Free When Angels Cry by Maria Rachel Hooley

Kaylee’s feet.
    “I didn’t know what to say.  We were from different worlds.”  The redness of Kaylee’s cheeks deepened , and s he lifted a strand of her long hair and twisted it around her index finger. 
    “That doesn’t seem to be stopping you now,” Bastian went on, watching Kaylee’s finger twirl her hair.  “We aren’t exactly from the same side of things, but you seem fine talking to me.”
    “That’s different.  You’re different.”  Kaylee unwound the hair from her finger. 
    “How?”
    “You actually look me in the eye.  You notice there’s a world around you.”   She stared off into space.  “He never even looked at me.”
    “Maybe he was afraid of what he would see: judgment, maybe–or worse.  People can be cruel, Kaylee, and they often hate those who are different.  Still, that’s nothing compared to how we sometimes see ourselves.  There was a time I wouldn’t have been able to look you in the eye.”   Bastian thought back to the last few months when he’d barely scraped by, through lots of moments he hadn’t wanted to look at anyone.
    Kaylee winced.  “We’re all imperfect, Bastian.  The sooner everyone comes to realize it, the better off we’ll all be.”
    “Interesting work.”  Bastian stepped to her painting, frowning.
    Kaylee shrugged.  “I’ve always wanted to be a really good painter, but I'm not.  The lines are weak , and sometimes the shading is off.  It never turns out like I want it to, but then not much does, you know?”
    He bit his lip, ignoring the sarcasm.  “The blending here looks great.”  He pointed to the line of the sky and water.  “Overall , it’s really not bad.”
    “Do you paint?”  Kaylee joined him, trying to see what he was seeing.
    “You should harden the line of the sail a bit.”  He leaned closer to the painting. “That might give it more contrast and sharpen the perspective.”
    “Do you paint?” she repeated, touching his shoulder.  Her index finger pressed in slightly.
    “Some, though I prefer charcoals.  Why?”   He slowly faced Kaylee.
    Kaylee’s blue eyes met the darkness of his, widening.  Her full lips parted as though she were thinking something that had suddenly deserted her, something for which there ’d been no words. 
    “I-I’d like you to draw me.” Her voice faltered.  “My face , that is —if you wouldn’t mind.”
    Bastian shrugged.  “I don’t mind.  I’m just puzzled.  What prompted that?”
    “I’d like to see myself through your eyes, to see what you see.”  Kaylee looked at her hands, pretending to inspect the polish on her nails. 
    “Suit yourself.  Do you have any charcoals I can use?”  Bastian focused on Kaylee’s painting, studying the  details he had missed at first glance.
    “Yeah, let me get them.”  She walked out of the room to a closet down the hall where she scanned the boxes on the top shelf.  Finding the charcoals, she snapped the lid on the box before further searching the closet and finding a pad among the remaining things stored on the shelf.  Satisfied, she carried it all back to Bastian and handed it over.
    “I stored these last year because , unlike you, I really didn’t care for them .  S till, I couldn’t exactly throw them away , either.”  She stepped into the middle of the room.  “So where would you like me?”
    “Give me a minute.”  He walked into the kitchen and looked into the dining room.  A huge bay window caught his eye and he went to it, pull ing the curtains aside.  Light ebbed into the room, and he could just imagine how it would look backlighting her dark auburn hair.
    “ I found a spot .  It’s perfect , ” he called.
    Kaylee ambled into the room, her hands clasped in front of her, and he gestured to the sill, tapping it with the palm of his hand.
    “Why there?” she asked.
    “The lighting.”  He brushed past her, went to the living room, and retrieved his materials.  When he returned, he