Chapter Eighteen
Beth
I sent e-mails during the week every time she thought of something to tell Jacob, but it wasn’t the same as hearing his voice.
Meanwhile, I made a new friend.
“Damn…hey, Beth, do you have an extra pencil?” Michelle stood at the easel next to mine in drawing class.
“Sure. Keep it, I have spares.”
“Thanks.”
I watched her go back to sketching the statue we were copying. “You’re pressing too hard. That’s why the pencil snapped.”
“Yeah. I can’t get the feel for the right pressure standing like this. I usually have a pad on my lap.”
The teacher stopped to glare at us. We lowered our voices.
“It is awkward. Yours is coming out better than mine, though.”
“Thanks.” Michelle was a sculptor and fabulous with clay. I…managed to make a turtle once in grade school.
She
