I frown. “Maybe you have some untapped potential,” I say. “Maybe your greatness hasn’t been realized.” I worry I’m giving myself away.

Beau shrugs. The hot waiter brings his coffee, and he takes a sip.

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” I say.

“Thanks,” he says. He puts his coffee mug on the table. “Seriously, that means a lot.”

Beau and I never really get into a conversational groove that afternoon, but he does ask for my phone number before he leaves. He says he wants to take pictures of me. I’m not sure if it’s an excuse to hang out with me or if he is just thinking about his career. Either option excites me. I know it is passé to be a muse, but I love the idea of being his. I’ve always felt most myself in front of someone else’s camera.

When I get home, I do three readings and then reward myself with peanut butter from the jar and a Polanski film. I don’t have any weed left, but I don’t mind. I am high off my interaction with Beau.

He asked for my number, I text Cinnamon as the film starts. I don’t normally allow myself to text during movies, but I am feeling rebellious.

*Feigns shock*, Cinnamon texts back.

He said he wants to photograph me, I write back.

As a master’s candidate studying the politics of desire, I have qualms about that, she writes. But as your friend, I love it.

I smile and refocus on the opening credits. I haven’t seen a black-and-white film with subtitles in forever, and it feels good, like I’m resurrecting some part of myself I thought was dead. Beau asked for my number today. I am getting coffee with my dad tomorrow. He typed our zip codes into a website called MeetHalfway.com and picked a coffee shop in San Dimas called the Owl’s Beak. I am excited to be a normal daughter.

About halfway through the movie, my phone lights up. When I see the name on the message, my heart skips a beat. It is Beau.

Hey, when are you free to shoot? he asks. Jax’s apartment gets amazing light this time of year.

Cool, I write back. I don’t love the idea of going back to that apartment. It had weird vibes.

I was also thinking about Barnsdall Park, he writes. I don’t normally shoot outside but I want to practice.

Let’s do that then, I write back. I am relieved to avoid that creepy drug den. I’ll be your guinea pig.

Haha, he writes back.

I’m hanging out with my dad tomorrow but I’m free Wednesday. Or Friday. I am technically free every other day after that for eternity, but I don’t need to tell him that.

Cool, he says. I think morning would be really cool with your coloring.