LANA LAYS ACROSS THE GRASS on the blanket with her sketchbook in front of her. She scribbles away, practicing. She's really gotten good at it. She wants to do realism.
“How's the book?" Lana asks, her eyes still on the paper.
“It's great. I love Scott Westerfield." I try to focus on my book, but I love watching her stress. She's just always doing something to better herself.
“You've been on the same page for the last ten minutes." She smiles at me over her shoulder. “I know you read faster than that."
I sigh and lay on my back beside her. “It's not easy when you're just laying here looking all beautiful and ethereal."
“Oh my gosh, stawp!" She drops her head onto her sketchbook.
“Stop what?" I twirl a lock of her hair around my finger. “Being honest?"
“You're too much." She props her
