“No.”
“Yes. Come on, Alex, I just want to see some of your photos.”
Well,oneof his photos anyway.
“Nuh-uh. This is a very expensive piece of equipment, I’ll have you know. No one gets to touch it. I’ve seen that crack on your phone screen. I’m not trusting you with this.”
“Alex,” I say warningly. “If you’ve got a photo of me on there, I think I have a right to see it, don’t you?”
“Fine,” he sighs, reluctantly producing the camera again. He carries it over to where I’m standing and holds it out at arm’s length, so I can see the screen where the photos are displayed, but not touch it.
I bet his camera has a woman’s name, like it’s his girlfriend or something. I must ask him about that later…
“Oh. That’s… that’s…”
I stare at the photo on the display, suddenly lost for words.
The woman in the photo is leaning against the wall which separates the viewing platform from the sheer drop below it, gazing out at theview in front of her with a dreamy expression on her face. She is obviously me — I can tell by the borrowed, oversized sweatshirt she’s wearing, which comes almost to her knees — but she looks so unlike me that I’m tempted to question it. I don’t know how he’s done it, but Alex’s lens has somehow turned me into someone else: someone I didn’t know I was. Someone I maybe wouldn’t mind being forreal.
Is that how he sees me?
Is that howeveryonesees me?
“Oh, doesn’t she look beautiful?” says Rita from behind me. “Look at this photo of Summer, Gerald. Ain’t she beautiful in it? Look at her ginger hair, all shining like carrots in the sun.”
“I don’t think you’re allowed to say ‘ginger’ these days,” says Gerald, peering at the photo over my shoulder. “She does look lovely, though. You’ve captured her perfectly, young Alex.”
“No, he hasn’t,” I say defensively. “That… that looks nothing like me. I don’t know how he did it, but he’s made me look…weird.”
I actually meant to say ‘different’, but ‘weird’ was the word that came out of my mouth for some reason, and I decide to stick with it, rather than trying to explain and just making it sound even worse.
Alex glowers, his dark brows coming together in a way that makes me want to tell him that if the wind changes, his face might stay like that.
“How can it look nothing like you?” he retorts. “Itisyou. That’s how photos work, Summer. This is you.”
He points first at the photo, then at me, as if he’s explaining it to someone either very young or very stupid.
“Yeah, but the camera lies, doesn’t it?” I reply, doubling down on this position I’ve apparently adopted. “Everyone knows that. That’s what photographers get paid for; to make things look better than they do in real life. It’s all just smoke and mirrors, isn’t it?”
“No,” he says tightly. “No, it isn’t. Not when I’m the one taking the photos, anyway. You’re just being argumentative for the sake of it.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes. You. Are.”
“Not.”
“Are.”
“Stop it, you two,” says Rita, sounding as if she’s about to ground us both for bad behavior. “That’s enough of that now.”
“She started it,” says Alex sulkily.
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“I’m warning you,” says Rita sternly. I make a mental note to ask her how many kids she’s got; I have a feeling there’s a few of them.
