Does he still believe Conner will play Cardinal ball? Does he still expect me to become a lawyer? Do I still expect that of myself? I used to think that's what I wanted to be-a high- octane corporate attorney. Just like my father, who reminds me now that's exactly what he is. Conner's status would not qualify as mitigating circ.u.mstances for your not attending Stanford. Like that would be a crime.

Dad is straightforward. Curt, even.

Except when it comes to Mom. She is, and always has been, the driving force in this family. And sometimes that means driving us head-on, no possible change of course, into a wall.

Two halfhearted horn bursts outside in the driveway remind me I've got something better to do than this.

"There's Sean. May I please go?"

Whether it's the "please," or the desire to resume their spat where they left off, Dad nods and Mom (who looks like she'd really rather not) says, Okay.

The Exchange Was not so very long, and yet long enough to taint my mouth with acid spit, like I just bit into lemon flesh.

The night I step into is polar dry.

Spring, in winter's stranglehold.

By the time I reach Sean's truck, I am shaking. And though it's warm in the cab, my teeth chatter for a full minute after I'm inside. Cold? I can fix that. Sean pulls me into overbuilt arms. G.o.d, I've missed you. His mouth covers mine. I should wilt. Instead, I feel stiff as cardboard. Sean doesn't seem to notice, or attributes it to the cold. I've got a little surprise for you. His voice is odd. Quivery.

And his hands tremble slightly as he starts the engine, backs onto the moonlit street, and heads toward Reno, driving just a little too fast.

"Hey, slow down. The cops hang out up here on Sat.u.r.day night, you know. And what's my surprise?"

He just grins and drives right past the entrance to Summit Sierra, home to our regular theater. "Where are you going? I thought we were seeing a movie."

Sean whips right past a pokey car, merges onto the freeway. We are seeing a movie. Just not at the theater.

That's your surprise. Ten minutes later, we pull into a private parking spot at an apartment house near UNR.

Chad is out of town. He said we could hang at his place. It's probably a mess.

He winks. But as long as the bed is clean...

This Is The Opportunity I wanted. Right? So why do I feel like someone just dumped mercury into my gut? Sean leads me to his brother's lair. Clutter and dust are everywhere, but at least it doesn't smell like garbage or dirty socks.

Make yourself at home. I'll get us something to drink. Strike one.

I think he means alcohol. I'm not big on liquor. Still, when he returns with two br.i.m.m.i.n.g gla.s.ses, I go ahead and take a swig. Maybe liquid fire will incinerate the moths fluttering in my belly. Sean turns on the TV.

Chad has every movie channel. He stops flipping at Good Girls Gone Bad.

Sean gulps down half his drink.

This one should be good. Have you ever watched one of these?

Cable p.o.r.n? Hardly. Strike two.

"Sean..." But before I can say anything else, my eyes stray to the screen. Two women are kissing. One, a pretty blonde, unb.u.t.tons her blue silk blouse, spilling flesh like fruit from a bowl. The other, dark-haired like Dani, is quick to sample the offering. I can't stop watching.

Now this is what I call a chick flick, says Sean, and when he opens my blouse, moves his hands over my skin, I let him.

And when he kisses down the front of me, I lie back on the couch, invite more. Next thing I know, we're both out of our jeans. Sean surprises me, hesitating long enough to say, Christ, you're beautiful. He means it, and I know it, and I know he loves me. His lips, sultry and full, feel right, in all the right places. Sean lifts over me. I close my eyes.

And now we are skin against skin....

Kendra

Skin That's what everyone wants to see. Skin. flawless, stretched over perfectly sculpted flesh.

Men are easy, in their hunt for skin.

Flash just enough, they'll go sniffing for more, and when they're on the sniff, nothing is too much to ask. They'll give up careers, sacrifice families.

Buy a new car, hand over the key to the one who wears skin they want to lose themselves in. And the funny thing is, they don't seem to care who knows it. Not friends. Not colleagues.

Not even the people they treasure.

Size Two Skin That's what I'm currently wearing.

Fifteen-milligram Meridia is one magic little pill. You don't even want to look at food. The only problem is dry mouth.

Gack. Like sucking on cotton. At least I'm drinking lots of water. Flushing out pockets of poison. And fat. Fat. Fat.

Pretty soon my body will be totally fat free, thanks completely to Xavier.

Thank G.o.d I met him. Everything has fallen into perfect place. He's setting me up with runway gigs, and because of that I can quit worrying about Miss Teen Nevada. Yeah, it would be nice to own that crown, but like Xavier says, If you want to go back to pageants, there's always Miss Nevada next year. Or even the year after. I don't really need that kind of stress right now. As Xavier says, You know what makes worry lines? Worry.

You leave the worry to me. I'm allowed a few lines at my age. He does have some at the corners of his eyes, but I think they make him even cuter. Mom thinks so too. In fact, he's got Mom eating right out of his hand, and that's a very good thing because I've decided not to go to college next year, and Xavier will convince her it's okay. College will always be there.

But you've only got a few short years to work runway. College is better with money in the bank. You know?

Beyond Runway Xavier has connections at all the big 'zines. He says once the plastic surgeon does her thing, high-fashion shoots are a sure bet. The nose job is only a couple of weeks away. The day after Easter. Once you heal up nice and pretty, I'll talk your mom into the implants, Xavier promised. Everyone will want you then.

Everyone will want me. And I want that. If the price tag is going hungry, or making a few alterations, it's all good.

When everyone wants me, those stupid girls at school will be sorry they made fun of me. When everyone wants me, Patrick will have to shut his mouth. When everyone wants me, maybe Conner will want me too.

My Heart Still Cries For Conner. But I have to admit I don't think about him every waking minute anymore. And I dream about him less and less. Is this always what happens when someone you love leaves? They fade away, blur into memory like childhood fantasies? Part of it, of course, is focusing on my career, fine-tuning my goals, near and distant. I can thank Xavier for that.

Plus, having a man around to stroke your ego takes the edge off not having one around to stroke the rest of you.

I suppose that would be nice too.

And the longer Conner is out of my life, the more I'm starting to realize someone else might want to make me part of theirs.

Not That I Have A whole lot of time for dating right now, but if someone asked me out, I just might say okay. Especially if he looked like the guy sitting two tables away. Yummy.

Almost yummy enough to distract me from the reason I'm here. Namely, lunch with Dad and Shiloh, who have just arrived.

Rose's is a small place, so I couldn't hide even if I wanted to. Dad spots me right away. There's my girl. Where's your sister?

I'm not exactly sure Jenna is planning to join us. But I say, "Late, as usual."

He sits across the table, putting Shiloh next to me. You must be Kendra, she says.

Your dad talks about you and Jenna all the time. I'm glad to meet for real.

Up close, she's younger than I thought.

Way to go, Dad. "Uh, yeah. Me too."

Also on closer view, Dad's mustache has silvered and he has gained a pound or ten.

What's good here? he asks, scanning the upscale soup, salad, and sandwich menu.

Does he not remember our pre-theater family meals at Rose's? "Pretty much everything."

I look up from my own menu just in time to catch Shiloh checking me out.

She blushes, but doesn't look away. So, what are you getting? Maybe she wants diet tips? She could use a few. "A half spinach salad." Hold the bacon, egg, and dressing. One cup spinach, seven calories.

A few bites of avocado. A skinny lunch.

We Debate Waiting for Jenna. After ten minutes, Dad decides to go ahead and order.

Meanwhile, unfortunately, it seems it's time for small talk. I mention Xavier, and (just loudly enough so Mr. Yummy can hear) tell them about my fast-tracked runway career. "Xavier says I'll make over fifty grand next year. And that's just to start."

Shiloh (who named her that?) sits, shaking her head. Unlikely. And modeling is tough work.

Anger spatters like hot oil in cool water.

"Really? What would you know about it?"

Dad intervenes. Don't get your back up.

Shiloh is in the business. Sort of, anyway.

I design costumes for showroom shows, she says. I know the business inside out.

I Wouldn't Exactly Equate the two, but I guess I'll keep my mouth shut. Or change the subject.

Dad, however, beats me to it. What about college? Won't it be hard to keep up?

"I'm going to take a couple of semesters off. Put some money away. You know."

The tips of Dad's ears flare. I haven't seen that in a while. Have you discussed this with your mother? I don't think she's going to be very happy about it.

"Mom doesn't care what I do," I fire back, not that the a.s.sessment is even close to accurate. "And why do you suddenly give half a d.a.m.n?" Our eyes interlock.

I never stopped being your father, Kendra. I never stopped caring.

He Excuses Himself And goes off to the restroom about thirty seconds before lunch arrives.

Shiloh and I stare at our plates for a long minute or two. Finally she says, You really have no clue how much he misses you, or how proud he is of your accomplishments. Did you know he keeps a sc.r.a.pbook of newspaper clippings about you? Photos of your pageants and cheerleading?

I shake my head. Don't want to listen.

Anger is easier than forgiveness.

We are strangers. But I hope that will change. Your father and I want you and your sister to be part of our family.

And here's the thing. I'm worried about you. Are you aware of the damage an eating disorder can do to your body?

I know you want to be thin so you can model.... What is she talking about?

"I don't have an eating disorder!"

I'm practically shouting, something that becomes obvious when Yummy Guy's head snaps in my direction.

I lower my voice. "I am in perfect control and know exactly what I'm doing."

She starts to say something, changes her mind. Here comes your dad.

But, honey, you are way too skinny.

You definitely have a problem, and when you're ready to ask for help, I will be here for you.

Who the h.e.l.l Does she think she is? I have a problem? She's the one who is marrying some loser guy ten years her senior. He settles in again across the table, head swiveling back and forth between Shiloh and me, nothing but love for either of us reflected in his eyes, and I feel like a total b.i.t.c.h.

You two didn't have to wait for me.

Dig in, girls! He takes a giant bite of a very big turkey sandwich, and is trying to manage chewing it when I hear the door open behind me.

Suddenly, food flies out of his mouth.

Who the f.u.c.k is that with your sister?

Guess it's time for Dad to meet Andre.