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“Let’s go see what our moms have planned for dinner.” She adds, grabbing my wrist and gently pulling me out to the kitchen.

******

After a delicious carrot soup dinner, we head back to the room for the night, and our mothers go upstairs. As I’m brushing my teeth, I hear Drew yelp from the bedroom.

“What? What’s wrong?” I ask, frantically running out of the bathroom, toothpaste and spit still hanging around the corners of my mouth.

“Today’s your birthday?” My mother’s Facebook page is pulled up on Drew’s phone, and her eyes widen.

“Oh, uh- yeah.” My body relaxes, and I duck back into thebathroom to rinse my mouth out, not wanting to make this a bigger deal than it needs to be. But of course, Drew follows me in.

“Um, hello? You didn’t tell me today was your birthday!” She throws her hands out to the sides.

“It’s really not a big deal, Drew.” I let the water run over my toothbrush as Drew slides over to the sink with me.

“It is! You’re legally an adult now!!”

“It really doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’s just another year around the sun. Yippee.” I offer her a sarcastically stoic face, but that doesn’t wipe the grin off hers.

“Why don’t you like birthdays? Especially this one! Eighteen is a monumental milestone. If anything, you should be extra excited about this one!” She nudges me as I put my toothbrush back in its travel container.

I don’t bother telling her that eighteen is also the age at which I could be tried as an adult if I commit a crime. That, if I ever become like my father, I’ll suffer the same consequences he did. I no longer have that “legal minor” safeguard. The only thing that’s stopping me now from ending up like him is morality.

“I’m just not into that stuff, okay? Could we please drop it?” I swat her away.

Drew’s face turns dim for a moment, almost as if she could hear my thoughts. Then, that perky smile of hers comes back, and suddenly I’m worried about what she’s about to say next.

“Will you draw me?” She runs back to the bed, bounces a few times, then lies out on her side with her head propped up on her hand. She gives an overexaggerated satirical, pouty face.

“What?” I slowly walk toward her and the bed.

“Laine, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.” Drew giggles and sits up straight now, reaching her arms out for me to join her on the bed.

This makes me laugh. Like, really laugh. For the first time sincewe’ve gotten here, possibly. That’s the one thing about Drew. She always knows how to make me feel at ease when I’m stressed. Between last week at the playground and today with the one-bed situation, she always manages to calm my nerves, but not dismiss them. I like that about her.

“Did you just… quote Titanic?”

I sit on the opposite end of the bed on yet another scratchy quilt laid out at the foot of the bed. So many scratchy quilts yet no extra pillows? This place is definitely not getting a five-star review from me when we go home. Drew laughs and nods her head, patting the spot next to her. I join her at the head of the bed, pulling a pillow over my lap and grabbing my sketchpad.

“You’re so cheesy.” I flip to a blank page and start sketching faint lines with my pencil. “But, if you insist…”

“I insist! I’ve actually been in the market for a new headshot. My LinkedIn profile’s been lacking in action recently.”

“Ah, yes. A full-body headshot, I presume?” I chuckle, now rounding out the shape of her chin on the paper.

“Exactly! Now, how should I pose? Like this?” She sprawls out on the bed, limbs going in all directions like a starfish, and her left hand playfully smacks me in the face.

“Absolutely not!” I smile, gently grabbing her wrist and positioning her hand under her chin.

It’s clear she’s never modeled before, because her wrist goes loose as soon as I place it, forcing me to reposition it. I reach for her other hand and place it on the duvet, positioning each finger so that it looks naturally laid out. Then I move to her legs, bending them back and placing them slightly unaligned for dimension. As I reach for her legs, she jerks them back, almost kicking me in the face.

“That tickles!” She cackles.

“Hold still!” I grunt, still smiling from her cheesy Titanic quote.

Finally, I get all of her limbs stationed in place and set to draw.My pencil moves smoothly across the paper, outlining each curve of her body. It is at this moment that I realize I’ve never actually taken in her features this close before.

She’s still giggling, and I notice how her mouth curls down when she smiles, yet it still feels warm, unlike a frown. Her dimples protrude outward instead of inward, and her eyes crease further and further into a waning crescent the larger her smile gets.