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like a cow.’ ”
    “I don’t think that’s funny,” Duncan said. Quite earnestly, too, which meant he’d already won Sara’s heart.
    “Yeah. Not funny,” I said. “But come in. I’m Clementine Cooper, your teacher.”
    “And I’m Sara, the teacher’s roommate, but also a fellow student. No discount, either. I’m not a vegan. Or a vegetarian. But I’m following Clementine’s Skinny Bitch diet, and I’ve already lost almost five pounds in a week.”
    “Really?” Eva asked, eyeing her up and down, then down and up.
    “Well, you can’t totally tell yet,” Sara said.
    “Since we’re a small group,” I said, thinking I’d better separate Sara and Just Eva, “why don’t we sit down for a minute and do that dopey introduction thing—why you want to take the class, what you eat now, what you hope to learn, all that jazz.” I got that break-the-ice idea from my sister, naturally. “I’m Clementine Cooper, and I grew up on an organic farm in northern California. I could peel and chop an onion without crying by age five. The summer after high school I went nuts and ate everything my parents wouldn’t put on their table—burgers, lobster rolls, fried everything, eggs galore, sugar—and fake sugar—up the wazoo. After a month I felt and looked like total shit and went back to how I grew up eating. I have a certificate in vegan cooking from the Vegan Culinary Institute and have worked at a slew of restaurants. What I’m really into is helping people cut the crap out of their life.”
    I glanced at Eva, and she cleared her throat.
    “I’m Eva Ackerman, just Eva, as I’ve said, which is something my boss’s moronic assistant can’t seem to remember. ‘Hey, Eves,’ every fucking morning. ‘Night, Eves,’ every fucking night. And she’s twenty-two and has an amazing body and I hate her guts and—”
    “I hate twenty-two-year-olds with perfect bodies, too,” Sara chimed in.
    Eva gave a wobbly smile and went on. “My husband leftme two weeks ago for some absolute child in his Pilates class. I didn’t even know he was taking Pilates. I’m dealing with the separation agreement now, and it is a nightmare. My therapist says I need something positive in my life to focus on, something just for me, and suggested I take a class, writing or healthy cooking or something. I’ve been shoving McDonald’s super-size French fries in my mouth lately.” She glanced around, seeming like a human being for the first time. “I probably wasn’t supposed to give you guys my life story in the first five seconds, was I?”
    “I like people who lay it on the table,” I reassured her. She shot me another wobbly smile.
    Sara introduced herself as an office drone/aspiring actress on a self-appointed mission to go from fat extra to ingénue. “Your turn, Duncan,” she said, turning to him, rather rapt.
    He cleared his throat. “Duncan Ridley, twenty-eight. Vegetarian interested in going all the way. Oh, and librarian. Anyone laughs or says ‘Really?’ gets shot.”
    Sara laughed. “Really? I mean, you’d really shoot us?”
    He didn’t smile. “Male librarians and nurses freak people out. I can’t love books?”
    “My husband takes Pilates, so, yeah, I’d say you can love books,” Eva muttered.
    Before we explored that little gem again, I stood up and said, “Okay, so everyone up, and let’s hit the kitchen. We’re making a vegan lasagna, but you won’t be able to tell you’re not eating ricotta cheese or ground beef. That’s how amazing it’ll be. We’re also going to make one of my favorite things—sun-driedtomato and eggplant bruschetta. And a simple green salad with a miso-ginger dressing.”
    They crowded around me at the long stretch of counter, which wasn’t hideous formica but a nice white tile that I was suddenly really grateful for. “We’ll start with the lasagna, since it takes the longest to prepare and assemble. Tonight we’ll use prepared strips of pasta, but in another