ONE TO WATCH

BIBIANA: DOING SOMETHING RIGHT

Bibiana opened the front door, feeling a sense of accomplishment from her lightheadedness. Euphoric, she moved into the kitchen where a few of her housemates were gathered around the table. They greeted her cheerily, and she was relieved to see that Delyan wasn't around. Dirty dishes and coffee cups cluttered the counters, so she began loading the dishwasher.

"I can do that," Iman offered.

Bibiana shook her head, gesturing for Iman to stay put. "Delyan and I interviewed a girl to share my room yesterday," she said, picking up a damp cloth from the sink. "She'll be here soon."

"She's moving in?" Iman whipped around, jangling the beads in her hair.

"Yeah." Bibiana wiped down the sink and countertop with swift, sweeping strokes.

Nick stood to put his plate in the dishwasher, but seeing it was already running, he dropped it in the sink. "What's she like?" he asked.

Bibiana shrugged. "Nice, I guess. Another model." She picked up the abandoned plate and rinsed it under the tap.

Iman pushed a tiny cup across the table towards Shortie, who was pouring tea from a Japanese-style teapot. "What nationality?" she asked.

"She's South African," Bibiana replied, taking a seat at the table.

Shortie stopped pouring tea, her dark eyes troubled. "Is she an Afrikaner?"

"What's that?" Iman asked.

"An ethnic group." Shortie raised the teapot towards Bibiana. "Want some?"

"She's white, if that's what you're asking," Bibiana responded carefully, lifting a cup from the drying rack. Herbal tea was virtually calorie-free.

"I assumed so," Shortie said, her tone clipped.

The sweet floral scent of jasmine filled the room.

"Why would you assume that?" Iman never let an ambiguous statement go unexplained.

Shortie hesitated before answering. "Because there aren't a lot of us black African models in Milan."

"I didn't know that," Iman said.

Ignoring her, Shortie looked directly at Bibiana. "You didn't think to check with the rest of us before inviting this woman to live with us?"

"Nick met her," Bibiana said defensively, glancing at Nick across the table. She started to sweat again. "You thought she was alright, right?"

Nick shrugged. "Seemed normal enough to me." He grinned at Shortie. "What's your issue?"

"Nothing. I'm saying nothing." Shortie sipped her tea, and an awkward pause followed.

Iman broke the silence. "What's her name?"

"Charlene, but she said to call her Charlie," Bibiana replied softly, sensing she might have screwed up again.

"Sounds Afrikaans to me," Shortie remarked.

A smile played at the corner of Nick's lips. "You know, it's a type of reverse racism, what you're doing here?"

"I'm not doing anything," Shortie snapped.

"It's just... I know what you're thinking," Nick teased.

"You know nothing," Shortie said, her voice soft and sulky.

Nick stood and wrapped her in a bear hug. "C'mon baby girl. This is Milan. No one gives a fuck."

"Afrikaners are not known for tolerance towards my people, Nick." Shortie said.

"Times are changing girl," Iman said. "Give her a chance, hey?"

Bibiana's phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. Nick swivelled, picked it up, and handed it to her. It was a message from her agent:

Can you come in today? I have something important to discuss with you.

Bibiana's heart began to race. She stood up and tossed her tea into the sink.

Shortie and Iman exchanged glances.

"Are you alright?" Nick asked.

"Yep!" Bibiana briskly rinsed her cup and turned it upside down on the drying rack. "I'll be in my room," she muttered, heading for the door.

As she navigated the stairs, Delyan's words from that morning echoed in her mind: Have you weighed yourself lately? Have you weighed yourself lately?

The voice returned: What would he know? Your problem is fitting a size zero. You saw yourself this morning. The mirror never lies.

A shrill sound interrupted the rant inside her head—the doorbell.

Charlie!

Bibiana raced up the flight of stairs to the sanctuary of her room. Someone else would have to get the door. Once inside her bedroom, she placed a hand against the wall to steady herself. That lightheaded feeling again. Her breathing slowed.

I must be doing something right, she thought. I feel like crap.