Free Beneath Beautiful by Allison Rushby

Cameron folded the book in half, finding a clean page, then opened up his pencil case and took out a soft pencil. “Here.” He passed them over. “Draw a baby crawling.”
    Cassie took the items, resting them on top of the pod. For a moment or two she attempted to put the pencil to the paper, but then she looked up. “I can't. I just can't.” She shook her head.
    “Why not? What's stopping you?”
    “I don't know how to start. Where to begin,” Cassie huffed. “All I can think of is lines. Seriously, lines are all I'm capable of. Houses made out of lines. V-shaped birds in the sky . . .”
    “But lines are good. Lines are where you begin. Here . . .” Cameron took the paper and pencil back. Very quickly, he drew several simple shapes—a circle for a head, oval limbs. And after a few seconds, Cassie could see the form of a baby on all fours emerging. “That's the basic shape done. And isn't that how you would write, really? You'd start with an outline for a story, then you'd fill in the details.” He kept scribbling. “The dialogue, the scenery . . . it's just the same as your work.” Suddenly, just like that, there was a baby crawling on the page. Cameron passed the book back to Cassie.
    Cassie stared at the page, her eyes widening. She glanced up with a grin. “Can I keep it? For my niece?”
    “Of course!” Cameron took the book back for a moment, ripping out the page which he handed back to Cassie, who stared at it once more.
    “Amazing,” she said.
    “It's really not. I think the problem is you need to let go of the image of the finished product. It's stopping you from moving forward. You see, in your mind you're thinking of that actual baby crawling, and feeling the pressure to reproduce it immediately. But it doesn't happen that way. You draw the basics and then build upon them, as I've just shown you. Surely it's the same for people who start writing a novel—you can't go in thinking about what you might have in a year's time, and trying to immediately reproduce that.”
    Cassie nodded. “That's very true. I'd never thought about it like that.” She glanced up at him from the drawing, a lock of hair falling forward out of the loose ponytail it was held in.
    “Now, try again.” He offered her the notebook and pencil.
    Hesitantly, Cassie took them, and during the next few minutes attempted to emulate what she had seen Cameron do. First the shapes, then some fleshing in.
    “Wait,” Cameron interrupted, and reached over to take the pencil from her fingers. He took her hand and gently readjusted her grip, his fingers warm on hers. “The pencil isn't going to run away. You don't need to grip it quite so hard. Try again.”
    Cassie did, continuing to flesh out the shape. When she finally gave up, she was, in fact, surprised to find her attempt, while bad, wasn't quite as bad as she'd thought it would be.
    “See?” Cameron encouraged her.
    “Yes, I'm a regular Picasso.” Cassie glanced up from inspecting her drawing in the notebook.
    When their eyes met, Cameron was already in motion. “Stop. Don't move.” He held up a finger, insistent. “Stay right there if you don't mind . . .”
    Moving only her eyes, Cassie watched as Cameron found a fresh page in his notebook and began to sketch once more, though this time she could tell he was sketching something else entirely—her. As she looked on, she realised that it was all really happening. That she was on the plane now, in the air, that Cameron was sketching her, and that there was no going back. At least, not until they got to JFK. But where would they end up after that?
    “That's it. Perfect. Just one more thing.” Cameron reached over the top of the pod and pushed the lock of hair back behind Cassie's ear, his fingers brushing softly against her ear. “Beautiful,” he muttered. “Perfect.”
    For a moment or two, she held her breath. Then, as his hand retreated, she exhaled slowly. Yes, this was it. The start. The start of sitting for