“You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Dude, I don’t remember anybody.”
“Heh, I know,” Bodhi says. “But I’m super memorable. Thought I might’ve cut through.”
“I wish.”
“Well, I’m Bodhi. And you probably don’t remember these guys either.” He gestures to his friends.
“No, them I remember,” I say, completely serious. “Jake and Dino, right?”
“Uh,” Bodhi says, trying to suppress a laugh as the friends give me the same pitying looks that Jumpsuit Girl gave me this morning. “Unfortunately that’s incorrect, dude.”
“I’m kidding,” I say. “I don’t know these people.”
The three of them burst into laughter, I think mostly from relief.
“I’m Robbie,” the kid with glasses and bangs says.
“I’m Amir,” the tall, chubby kid says.
“Sweet, I’m Carter. As you know. Were we all friends?”
“Yeah, man!” Bodhi says. “For sure. We have good times.”
Robbie and Amir nod, only a little awkwardly.
“Then, uh, no offense,” I say, “but why didn’t you introduce yourself during that last week of school? When I first, you know, forgot everything.”
“Iknewyou were going to ask that!” Bodhi says. He puts his face into his hand and shakes his head. “I’m sorry about that, man, I really am. I chickened out! I didn’t want to mess it up somehow. Or make you feel weird. But I’m happy you found me now! I figured we’d reconnect at yearbook anyway. You’re coming today, right?”
Oh geez. Again with the goddamn yearbook.
“I didn’t know there was a meeting,” I say. “I mean, my parents were telling me I did that now, but—”
“You gotta come! Did they also tell you how sick a photographer you are?”
Robbie and Amir again nod awkwardly in support. The hall is nearly empty. Fifth period is gonna start any second now.
“They tried to,” I say, “but—”
“Well, you are,” Bodhi says. “Come to the meeting. We’re in Ms. Himberton’s room. One eighteen. At least let me show you some of your photos.”
I don’t know what to say to that.He’sgonna showmemy own photos? This is so stupid.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say as the tone sounds for the new period.
“Not maybe!” Bodhi insists as Robbie and Amir disappear into a classroom. “Come see what a genius you are,” he adds, in awhisper, pointing at me before following them inside.
I turn around and walk down the hall to lunch, my footsteps echoing in a way that sounds like they’re making fun of me.
“Carter Cohen!” a woman shouts a few hours later as soon as I walk through the door to her classroom. She’s a new teacher (to me at least), with short light purple hair, who seems like she’s in her mid-twenties but is brimming with the energy and excitement of a teenager.
“You!” I shout back because I’ve forgotten what Bodhi said her name was. It gets a laugh from various kids in the room, including Bodhi, and, surprisingly, from the teacher too.
“So glad you’re here,” she says, “and even gladder to see that you still have your sense of humor. I’m Ms. Himberton. I supervise yearbook, and I have been thrilled by and grateful for your magical abilities with a camera over the past year.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised that even she has this opinion of my photography skills. “I don’t actually, um... I don’t really know how to use a camera.”
