Page 46 of The Artist and the Muse

Was there a way for me to find purpose—to feel as excited about what I set out to do every day as Jamie did? There must be.

I just had to find it.

Chapter Twenty-One: Georgia Philips

Laptop open, I lay across the small single bed on my stomach, typing an outline for my essay. I was sure I wanted to discuss thePieta, but I wasn’t sure about the two other artworks I would cover yet.

As I finished writing the first bullet point, a knock on the door reached my ears. I got up and walked over, grateful I hadn’t changed into my pyjamas yet as I picked lint off my straight-leg jeans and blouse combo. Peering through the peephole, I saw Jamie.

Unlatching the door, I wondered what she was doing here so late. Sure, we’d chatted a few times throughout the first two days, but I didn’t think we were close enough friends for her to show up at my door.

“Hey, Jamie. What brings you here?”

“I was actually looking for Mr. Devereaux’s room.” She looked as surprised to see me as I was to see her. “Sorry about that.”

“He’s next door, but I think I heard him leave just now.” I tilted my head to one side. “Why did you want to see him?”

“I wanted to ask him about the assignment.”

“The essay that’s not due for two weeks?” I joked, although I’d started working on it already.

“Yep. That one. It’s a Type A, pre-med thing. I can’t help but do my assignments well in advance, especially when they don’t involve labs or test tubes.”

“Come in. You’ll hear him come back if you wait in here,” I offered.

“No, it’s okay, I didn’t mean to disturb you if you were in the middle of doing something.”

“I was actually outlining my essay, too,” I admitted.

“Oh, so you’re also not a procrastinator? I thought I was the only one.” She entered, sitting on the chair in the corner of the room. I took the desk chair.

“No, I am a procrastinator.” I didn’t want to say I was putting off addressing my feelings for George. “I’m just… trying to change.”

That wasn’t too far from the truth, was it?

“So how much of your essay have you done?”

“I was just working on the outline. I’ve decided on one of the artworks I’m going to write about, at least.” I picked up my laptop and showed her my word processor.

“Cool. I was thinking about writing my essay on thePieta, too.“ Jamie leaned forward as she scanned my single line of text. “Why do you like it?”

I set my laptop back on the bed and shut it.

“It’s…” Surely I couldn’t tell her everything. The experience and revelation I’d had when I had seen thePietawas ineffable to me, much less able to be put into words for anyone else to hear. “Beautiful.”

I was sick of that word, but I didn’t know another one to use.

“For sure.” She picked up the hotel pen and started clicking it. “So, you’re a model. Is the job really as glamorous as it’s made out to be?”

I bit my lip, unsure of how to answer. “To be honest with you, I’ve never known any other job. So to me, it’s almost… not that exciting, you know?”

“You’ve never hadanyother job?“ Now that got her attention.

“When I was a toddler, I was scouted by a talent agent when I was walking around the mall with my mom. And since then, I’ve spent basically all my time that wasn’t in school or at family events doing modelling-related activities.”

Workouts. Pageants. Extreme diets. Manicures, pedicures, and facials. Photoshoots. The list was exhaustive—and exhausting.

“Then you must be the right person to ask. I’m only curious because my sister wants to go into modelling, but I don’t know if I should encourage her down that path.” She pulled out her phone and showed me a picture of a girl who looked a lot like her and appeared roughly sixteen. “Maybe you could tell me what it’s like so I can give her more realistic advice.”

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