Paint Me Beautiful

options.
    “ I was going to ask you anyway. I knew right away that there's nobody I'd rather have as a roommate.”
    “ I … ” The teacher is already introducing herself, and I realize suddenly that Emmett and I are the only ones left in the hall.
    “ Think about it,” he tells me, reaching out to grab my hand. “The offer stands as long as it takes you to decide.” I crinkle my eyes and bite my lower lip.
    “ Thanks, Emmett,” I whisper as we slide surreptitiously into the back of the room and take up a position near a silver L-shaped counter with a sink, an oven, and a stove all crammed into the tiny space. I take his hand in one of mine and hold it while the woman at the front of the room discusses what we'll be doing tonight. I barely listen. Already my mind is filled with thoughts of freedom and control. If I get away from my parents and my sister, then I'll only have Emmett to worry about, and he doesn't judge. This could be the break I need to really turn up my routine to high gear and make things happen. I know before the class is over what my decision will be. In the meantime, I struggle with my worst nightmare: food.
    “ Okay, so I'm assuming you all know how to crack an egg?” the teacher asks with a laugh and several hands go up in the room with a nervous chitter. “Alright, alright, let me show you,” she says as Emmett picks up a white oval and hands it to me. Egg, seventy-two calories. I know I'm hardly going to fall on a raw egg and consume it, but my heart pumps hard as I hit it against the side of the bowl. I pull apart the two halves and watch as clear goo slides down the side of the bowl and ends with a big, yellow eye staring up at me.
    “ Hey, you're pretty good at that,” Emmett says as he picks up a second one and starts to smack it against the ceramic. I touch his hand, wrap my fingers around it and guide his movements.
    “ If you do it like that, you'll break the shell into tiny pieces,” I whisper, realizing that the room has dulled into this quiet, communal buzz. Food is the building block of life after all, the thing that people have crowded around for centuries to feel close to one another. I realize that even as I deny myself the pleasure. Emmett's egg falls on top of mine and I smile. He flashes me the two halves of his shell and tosses them into the garbage can under the counter.
    “ You've got a natural talent,” he says, but I brush off the compliment. I don't want to have a talent that has to do with food. I don't want to be a fat, jolly chef in a big, white coat. I want my talents to be where it counts – modeling, acting, singing, dancing. If I don't have them naturally, then I'll make them happen with hard work and sacrifice, just like I'm doing now. This is the hardest part though, the body. Once I have the body I want, then anything is possible.
    I realize my throat is dry and end up grabbing one of the little plastic cups in the corner, so I can get some water from the tap. Emmett watches me and says nothing.
    I turn back to our bowl and am relieved when our instructor tells us to remove the yellow parts of the eggs. That reduces each egg down to sixteen calories, so thirty-two total in our little bowl. I'm still not going to eat any, but that's not so bad. I have no idea what we're making since I wasn't listening, but I keep my chemistry analogy in my mind, pretending that I'm mixing up a toxic concoction for the sole purpose of seeing the final reaction.
    “ Time to pull out the veggies, folks,” the instructor says as she motions for us to head back inside our mini refrigerators and retrieve the next few ingredients. My least hated enemies in the food world appear before me – a red and a green pepper, an onion, some broccoli, and a stalk of celery. “I'm going to show you how to chop these up and we're going to add a tablespoon of each to our omelets. One person is going to sauté these babies while the other whisks the eggs. Cooking can foster a beautiful partnership, people, if you just let the scents, the smells, and the tastes guide you. Feel free to eat as you're cooking. In fact, I encourage it.” Emmett smiles at me and breaks off a piece of broccoli, stuffing it into his mouth with a wink.
    “ Any excuse I have to eat, and I'll take it,” he tells me, and I can't help but smile back at him. He is so fucking infectious. His joy is almost palpable, floating around him and intoxicating anyone that steps too close. I wonder why I'm the