“Aiden,” says a boy with messy curls. “I fell off a stage during a school play, and everyone thought it was part of it, so I stayed down.”
“Outstanding commitment,” I say, and they laugh.
“Hayley,” says a girl with glasses. “I collect puzzles.”
“Excellent,” I say. “You’ll enjoy surviving this class.”
At the end, half-hidden behind her fringe, a girl murmurs, “Mia. I don’t really like talking.”
“That’s fine,” I say gently. “You can let your photos do it.”
They’re watching me now.
I launch into apertures, shutter speed, composition. Within minutes, I can feel the energy drain from the room. Chloe inspects her nails. Nathan yawns theatrically.
I glance at Declan. He raises an eyebrow.
Right. Time to pivot.
“Okay,” I say. “Everyone get your phones out.”
That wakes them up.
“In class?” Hayley says, scandalised.
“First and possibly last time,” I reply. “Enjoy it.”
Phones appear instantly.
“Pick the most boring object on your desk,” I say. “You’ve got three minutes to make it interesting.”
Chaos erupts.
By the time I call time, the room is buzzing.
I lean against the desk, grinning.
“See?” I say. “It’s not about fancy gear. It’s about how you look at things.”
For the first time today, I stop feeling like an imposter.
For the first time, I think I might actually be good at this.
And that feeling sticks with me long after the bell goes.
11
Help for ODD
Christa
The call with Geoffends and the flat goes quiet again.
I leave my phone where it is and don’t move for a second, just sit there listening to the fridge hum and the neighbour upstairs pacing like they’re training for something competitive.
Dinner waits on the coffee table. Soup. A pale orange one that smells faintly of cumin and optimism. I pick up the bowl, take a mouthful, and swallow slowly.
It tastes exactly how it looks.
