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How rightBabulyais.Peace truly is everything, but I slowly forgot that as time passed. Every year, my father fades further in my memory until he seems like a bad childhood dream. I never hear from him on my birthday or at Christmas. Occasionally,Babulyaand I see his car while we are out shopping, and we run into a store or hide behind a pillar. She calls ithiding from the bear,and it makes me feel like we’re living in a folktale.

When I’m seventeen,Babulyaand I drive into the city to see a matinee for her birthday. It’s a stinking, hot day, and we walk through the park afterward, drinking fresh lemonade. I sit sloppily on a bench, waiting for her to use the public restrooms, when a woman approaches me with a smile and looks me over carefully. I scowl up at her through the sharp sunshine, wondering why she’s being so rude. “Can I help you?”

The woman hands me her card and introduces herself. I read the card while fanning myself with my T-shirt.

“Model agent?” I say blankly. “What’s a model agent?”

She’s in the middle of explaining whenBabulyamarches back to us and demands to know why I’m talking to strangers in the park. The woman introduces herself and hands over another card.

Babulyaglares at her suspiciously. “Are you a criminal?”

She doesn’t seem offended by the question and explains where she works and what kind of models she represents. Mostly runway models, and I have “the look,” whatever that means.

“We will use the email to search for you and check that you are not a criminal,”Babulyatells her severely.

“You mean the internet,” I tell her with a smile.

“Whatever it is, we will use it. We are not stupid. Come, Lilia.”

All the way home, I stare at the card and wonder what this means. I’m aware of runway models from pictures in magazines, and I have the vague impression that they live in places like Paris and look serious and intimidating as they march along in rows. I think that they must make good money, though, and I start to get excited.

“Do you think that woman really wants me to be a model?”

Babulyais matter-of-fact, gesturing as she drives. “Of course she wants you. You are a beautiful girl. But she might be a criminal.”

“Do you think I should be a model?”

“I think it is good for my Lilia to have a career. Do you want to be a model?”

I don’t know. But I’m interested to find out more.

After much searching online and many calls to the scouts’ office to try and catch them in a lie,Babulyafinally lets me go to the woman’s office for a meeting. She comes with me, of course, and examines everyone we see in the building with a critical eye, from the security guard to the receptionist and everyone in the waiting room.

As we sit in plush white chairs, I stare at the other women my age or a year or two older. Are they real models, or are they hopefuls like me? Some of them are glamorous and I’m certain they must get plenty of work. Others seem as ordinary as I feel, wearing old clothes and biting their nails.

“Are you new?” a woman in joggers and a baseball cap asks me with a smile.

“First meeting. What about you?”

“I’ve been signed for nearly a year.” She shows me some pictures on her phone from her last show and I goggle at how striking she looks.

“The makeup. The clothes. The lighting.” The woman shrugs. “It transforms you. You’ll see.”

Excitement thrums through me. Without my father’s overbearing presence in my life, I’ve been free, but I’ve also struggled to understand who I am. Maybe this is the answer. I’ll become a chameleon; someone who is savage and intimidating one day and sweet and benevolent the next. We’ve never had the money to buy me a lot of clothes and makeup, and I’ve watched the girls at school apply lipstick and show off their new dresses and designer jeans with envy. Deep down, I know such things are frivolous, but I want my chance to play with pretty things, too. Just for a little while.

When we’re called into the model scout’s office,Babulyamarches straight up to her and declares, “Myvnuchkais the onlyvnuchkaI have, and if anyone treats her badly, I will come down here and make them sorry.”

“I assure you, your…granddaughter?” she guesses the meaning ofvnuchka, looking at me, and I nod, “is in safe hands with us. We have years of experience working with young women.”

The woman patiently explains what she’s offering and how she can launch my career, and it’s dizzying to realize she’s offering to represent me.Me. I’m valued by someone. I possess something that other people don’t. It doesn’t matter that I’m poor or that I was abandoned by my father. He took away my pride in myself and my sense of security, but he can’t take what this woman is offering me.

The meeting concludes with a photographer taking my headshots and body shots, and then we’re free to go. The agent says she’ll handle the rest.

Babulyaand I leave the office in stunned silence. I sneak sideways looks at her, desperate for her to say something. Hoping that she approves and believes that this could work out for me.

“She reminds me of my aunt Irina. Always making wild plans.”Babulyasniffs. “But plans that unfold like magic.”

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