Hand-Me-Down

“Hey there, boy.” The model put his hand out, and Ny perked up.

“He’s hoping for a treat,” I said. “He’s a bit spoiled—”

“I’m Wren!” She hopped off the truck and giggled nervously, looking up at him. “You’re tall. What’s your name?”

Oh, God.

“Kevin,” he said, and offered his hand.

She took it in a sort of death grip. “Hi! Glad to meet you. I saw you in class.”

“Yes, well—I’m the model,” he said, and looked toward me.

“I’m Anne. Wren and I were just saying how nice it is to have a male model.”

“We haven’t had a man in a long time,” Wren said, tilting her head. “I mean, not a man! A model. A male model. Not that a model’s not a man. I mean—”

Wren had just cut her hair. It was short and pixielike, bringing out the brightness of her eyes, the daintiness of her features, and the dippiness of her flirting. Still, her smile was sweet and inviting, even after I slid off the tailgate and stomped on her foot to shut her up.

“Have you done a lot of modeling?” I asked.

“No, this is my first time. Claire’s a friend, she asked as a favor?”

“That’s asking a lot from a friend,” I said. “How long will you model for?”

“A month. Then we’ll see. I hear the drawing class wants a male model. I guess it’s mostly women.”

“Actually, it’s mostly men who take figure drawing,” Wren blurted.

“He meant the models, Wren.”

“Oh, right! I did drawing for a while, but I like clay better. You shouldn’t be embarrassed, though. You’re a model. So your clothes are off. So you’re nude. Buck naked.” She offered a tinkly little laugh that ended in a snort. “Undraped, I mean. Not that I—I mean, you might as well be a fruit.”

“Bowl of fruit,” I said, grinding into her foot. “Wren loves doing still life.”

“I’ll try to remain motionless, then.”

“Oh, no!” Wren said, clutching his arm. “Move around all you want. Well, not all you want. I mean—no dancing. Unless you like dancing. But I mean—”

“Was that Claire?” I asked, glancing toward the classroom.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Kevin said.

Wren giggled horribly. “Neither did I.”

“And I do like dancing,” he told her.

“Me, too! Anne and I took ballroom dancing for a while—she dropped out, though, because she kept forgetting to let the man lead.”

“And you?”

She simpered. “I never forgot.”

“Wren—” I started. And, seeing her expression, words failed me. A full-throttle simper is not an expression which encourages conversation.

“Wren?” he said, smiling. “As in Ren and Stimpy?”

“Wren with a ‘W,’” she said. “Like the bird. The drab, brown bird.”

“But you’re not drab.”

Fortunately, before Wren gave herself a hernia from simpering, we were called back into the classroom.

“Not gay!” I said.

“Gay,” she said.

“He was flirting with you.”

“Pity flirting. He couldn’t believe what a dork I am. Why did you let me talk to him? I snorted. Did you hear me snort? I snorted. Like Miss Piggy.”

“And Kevin’s your Kermit.”

“Gay,” she said.

“Not gay. He likes you.”

“He doesn’t. He couldn’t.”

“He thinks you’re cute. Not drab, not brown, but cute.”

“He’s gay,” she hissed.

So I accidentally spilled the contents of my water bottle onto her white shirt. And you know what? I was right. He wasn’t gay.

CHAPTER 06

I woke with a splash from a dream of falling and wrestled with the blanket. We were evenly matched, but I finally prevailed and shoved it away. I lay back, flush with triumph, and for a moment thought I was still asleep and the sound of running water was leftover dream.

Then I realized: Rip was in the shower.

I groaned, wishing Rip hadn’t spent the night. He’s unforgivably perky in the morning. Whatever happened to strong, silent men who grunt over the paper? Plus, he always woke up looking like the same guy he was the night before. I woke up looking tangled, puffy and ten years older.

And to top it off, there was only enough hot water for one shower. Judging from the steam billowing through the bathroom door, I was in for a cold shock.

I stumbled out of bed and parted the curtains. Another day in paradise—warm and clear, with a light breeze that floated in and kissed me good morning. It made me crankier. Weather should match your mood. This morning, for instance, should be dark and gloomy.

“Morning!” Rip called.