Page 20 of Tilly in Technicolor
“Just act natural,” I say, pulling my camera up to my eye and adjusting the lens.
Tilly scrunches up her face, slowly raising her hands so they dangle from limp wrists about shoulder height. She looks like an uncomfortable T. rex.
“This work?” she asks. I almost laugh.
“No, it doesn’t work!” Mona says, letting out a groan. “Stop messing around and let’s get the shot so we can all go home.”
Color floods into Tilly’s cheeks, and she starts gnawing on her lower lip, looking panicked.
“May I?” Stepping closer, I reach toward her still-dangling hands. Tilly nods. I circle her wrist, turning her so her back is to me. “Now lift your hands and do a peace sign, or something.”
Tilly looks at me over her shoulder. “Oh my God. What am I, nine and taking a Facebook profile pic?”
“I don’t know,” I say, squeezing her wrist a bit. “Just… it’s better than whatever you were doing before.”
Tilly rips her wrist from my grip, flinging her hands into the air. “How dare you?”
“That’s perfect. Stay like that,” I say, tripping over my feet as I scramble backward to catch the shot.
“What?” she asks, swiveling her head even more to look at me.
“No, no. Don’t turn around. Keep your arms up like that. It looks cool.”
Tilly raises her eyebrow and gives me a skeptical look for a moment, but does as I asked, facing the wall and stretching her arms overhead.
Theclick click clickof the camera shutter shoots a surge of electric creativity through my arms.
“Tilt your head back a touch,” I instruct, and Tilly does.
Her hair falls like an ink spill down her back, the wind gathering up little wisps and curling them around her. Her arms are still flung to the sky and hands spread wide like starbursts. I snap away, the light hitting so the rainbow of color glows between her fingers.
“These look great,” I say, as I take a new angle. “Do something new. Something fun.”
Instead of giving me hell like she’s done for 90 percent of my direction toward her, Tilly does as I ask, curling her wrists to new positions. She keeps going, practically dancing, and it isn’t long before she’s giggling.
There’s so much energy in the way she moves, the way she holds herself, that, for a moment, I think the vibrant colors are coming straight from her palms.
By the end, she even throws in a few peace signs for me. And a middle finger, but I delete that one immediately.
“Being a hand model is exhausting!” Tilly says, collapsing dramatically against the wall when I announce I think we’ve gotten plenty of good shots.
“Tilly? More like Twiggy,” Amina says, reaching out a hand and helping Tilly up.
Tilly blinks at Amina. “Like a tree? I’m barely five-four.”
“You’re joking,” Amina says, cocking her head to the side. Tilly continues to stare at her with that wide, owlish gaze. “The famous supermodel? Fashion icon? Twiggy? Please tell me you know Twiggy.”
“Oh wait,” Tilly says, head perking up, “is she the one that’s friends with Bella Hadid?”
Amina’s jaw drops. “Christ, love, please don’t make me feel so old.”
Mona scoffs. “As if you look a day over twenty.”
“You dirty flatterer,” Amina says, shooting Mona a wink. Mona’s cheeks erupt in red. Tilly lets out a tiny gasp, eyes flicking between the two women like she’s watching an aggressive game of tennis.
I clear my throat, feeling like I’m intruding on a moment I don’t understand. “Right, so I’m going to head out,” I say.
Mona blinks, shaking her head and squaring her shoulders. “Yes. Of course. We should all get going. Big day tomorrow. We need to get organized and get a good night’s sleep.”
