Fat. Beautiful. Tasty. Ravenous.

Chapter 9

"Okay. Walk." I turn on loud electronic music with a beat that's impossible to miss as I sit in the basketball court of the local gym.

Whitney (a.k.a Bombshell) begins walking up and down the length of the gymnasium for me to the beat of the music, her hips sashaying perfectly.

Her form is beautiful and the serene look on her face is appealing, making her seem more interesting than most models do with their deadpan faces of boredom.

The only problem she seems to have is that it all falls apart after only a few minutes and she's back to walking like she's just going down the street. She seems to lose her concentration partway through every time.

"Head Up! Shoulders back! One! Foot! In front of! The other!" I yell over the music, to the beat, clapping my hands to try to get her attention back on track.

She immediately fixes her posture and her walk returns, hips swinging side to side.

"Good!" I yell again, keeping an eye on her feet to make sure she's got them properly aligned and isn't about to break an ankle on those spiky heels.

Whitney grins at my praise and I have to smack myself in the forehead. That was my fault, I suppose.

"Only smile when you're told you can smile!" I correct her and, thankfully, she does her best to put a serious expression on her face again.

We've been at this modelling crash course for about three hours and she seems to be improving by leaps and bounds. I'm really impressed that she is taking this so seriously and putting in the time and effort to get better. Her commitment is giving me the impression that this is something she has wanted to do since before she was assigned this mission. I'm not about to pry into her motives, though. That's her business. I'm just here to make her seem legit.

Shutting off the music, I can distinctly hear my phone ringing in my purse at my side now and am able to answer it just before it's about to go to voicemail.

"Hello?" I answer, shooing Whitney away to go get water and take a break so I can have some privacy.

"Hi, Aiko."

"Tomoyo..." I respond coolly.

"I can tell you're still pretty miffed about what I said before."

"Well you were being a judgemental bitch and putting your nose where it doesn't belong," I point out matter-of-factly and it takes her a moment to respond to that. I'm sure she was trying to keep her cool.

We've had our arguments before. This cycle of fighting, going radio silent a few days, then apologizing is nothing new. We're practically like family now.

"I'm sorry I said anything about Fat Gum, alright? It's not my business who you're friends with or date or anything. I was out of line. I still see you as that sassy teen I first met years ago and I forget you're an adult sometimes," she says with what sounds like genuine sincerity, "I hope things are okay between us."

Sighing and looking down at my fingernails to examine them, I answer, "I guess so. I just need you to trust that I know what's good for me."

Even though I'm quick to anger, I'm also quick to forgive and get over things that upset me. It seems like Tomoyo gets that she messed up. I refuse to stay mad at someone who's willing to be self-aware.

"I'll do my best, Aiko. You know I worry about you too much sometimes," her no-nonsense voice comes back.

I roll my eyes. "Yes mom."

I'm being facetious but she can't say she doesn't deserve it.

She gracefully decides to not to respond to me with more snark despite the fact that I'm sure I'm at least annoying her.