Page 124 of Every Move You Make

Xavier takes us to the thirty-first floor, and when the doors open, the whole place comes into view. There are floor-to-ceiling windows giving us a three hundred and sixty degree view of the city, and evenly separated columns throughout the space. There are a few doors next to the elevator bank, which I assume are dressing rooms. A few work tables filled with shoes and accessories are near a large white backdrop.

Keep your shit together, Robyn. Act like you’ve done this before.I have done photo shoots for the team and stuff, butnothingof this magnitude.

A server immediately takes my drink order for a coconut water before Xavier takes me to meet Ingrid. I spot my mom’s same tawny hair amongst the small crew, already talking to someone.

One more deep breath in, and here we go.

“Robyn,” the woman I know as Ingrid Harper-Tate, based on my search history, trills, extending both arms out wideas people move out of her way. I think she’s going in for a hug, but instead she places her hands gently on my arms and gives me two air kisses on either side of my face. “I’m so happy you’re here,” she remarks in a posh British accent. There’s a small curl to her deep purple lips. Her snow-white hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and her smooth, ivory skin is flawless. She’s wearing enormous black cargo pants that swallow her and a tailored black vest. I look around the room and notice everyone in the crew is wearing black.

“You already look splendid, my dear, so our team will barely need to touch you. Doesn’t she lookgorgeous, Marguerite?” she asks the woman next to us, spinning me around.

Void of any emotion, Marguerite replies, “Gorgeous,” after looking me up and down.

I like these people; I don’t care if they’re fluffing me, because it’s working.

“Birdie,” my mom coos, coming up to me and wrapping me in a hug. As much as our last call got to me, it is always nice to be wrapped in her arms. For all the annoying things she’s capable of, there are far more good things about her. Her very real, very genuine hugs are one of them.

“Hi, Mom,” I sigh, and my chin falls to her shoulder.Oops. Forgot about the ‘mom’ thing already.

“Oh, this is your mother?” Ingrid asks as we pull apart. “Oh yes, I most definitely see the resemblance now. Aren't they stunning, Marguerite?”

“Stunning.”

I mean sure, we share the same hair color, eyes, and nose, but I tower over my mom by five inches and have about sixty pounds more muscle than she does.

My mother blushes and waves away the compliment. “You’re too kind.”

“Diedra,” Ingrid says. “Have you been offered anything to drink yet? Oh, Xavier, please escort our guest here to thebreak area for some refreshments, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Xavier says with a smile, and leads my fidgeting mom across the room.

Ingrid arches an eyebrow and leans toward me. “Your mother was just telling us about yourshoulders,” she says, dramatically drawing out the last word as her eyes round, like she’s trying to gather my reaction.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “She has this thing about how big they are.”

“Do you?”

“Well, no, not really. This is just what I’m working with.” I shrug and throw my hands out to the sides, accidentally smacking the server bringing my drink.

“I’m so sorry,” I grimace. Thankfully the bottle is capped, and I’m able to catch it before it drops to the floor.

“It’s okay, miss. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, I’m okay. Sorry again.”

“Oh, don't worry about Esther,” Ingrid says with a flick of her dainty wrist. “She plays roller derby, she can handle it. Now tell me, truly, Robyn. Do you have any reservations about your shoulders or any part of your body that I should be aware of today?”

The easy thing to tell her would be to avoid my shoulders looking so big, just like mom wants. But Dell’s words ring back to me.

You don’t hide your body for anyone.

He’s right,I think to myself, determination locking into place. That whole evening flashes behind my eyes and the way each of them worshiped and reminded me just how incredible I am. And if I am, I need to act like it. I amnotgoing to hide.

“No,” I tell Ingrid, feeling resolute. “Feed your camera whatever you want.”

“Splendid, dear. Now, how do you feel about nudity?”

Suddenly my mouth goes dry. “Uhh…”

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