When she finally got to a blank page, she folded the sketchbook over and looked around. Across the aisle a young, Asian-American mother played patty-cake with her toddler, the child's fingers grasping her thumbs as she clapped her hands. The little boy giggled at the end of the rhyme when she "tossed it in the oven" by holding her hands up high, then hugged him at "for baby and me."

Even as Tali was watching, her pencil was already moving, sketching out their basic shapes. Quickly and skillfully she sketched, frequently switching between the two pencils to get the right shades. Occasionally she blotted something out with her sticky kneaded eraser, folding it over itself before dabbing at the page again. Once the outline was done, she began shading, sometimes rubbing the page with her finger, other times using her blending stick to blend the graphite together.

In no time at all the bus reached Mercer Island. She glanced over the sketch, still not quite satisfied with the result. But she could always finish it later. She scooped up her supplies and stuffed them into her purse before standing to get off the bus. The toddler looked up at her and grinned. She smiled and waved as she exited the bus.

According to Google Maps, it would be a five-minute walk to Benjamin Sorrelman's house. After a few minutes of orienting herself, she started walking, keeping her hands shoved into her pockets to ward off the biting cold.

The sheer amount of foliage and shrubbery lining the small street was daunting, to say the least. Tali felt more like she was walking down a mountain pathway than a residential street. Super rich people sure like their privacy. She had always imagined them having iron fences and security cameras, but apparently trees and shrubs were just another kind of fence. Every so often she got a glimpse of Lake Washington through the leaves, providing specks of bright blue in between the various shades of red and gold and evergreen. It was so breathtakingly beautiful that she stopped walking several times with the overwhelming urge to sketch or paint it and she had to force her legs to keep walking. My first commission, my first commission, she chanted to herself in time with her steps.

Eventually she reached a driveway entrance with "Sorrelman" and the address posted on a sign. The house itself was hidden by the trees and shrubbery, but it was definitely the right place. She took a deep breath and checked her watch:  7:26 p.m. Right on time, although not as early as she would have liked. But that was how things went with public transportation. She paused, her lips suddenly dry and her knees shaking. This was it:  her very first commission. This was no time to get nervous and make a bumbling fool of herself. She closed her eyes and swallowed, then opened them and started toward the house.

If you could even call it a house. As the foliage gave way, Tali blinked in awe at the size of the place. It was nearly as big as her apartment building, possibly bigger. The architecture was all sharp angles and straight lines, with floor-to-ceiling glass windows and dark brown trim. Tali came up to the grand double doors, taking in the glory of the smooth, natural wood grain contrasting with the enormous black-rubbed-iron handles. She looked for a doorbell, reluctant to use her graphite-smeared hands to knock on the beautiful doors. A simple, rectangular doorbell sat next to the door. Tali wiped her hand on the seat of her pants, then used her knuckle instead of her finger to press the doorbell.