Part 6 (2/2)

”Will my mother be tied up very long?”

She's with a patient, but should be

finished soon. Take

a seat. I'll let her know you're here.

She scuttles off, and I turn toward the plush waiting room. A girl, seated in one of the cushy chairs, lifts her eyes up over a magazine.

d.a.m.n! She's a spectacular creation, the kind you'd like to paint a portrait of, so you could hang her on a wall and stare at her forever. And speaking of staring, she is staring at me, so I'm motivated to say h.e.l.lo, only it comes out, ”H-he-h.e.l.lo.” She smiles at the stupid stutter, and I can't help but notice the perfect shape of her plump little pout. Delicious.

h.e.l.lo back at you, she says, her voice

rich and sweet as

caramel, and all the invitation I need.

I Choose A Seat Close to her, where I can better study her. She's younger than me, maybe sixteen, but the curves of her body belong to a woman. Surely she doesn't want more nor less than what she's been gifted with.

I can't help but ask, ”You're not here to see my mom, are you?” Forward, yes. But I have to know.

She smiles again, and in that smile

is something Eve-like.

Me? No way. My sister is in there

now, choosing a new nose. But I kind

of like what I've got,

you know? How could I in good faith

disagree? ”You are a wise girl.” One, I've just decided, I really want to know. I offer a straightforward, ”I'm Andre.”

Her Skin Is flawless, and the color of fine ivory.

Together we are a keyboard. Or maybe a chessboard.

My color has never been an issue for girls before, but there's a first time-or person-for everything and in Reno, ghosts of Wild West prejudice still haunt certain neighborhoods.

This girl, however, doesn't seem put off by my skin. I'm Jenna. And are you,

like, hitting on me? She

laughs at how I can't quite confess it.

It's okay. I don't mind. She watches

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