Please? Can I see you? I need you."

Need a megadose of courage.

I grab my keys, run to my car.

What Am I Afraid Of?

Good question, one I've asked myself before. Mostly, I am afraid of failing.

But why? Everyone falls down from time to time. Why must I always stay on my feet? I am afraid of not meeting expectations. But whose?

The answer to that is easy. Suppose I choose a far different future than the one my parents require of me. Will I have made a mistake?

Done something regrettable? Or will I have set myself free? Am I afraid of freedom? Of being cut loose from my family, such as it is? Would they sever the tie, and if they did, what do I really have to lose, especially considering how much I have gained with Dani.

If I have to be honest, though, I am afraid of being stained by the lesbian label. Some girls wear it proudly, a giant "this is who I am" tattoo.

And much of mainstream society now accepts the idea of two people in love, whatever their genders.

My challenge is to accept it myself.

And, a bigger one, to embrace it.

I'll try. And I'll start right now.

This is the first time I've actually been to Dani's house, a small brick beauty in an old southwest Reno neighborhood. Tall, naked trees line the street like big-boned skeletons.

Dani's dad opens the door. Come in!

He grabs my hand, pulls me inside and across the blemished oak floor to the living room. Make yourself at home. Dani! Your girlfriend is here.

I hope you'll excuse me. I've got a golf score that needs improvement.

Dani Comes, Smiling Into the room. After a few minutes of three-way small talk, she leads me back to her bedroom, which is mauve and sage green. I fall into her arms, strangely not worried about her dad suspecting what we're up to. We are kissing, and there is strength in that, power in the "two" of us, deepening connection. In the truth of our love.

She lays me back on her bed, lifts my sweater over my face so it covers my eyes. Don't be afraid. Trust me.

Traffic hisses by on the street beyond the window. And here, on this side of the gla.s.s, in the darkness behind closed eyes, I put away my fear, place my faith in Dani. She makes love to me with borderline ferocity, awakens something inside. Something completely new, and at the same time, primordial.

Kendra

Borderline It's the latest, greatest twenty-first-century buzzword, tossed around freely in certain circles. Oddly, it means different things to different lexicologists.

It is defined as the line separating two almost identical qualities, i.e., between frankness and rudeness. Definition two: not clearly belonging to one or the other of two categories, i.e., neither here nor there. Finally, it means emotionally unstable, self- destructive, and erratic.

Maybe, like me.

Food Is Not My Friend My stomach wants nothing to do with it. But if I don't at least pretend to eat, Patrick's talking lockdown rehab. In fact, Mom had to argue him out of taking me straight to Aspen Springs. They had a pretty big fight.

She's my daughter. I'll handle it, okay?

You just worry about orthodontia.

Mom made me promise to consume at least one thousand calories per day.

Meat. Vegetables. Whole grains. You can skip dairy, but have to take a calcium supplement. You're begging for brittle bones, not to mention bad teeth.

Okay, she got me on that one. I should have been taking calcium all along.

No calories there. And a perfect smile is a necessity in the industry.

Meat? I've sworn off anything red.

One boneless, skinless chicken breast, broiled. Two hundred calories. One-half cup steamed broccoli. Fifteen. One slice whole wheat bread, seventy. There. Two eighty-five. That's as good as I've done in six months. A thousand calories?

Not going to happen in one day. Thank G.o.d she's not standing over my shoulder watching. If she decides to, I'll eat plenty of veggies. Then I won't have to rely on laxatives, my last-resort backup plan.

I Really Don't Get Why everyone's so worried anyway.

G.o.d, until that stupid anesthesiologist saw me without my clothes on, no one had ever noticed a problem. And I still don't see one. When we got home (me, still wearing an ugly nose b.u.mp), I went into the bathroom, stood naked in front of the full-length mirror I've avoided for months. I guess my arms are pretty thin, and my legs look just about right.

But my stomach still bulges, and my waist poofs out on each side. I'll try some extra crunches and sit-ups. And, since Patrick seems deadly serious about the rehab threat, I'll run more. Exercise is healthy, right?

And I'll call Sean. See about the Clen.

Something to make my muscles lean. Strong.

Can't Do That Right Now Xavier is on his way to pick me up for an audition. This one is important, he said. Dress s.e.xy as h.e.l.l, but we're going for the modest look with the makeup.

This client is developing a new younger teen line, so the work will reflect that.

I go for a micro skirt, tights to sheath my legs. Tank top, no bra. Short, zipped hoodie. Gentle with the makeup. Hair smoothed into a ponytail. The mirror says Young. (Baby fat.) Fresh. (Early crow's- feet.) Pretty. (b.u.mp, still there.) Teen.

So why do I feel tired? Worried?

Stressed? Anxious? Why do I feel old?

Guess I Don't Look As old as I feel. When I get into Xavier's Caddie, he nods. Perfect. You've got exactly the look this guy's going to want.

He punches the gas pedal like he's mad at the car. Cadillacs sure are smooth.

So what happened with the nose job?

Not that I'm unhappy. You couldn't even try out for this job if your face was all bruised and swollen. I've seen a few girls post-op. It's not a pretty sight.

Not sure how much to tell him, although Xavier almost always takes my side.

Might as well fess up. "The anesthesiologist decided I was too thin to risk knocking me out."

He turns toward me, seriously taking his eyes off the road. Really. I think you look positively the way you should.

Did he know you're a model?

"It was a she. And yes, she knew.

She and Dr. Kane tried to convince Mom that I'm anorexic. Patrick even threatened to have me locked up unless I start eating more. But don't worry.

I'm okay. Everything's under control."

I'm not worried about you, doll.

But play the game. The last thing we want for you is treatment. They'll plump you up like a little piglet.

"I'll have to wait for summer to do the rhinoplasty now." And I might have to find a different plastic surgeon. Maybe I'll get my b.o.o.bs done at the same time.

Apparently, This Audition Is happening in a concierge suite at the Atlantis, one of the most upscale hotel casinos in Reno. As Xavier parks, he reminds me to use my attributes to our advantage. Like your sister. You know, fifteen, going on thirty. Look sweet.

Talk dirty, and let him talk dirty if he feels like it. In fact, I want you to do anything- everything-he asks of you. Even if it makes you uncomfortable. Are you up for that?

Uncomfortable? That's what I am right now. "I'm not sure exactly what you're asking."

Okay, here's the deal. This gig can set us up in a big way. It could take your career to a whole new level. We're talking high- fashion runway, and not just buyers' shows.

You've worked really hard to attain the right look. But lots of girls do.

Now, you need an edge, something to guarantee that Gilles will choose you.

I want you to be very, very nice to him.

Understand? The sacrifice is minuscule.

Oh my G.o.d. I do understand. "You're saying I should have s.e.x with him?"

Xavier grins. Only if he asks you to.

Look, it's not unheard-of in this business.

Oh, I've heard of it, and not only in the colorful world of modeling, but also behind the scenes at pageants, big and small. But I've never once thought about using my body to win a crown. Or a runway gig.

I'm Thinking About It Now Thinking about it all the way across the parking lot, through the big gla.s.s doors, along the marble floors, into the elevator. s.e.x in exchange for cash makes you a wh.o.r.e. What does s.e.x in exchange for a shortcut to your dreams make you? Is there any difference?

Then again, what about s.e.x in exchange for love? Some people fall in l.u.s.t well before they ever fall in love, but it isn't impossible for love to trail s.e.x.

My little sister, as Xavier noticed, uses her body to get what she wants.

Is my moral compa.s.s any truer?

Why even worry about it? This Gilles guy might be gay for all I know, more interested in Xavier than me. Ha.

Wonder if Xavier would give the guy head if it meant landing the gig. He knocks, and I can't tell from the first glance if the guy who comes to the door is gay or not.

Come in. Come in. His obvious appraisal (of me, not Xavier) makes my stomach lurch. You must be Kendra. Xavier, you were so right. She is a knockout. Come in.

(If he says that again, I am so leaving.) Let's talk. He slips an arm around my waist, herds me toward a big sofa.

I glance over my shoulder at Xavier, who gives an A-OK sign. I do not feel A-OK.

I feel halfway nauseous. And totally set up. Gilles sits me on the sofa. Let me show you my new line, Teen In-Style. He opens a big photo alb.u.m, flips through the pages.

Tell me what you think. Do you like this one?

He is very close. His leg pushes against mine.

One hand lights on my knee. The fashion he shows me is smart. The idea is to market to teens who don't have unlimited budgets, who want clothing that makes a statement.

His hand makes a statement, starting a slow crawl up my leg. Teens who are innocent, yet bold. It reaches my inner thigh. Girls who want to look exactly like you....

I could protest. Should protest. Xavier should protest. But when I glance at him, he is smiling. Fingers play at the thin strip of fabric between my legs. And I let them.

Sean

A Thin Strip Divides a healthy dose of self-esteem from a fatal overdose of conceit.

Vanity.

It's a high-wire act requiring exceptional balance.

Complete control.

Straddling that tightrope invites a bone-smashing fall, death the preferable outcome.

Irreversible brain damage incites force-feeding pity parties, everyone wondering if you sleep in paradise or fight for stability in a maelstrom of insanity.