“I’ll text you later!” I yell so loud a few passerby’s turn in my direction.
Cam only flips me off, his back to me as he heads for class.
Chapter Ten
Cameron
I always feel bad when I keep things from Austen. We’re best friends, and I’m pretty sure he keeps nothing from me. No matter how much shit I give him, or how much I tell him I don’t agree with what he does, it doesn’t stop him from being honest with me. I love that about him. It makes me know I can trust him. And it makes me feel like shit that he probably thinks the same about me, when it isn’t the truth.
Of course, there is the one giant elephant of a lie that I’m keeping from him. The fact I’m so in love with him it makes me sick and I hate what he’s doing with his life. That he should tell Savannah to go kick fucking rocks and run away with me.
I know, that sounds so cliche and cheesy and way too fairy-tale, but it’s how I feel. There’s this small part, deep down, that loves the fantasy of it, wanting that happily ever after that only happens in the movies.
Okay, so maybe that’s not one lie but like two or three, but they all revolve around the same thing, so to make my guilt smaller, I’ll go with one.
Problem is, I haven’t told him anything about this modeling thing I’m doing. He knows I model for class, but I took Quinton’s suggestion and reached out to his father, Harvey. We went back and forth for a few emails, and once I sent him a few selfies, he offered to pay for headshots that would then get taken out of whatever money I make from photoshoots until it’s paid off. Which, according to him, won’t be much. He’s pretty sure I could skyrocket into a modeling career if I take it seriously. I’m taking it as seriously as I can because I’m still in college and have only a semester and a half left before I’m done.
I don’t care if I become America’s next Top Model tomorrow, I’m finishing college.
No one in my family ever has, and I refuse to be anything like them. I hate the way I grew up, can’t stand anything that my family is, so I won’t do anything to be like that. Not that a Fine Arts degree will have me making millions, but it opens up a lot of roads for me to take. There is art in so many places, I just need to figure out how I want to use it. I could continue school and become an art teacher. Get into graphic design. I could work in marketing for major companies to do advertising.
But modeling is fun. I enjoy it. And it pays well for the little work I have to do. I mean, they dress me up, pamper me, make me look pretty, then boss me around for a few hours to get every angle they can. That’s hardly any work at all. I’d be stupid to turn this down.
My car drives like it’s brand new, thanks to that asshole who fixed it. I guess getting it fixed was worth being unwillingly groped. I’ve had grosser people touch me. Done worse things while drunk, so it is what it is, I guess.
I make it to the studio with only a few minutes to spare, so I head right inside.
The main reception area has high ceilings with fancy lighting, and so much space that it looks empty, but the minor decorations and oddly shaped chairs tell you it’s done purposely in the name of art. Funny how that works.
“Hi, can I help you?”
The woman behind the desk doesn’t smile, her tone almost bored. She’s young, with baggy black clothing, blood red lipstick, and a bald head. Her eyebrows are perfect, and if she were a tad bit kinder, I’d tell her so.
“I have an appointment. Cameron Scott.”
She blinks slowly before looking at the schedule book on the desk in front of her.
“Come with me,” she says, getting up from her chair.
She’s taller than she looks, though that could be because of the heels she’s wearing. She takes long, confident steps and I hurry after her as we move down a few hallways and finally into a large studio with lighting, a backdrop, and cameras already set up.
There is a woman sitting in a chair in the corner, looking at a tablet and chewing on something. Gum, maybe. Her clothing is more comfortable than flashy, and I assume she does a lot of running around.
“Cameron Scott is here,” the receptionist says, causing the other woman to look up.
“Wonderful,” she says with wide eyes, getting to her feet and hurrying over to shake my hand. “I’m Meredith. Please, follow me.”
She hurries me through a door and into a small dressing room, stopping by the rack of clothing that she looks through.
“I have a few outfits we’re going to try on you today. I wasn’t sure what to go with considering we’d never met before, but Harvey sent me the photos you’d sent him, so I chose colors accordingly. Though, we will try some basic white and black or charcoal as well.”
“Sounds good to me.”
She gives me a quick smile and pulls a white shirt and a charcoal pair of pants from the rack to hand me.
“We’ll start with these. They should fit okay. I went according to the measurements you gave.”
I measured myself when Harvey had asked, which I’d never done before, but I looked up how to and it seemed simple enough.
