“I’ve thought about it.” I hesitate, considering his letter. “I don’t think we have that kind of relationship. I think it only works because we don’t know who the other person is.”
“What do you talk about?”
I look away and prod at the pancakes again. I’d be lying if I said I weren’t desperately curious about him. I wonder what would have happened if Declan Murphy hadn’t shown up Friday night. I’ve never been able to speak so openly with someone. With The Dark, I’m not some girl who had it all together before veering off the rails. I’m just . . . me. He’s just . . . him.
Rowan is still waiting for an answer. I shove a forkful of pancake into my mouth. “Nothing. Just . . . stuff.”
“Oh my god, Jules. You are blushing!”
This is appalling. She’s right. I can feel it. “I am not!”
She leans in and teases me. “Do you need a mirror? You’re bright red.”
“Stop it. It’s not like that. We talk about . . . heavy things.” I don’t want to say “death.” Even that much feels like breaking a confidence. “We’re not flirting.”
“So he hasn’t sent you a picture of his manhood yet?”
I burst out laughing. “Has Brandon sent you a picture of his?”
“No!” Now she’s blushing.
“Knowing him, it would be artfully framed, with perfect lighting and specifically placed shadows—”
“Shut up!” But she’s giggling.
I have missed this so much. I didn’t realize how much until we were doing it again.
Rowan’s laughter stops, her eyes fixed on someone behind me. “I think Mr. Gerardi is looking for you again.”
I wait for the instinctive need to hide to overtake me, but this morning it’s missing. I turn in the seat and look for my old photography teacher. When he sees me, his face lights up, and he maneuvers his way through the cafeteria to where we’re sitting.
“Juliet,” he says, “I’m glad I caught up with you this morning. I had a chance to download the pictures from Thursday afternoon, and you got some amazing shots. Really nice use of light.”
“Most of those were probably the ones I took,” says Rowan.
His eyebrows knit together. “What?”
“She’s being silly.” I hesitate. It’s weird to be complimented on photographs after so long. “Thanks.”
“I was wondering if you’d have an opportunity to help me edit some for the yearbook.”
I freeze.
He speaks into the silence, and his voice is gentle, accommodating. “Only if you have time. I don’t want to tamper with your work if I don’t have to.”
A familiar tightness begins wrapping around my chest, and I look away from him. I’m glad I took the photographs, but going back to the photo lab means putting another foot closer to rejoining that world. “I don’t know.” I peer up at him. “Can I think about it?”
“Of course.” He begins to turn away but then pauses. “There’s one in particular that I’d like you to do on your own, if you wouldn’t mind. I think it would be a perfect wrap shot for the cover.”
My heart stops and stutters back to life. Every year, they do a shot that wraps around, from the back of the yearbook to the front. It’s a big deal, and it’s usually a planned thing. I don’t know if it’s ever been a photo taken by a student. “Really?”
He nods. “Really.” The first bell rings, and he looks at the clock. “I need to get back to my classroom. Let me know, okay?”
“Okay.” My voice trails after him as he fights his way through the swarm of students.
“Jules!” Rowan hits me in the arm. “This is awesome!”
A year ago it would have been a dream come true. Now I’m not sure how to feel about it. I stepped away from photography for a reason. I’ll never have the talent she had. My thrill at Mr. Gerardi’s praise is so minor compared with what Mom could have captured with a camera.
“I have to go to homeroom,” I say. “I don’t need another detention.”
She must pick up on my mood shift. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.” I storm past her to pitch the unfinished pancakes into the trash can, then whirl to rush to class.
I end up in the path of Declan Murphy. He’s got an empty container in his hands, so he must have been headed for the trash can as well. I consider ducking away and losing myself in the stream of students, until I realize that he seems to be considering the same thing.
For a moment, we both freeze—but then he completes his motion, tossing the container into the trash before stopping in front of me. He’s as tall and imposing as ever, but after the way he helped me in the rain, he’s not nearly so frightening. I keep thinking about what we talked about, how people are judged on one snapshot of their lives, and I will myself to look up at him.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” His voice is quieter than I expected, and his presence has created a pocket of space between us. I’m going to be late for homeroom, but for a heartbeat, I don’t want to move.
“I got new tires,” I announce. “And a new battery.”
“I noticed.”
I blink. “You noticed?”
“Well, I noticed the tires.” He lifts one shoulder. “Your car is hard to miss.”
“Oh.” Is he insulting me? I don’t know what to say, and I can’t read his expression.
He moves a little closer, and for the first time, he looks less guarded. Almost hesitant. “Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”
I look into his eyes. This is so different from when we were in the car, when I was nearly pressed against the door to stay away from him. The rush of students makes me step closer, too, getting out of their way. I never thought I’d be this close to him, exchanging words like we’re not at opposite ends of a spectrum.
A breathless Rowan catches my arm. “Jules, what are you doing?” Her eyes flick dismissively at Declan. “I thought you didn’t want to be late.”