"Scars. Car accident, when I was eight. That’s why I wanted to do the program, because I’m too self-conscious about them," I said.
"Well, you should be!" Missy asserted. "They’re gross!"
"And now we’re going to have to look at them all week!" Laura added. "Cassie, that’s disgusting."
"Jesus. Now I know why you never wear a bikini," Missy added. "And it’s a good thing, nobody wants to go to the beach and see that."
Unbelievable. I got more support from Frankie’s friends-who I barely knew-than I did from my own. I was practically in tears. "You two are supposed to be my friends," I said. "I expected more support than this."
"Support?" Missy said. "You want us to support you walking around grossing everybody out? I’ll give you support. I’ll go fetch your clothes for you, so you can cover that shit up."
As this went on, I managed a glimpse at Paul-who was looking at me in horror.
Just then, Frankie came up behind me-and started rubbing my shoulders. "It’s OK," he whispered in my ear.
"You’re in it, too?" Laura said to him. "How appealing-the program, featuring the Scarred and the Scrawny. I think I might barf."
"Maybe next week you and Missy can get into it, and it will be the Asshole and the Bitch," Frankie snarled. As they sputtered, he grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me to the other side of the class, in a seat next to him.
"Are you OK?" he asked me.
"No, not particularly," I said. "My two best friends."
"They’re just jealous," he said.
"Jealous?"
"Yeah. They’d never have the guts to do this," he smiled at me.
The rest of the class proceeded without incident, and Frankie walked me to my next class, art. And I walked in, and saw the front of the class set up with props, clearly meant for a human being to be posed on and with.
Uh-oh.
Frankie was in that class-thank goodness-but so were Missy and Laura. I wasn’t looking forward to this.
Mrs. Taylor, our teacher, confirmed my fears. "This is what I’ve been waiting for," she grinned. "We’ve had students in The Program in class all year-but you don’t start with something like Life Drawing, you have to work your way up to it. So, this week, this class gets to do it. Cassandra and Frankie are going to be our models."
"Oh, gross," Laura muttered. I don’t think Mrs. Taylor heard her, but I did.
"Having two of you gives us lots of possibilities, but I’m going to start with solo poses. Cassie, why don’t you come up here?"
Gulp.
I walked to the front of the class, and, of course, she noticed. "You have scars," was all she said.
"Car accident, when I was eight," I told her. I should just bring a tape recorder with that phrase recorded on it and hit play all day.
"That must have been nasty. You have a lot of courage doing The Program, Cassie." I just smiled at her. Then she spoke to the class. "You will notice that Cassandra has scars on her stomach. She tells me it’s from a car accident. Well, when you’re drawing, it’s just one more thing you have to deal with. Everybody has something. It’s no different from the dimple Cassandra gets in her cheeks when she smiles. It’s no different than the wrinkles in her nipples. When we get Frankie up here tomorrow, you’ll notice he has hairy arms. It’s no different. When you’re drawing, you have to make the decision of how-and if-to draw these things. But it’s just part of the whole. Everybody has something-hair, dimples, wrinkles, scars. I had a student in The Program last year that we drew, who had a prominent mole on her hip. How you draw the person depends on what you see."
She smiled at me and first had me pose on the couch. Pretty standard prone-position pose. I was on my side, legs together. Lying on my left side, I was holding my head up with my left elbow. My right arm was on my right side-on top, that is. She told me to look at the class and smile. I held that for a while as pencils scritched on paper.
Then, she maneuvered me to a ladder she had. I was standing up for this one, up against the ladder. She had me face the class, leaning against the ladder. My left leg was on the ground, my right one bent with my foot on the bottom rung. She had me reach slightly behind me and grip the ladder with both hands. I managed to joke, "Oh, great, that makes my stomach more prominent."
"I was noticing that it was the boobs that were more prominent," Frankie yelled out, getting a giggle from the class-well, most of it-a grin from Mrs. Taylor-and a blush from me!
Anyhow, she made me turn my head for this one, giving a side view to my face, and she told me to look pensive rather than smile.
After a while of that one, I got to stretch and take a break. "You can check out what your classmates are doing," she told me. "Walk around, take a look."
Yeah, I looked at Laura and Missy’s. I probably shouldn’t have. Laura just drew my face in both pictures, refusing to deal with the rest of me. Missy was worse-she drew all of me, but my stomach was drawn as an ugly mess of dark black jagged scribbles-and she didn’t seem to put much effort into drawing the rest of me. That’s what she saw-an ugly mess of dark jagged scribbles.
I sighed, and moved to Frankie. He sat next to his friend Amanda, so I stood in between their easels and looked at both of them.
"I’m no Picasso, so be kind," Amanda joked.
"Hey, I’m a baseball player," Frankie laughed. But both pictures were nice. Neither of them shied away from the scars, but neither over-emphasized them, either. And, yes, Frankie, in the ladder pose, did seem to put a whole lot of emphasis on my boobs! I also liked the way he drew my eyes. And, while he didn’t over-emphasize the scars-he did make the heart-shaped one on my thigh prominent. I smiled at that.
"I like them. Thanks," I told them.
"Go check out Natalie," Amanda said, pointing. Natalie Weinberg was Ed Bauer’s new girlfriend. They had gone through The Program last week. "Natalie’s really talented," Amanda continued.
"She really is," Frankie agreed. "She’s been drawing sketches of the baseball team-we have them hung up in the locker room."
I walked over to where Natalie was-and gasped. Oh my God, was she good!
She did the same thing Frankie and Amanda did-dealt with the scars, but didn’t over-emphasize them. And the rest of me! Wow. With the ladder pose especially, she actually made me look sexy!
"Wow. I’m flabbergasted," I said.
"Thanks," she beamed.
"How the hell did you make me look sexy?" I asked.
"You are sexy," she laughed. "Hey, I’m straight, but, when you’re an artist, you learn to recognize these things."
"We’ve been in this class all year and I never remember seeing any of your stuff hung up," I told her.
"I never let Mrs. Taylor do that," she admitted. "Hey, we all have reasons to hide things. Sometimes it takes a kick in the pants, or someone seeing something from a different angle, to realize that you have no reason to hide anything. I got mine last week."
She was saying that, and I was looking at a drawing that made me look sexy. Wow. "Frankie and Amanda told me you were good," I grinned.
"Yeah, the baseball team discovered me sketching last week. Now they want me to keep doing it," she giggled. "I can’t wait for Friday."
"Friday?" I asked.
"The team has three games this week. Today is an away game, but Wednesday and Friday are home games. Wednesday will be cool, because I haven’t drawn Lily pitching yet. But Friday will be particularly cool-because, though I’ve drawn Frankie pitching, not in the nude," she giggled.
I laughed, and then Mrs. Taylor called me back up to the front. She had me do one more-sitting, elbows on my knees, chin in my hands, grinning. Even Laura and Missy dealt with that one better-my stomach was mostly hidden behind my arms-but I really liked the way Frankie drew the twinkle in my eyes. And I liked the way Natalie drew everything. She really was talented.