I press a few buttons on the camera, bringing the picture into view on the screen. I’ve framed the shot so it’s wide, with Declan and his friend Rev isolated on the left, and the festivities going on to the right.
It looks like it should be in a pamphlet about the dangers of isolated teens or something. I can do better than that. I zoom closer, finding details. The line of jaw poking through the hood. Their backpacks in the dirt. Declan turning to ask Rev a question.
I like that last one. I hold the camera out to look at it on the screen. You can see the trust in Declan’s expression. After watching his interaction with his stepfather, I get the sense he doesn’t trust many people.
“Maybe you should be taking pictures of the actual festival,” says Rowan.
“I know,” I say quickly. I adjust a few settings and aim the camera at Declan and Rev again. “I will.”
The sunlight is just to their left. I move out of the shadows of the tree until the light is more directly behind them. The technique is called contre-jour, “against daylight.” Many people would seek a silhouette, but I still want some details.
I lift the camera. Sunlight beams behind them like an infinite halo, at odds with their defiant postures. The shutter clicks, and I look down and fiddle with the settings to see how it turned out.
“Um,” says Rowan. “Jules.”
“Hold on.” I press a few buttons, widening the angle, then lift the camera. Declan’s face fills the viewfinder.
I jump and swallow a scream. He’s right in front of me, along with Rev, his shadow.
Declan frowns, studying me a little too intently. “Are you taking my picture?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Thank god the strap is around my neck, because I almost drop the camera. “I’m taking pictures of the Fall Festival.”
“You’re a photographer?”
His voice is dangerous, almost accusatory. I shake my head quickly and babble. “N-no. I’m just—the girl who was supposed to do it couldn’t anymore. Mr. Gerardi asked me to fill in.”
His features smooth over. “Oh.”
“Can I see?” Rev says in his quiet voice.
I hesitate, then push a few buttons to bring the last picture up on the display. I turn until I’m beside Rev. “Here.”
He looks down, and he’s silent for a long moment. A very long moment. I’m not sure what to make of that.
Then he says, “That’s cool. With the sun.”
“Thanks.” I’m out of practice, but I agree that it turned out well. Declan’s hair is lit with gold from the sun, his profile clean and barely exposed. Rev’s features are barely visible under the navy sweatshirt hood, which has turned black with all the light behind it. It looks like someone dropped a good angel and a dark one in the middle of our high school courtyard.
A dark one. I lower the camera and really look at Rev for a moment.
“Why do you always wear a hoodie?” says Rowan.
Rev looks at her, and his expression doesn’t change. I can’t tell if he’s bothered by the question. “They’re comfortable.”
“It’s eighty degrees outside.”
He shrugs. His shoulder brushes against mine, and I can tell the sweatshirt hides some serious muscle.
Declan leans over and looks at the picture upside down. “Delete it.”
I pull the camera closer to my chest. “No.”
“Why?” says Rowan.
“Because I said so.” Declan steps toward me and holds out a hand.
I take a step back. If I was hesitant to let Rowan handle it, there’s no way in hell I’m letting Declan Murphy touch it.
“Delete it,” he snaps.
Rowan pulls closer to me. “She’s taking pictures for the yearbook. She doesn’t have to delete it.” Her voice is a little louder than necessary, and I’m sure she’s hoping some teacher will hear her and intervene.
“I’m in the picture,” Declan says viciously, “and if I’m telling her to delete it, she should delete it.”
“What’s going on here?”
It’s not a teacher’s voice. It’s Brandon Cho, my former photography nemesis. Since dropping honors photography, I’ve barely seen him this year, but the summer break treated him well. He’s grown a good four inches, and his shoulders have broadened. He used to be a bit lean and scrawny, the perfect picture-taking hipster, but hormones must have caught up with him. Defined cheekbones and a sharp jaw have replaced soft features, and his hair is shorter and a little spiky.
His trusty camera is strung around his neck, ironic buttons threaded through the strap. My favorite used to be one with a drawing of a sperm with the line “This is a very old picture of me,” but a teacher made him get rid of it.
“Is he bothering you?” Brandon asks me.
“This isn’t about you, punk,” Declan says.
Brandon moves to stand beside me, not backing down. “Why don’t you find someone else to harass.”
“She’s the one who took the damn picture—”
“Dec.” Rev speaks slowly. “It’s fine. Leave it.”
“It’s not fine.”
“It better be fine,” says Brandon. “Or I’ll find a teacher to make it fine.”
Declan whirls a finger in the air. “Woo-hoo. You’re so tough.”
Brandon’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you have a court hearing or community service to get to?”
Declan starts forward, but Rev grabs his sleeve and drags him back. “And we’re done. Come on.”
“Rev, I swear to god—”
“I wish you wouldn’t.” Rev keeps dragging him. “And the sad thing is, you will be late for community service. Come on.”
Declan allows himself to be dragged, but he looks over his shoulder at me. “Delete it. You hear me? Delete it.”
I watch him go.
I don’t delete it.
I can’t wrap my head around why it would bother him so much.
Brandon turns around to look at me. “Are you okay?”
My mouth is dry and my heart is pounding, but all this adrenaline is really quite pointless. “Yeah. Yes. I’m fine.” I wonder if I should thank him.
He studies me, and I watch his eyes take in the camera. “I thought you’d given it up.”
I half shrug. “Mr. Gerardi asked me for a favor.”
“And you did it?”
I hold up the camera. “He bribed me.”