this strange sense of melancholy on Emmett Sinclair, but in reality, he's starting a process of healing I don't even know I need yet. Inside of me is a circle of pain that grows larger by the day, and if I'm not careful, it could consume me and leave me an empty husk of a person.
    I want to be thin, but I don't want to be broken.
    Too bad I can't find a way to have both.

 

    I'm sitting in my room flipping through a magazine when Marlena walks in and closes the door behind her.
    “ Thanks for picking the lock and invading my privacy,” I say. I haven't spoken to her about Emmett, but I plan to. She leans against the white wood and breathes slowly out through her nose. She's got on this horrible red pantsuit that I know she thinks looks professional but that actually gives her a camel toe. I'm horrified at her lack of fashion sense, but I don't say anything. I turn another page and try not to scream at the perfection plastered across the glossy pages. I know that half these girls are Photoshopped and that the other half haven't hit puberty yet, but I can't help myself; I'm jealous. I examine a Gucci ad carefully and try to decide if the girl in it is a zero or a double zero. Marlena just stands there. “What?” I snap as I slap the magazine shut.
    “ Come out to lunch with me,” she says. She sounds guilty which is good. I'm guessing she's going to confess to stalking Emmett. I pretend not to care and roll onto my back, letting my head hang off, so I can stare at Marlena upside down. My eyes slide over to the sheet on my mirror, and I wonder if she'll notice. I try to think up an excuse, just in case.
    “ I already ate,” I lie. This is becoming a common phrase in my repertoire. I used it on my mom when I got home yesterday and found her elbow deep in flour, baking up some other useless crap that nobody should be eating, let alone me. I told her I'd gone out to lunch with Leanne and Jenn, and she got off my back. I didn't speak to Big Bob; I'm afraid to. I've been in my room ever since. Tomorrow though, I'm meeting with three different agencies. Three chances to succeed. Three chances to fail. The blood rushes to my head and makes me dizzy. “What do you want?”
    “ I need to tell you something,” she begins, and I cut her off.
    “ If this is about Emmett Sinclair, I already know,” I say, sitting up with a grunt. I don't have the abs for a move like that, but it doesn't matter. Girls with muscular stomachs don't get booked for Italian Vogue anyway. I hunch over to catch my breath. “I know you came into my room, stole his number, and gave him a call. How did you know he was a student?”
    “ I didn't,” Marlena begins, and I glance