Blank Slate Kate

Chapter 6

After a week of fruitlessly searching the Internet for some clue about who I am and where I came from and even more fruitless discussions with Jake and Hannah and some of their other friends about the same questions, I can't make myself get up on Friday. Jake's slept in because he had to work until three in the morning, but though I'm still in bed at noon I'm not sleeping.  I've been awake for hours, lying in bed looking at the wall. I know this is weird but I can't help myself: I don't want to get up and I don't want to sleep either. I feel blank and flat somehow, like I've deflated and don't realize it.

When I hear Jake moving around and smell coffee, I still don't move, but when he knocks on my door, his door really, and says, "Want some eggs?" I rouse myself enough to say, "Sure," then force myself to my feet. Jake isn't much for what he calls moping and brooding, so I need to get up and put on a good front. I put on a pair of Hannah's jeans and a t-shirt then go out to see Jake.

He doesn't seem to realize I'm faking my energy and enthusiasm as he tells about the crazy people at the bar last night, and by the time I'm finished eating the eggs and toast he provided I'm starting to feel better so I don't have to pretend so much. Maybe I was just hungry.

We take the dishes to the kitchen and he says, "I'm in a sculpting mood. Want to watch?"

"Sure." I haven't seen anything he's made and I am curious, although still feeling a bit of the blankness.

He waits until I'm settled on the couch with my bare feet tucked under me to do the big reveal, and when he pulls the black cover off his work-in-progress I gasp. Its shape and height suggests it's going to be a person, but right now it's a lump, featureless except for perfectly carved eyes staring at me.

"I feel like it's talking to me."

Jake laughs. "It has no mouth. What's it saying?"

I gaze into those clay eyes. "I don't know, but I think it's wise. Those eyes have to belong to someone smart. Someone deep."

He turns away from the piece, a lethal-looking carving tool in hand, to smile at me. "Glad you think so. It's going to be the Internet."

I blink. "But it's a person, isn't it?"

He nods. "Personification of the Internet."

"Neat. What's it going to look like?"

He shrugs. "I'll know when I get there."

"You don't have a plan?"

"Nope. This is the biggest thing I've ever made, but I don't do plans for any of my pieces. I just sculpt what I want to, and if I'm wrong I take it apart and start over."

This seems inefficient but I don't say so. "Have you sold any?"

Another shrug. "A few. Hannah's got a friend who works in a gallery but I've never gotten around to trying to get anything in there."

I drop my feet to the floor so I can lean forward and tell him that he should apply himself, but before I can speak or stand he says, "Don't move."

I freeze, afraid I've done something wrong, and he laughs. "I didn't mean it like that. I just... can I sculpt your foot?"

My mom always says I have cute feet but I didn't think anyone else would agree with her. "If you want to. For this piece?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not sure whether the Internet will have feet. No, I just like the look of them. Cool?"

"Sure."

He brings over a fresh piece of clay on a plastic sheet, depositing both on the dingy carpet in front of me, and sits before me slowly coaxing the shape of my foot from the clay. I watch his movements, fascinated, and eventually he notices.