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Chapter One

The best part about photography is that you’re the one in control.

It’s the last day of school, but I know my parents expect me to focus on summer AP assignments, homework check-ups, and study sessions when I come home. If anyone’s going to win the award for Most Boring Vacation, it’s going to be me.

With just a few minutes left in my Intermediate Photography class, I open my photo of the Star Lakes bridge on Photoshop and immerse myself in my favorite park in Sunlight, California. I adjust the brightness of the bridge, watching everything change as I play around with the settings, and it suddenly feels like I’m back at Star Lakes. Along the rails, there are black flecks where the paint is chipped. I like the way they speckle across the bridge. Many people overlook them because their eyes are more drawn to the turquoise paint. The bridge’s color is fascinating, yes, but the flecks let me know that the bridge has been around for years, and it’s still sturdy enough to hold everyone up so they don’t plummet into the river. I zoom in and use the texture tool to accentuate them.

“Maganda,” I whisper to myself, because the photo is, as I’ve said in Tagalog, exactly that. Beautiful.

I lean forward and examine my work. In real life, I can’t brighten the bridge or bring out the black spots. But thanks to photography, I can control how the bridge looks, spotlighting the little details and giving them the attention they deserve.

In a photograph, I can do whatever I want to the world I capture through my camera. And I don’t blend in with the background like I do right now in class. I’m just a photograph framed on a wall. I’m here, but anyone who passes by barely spares me a glance.

Everyone else is huddled in groups, their white desks circled together, raising their voices as they talk about plans to visit different cities, volunteer for a local theater/nursing home/pet store, or go to one of many parties tonight. Laughter bursts from circle to circle.

We’ve already submitted our final projects, so Ms. Choi is letting us do whatever we want. While I know everyone’s names and faces, I don’t know anyone well enough to join a conversation. Socializing, or anything that involves talking, doesn’t come naturally to me.

The group behind me starts talking about college admission requirements. My ears perk as I listen to their conversation, gluing my eyes onto my computer screen so it’s not obvious I’m eavesdropping.

“I keep getting a 1400 on my SAT practice exam,” Sandra Norman says. “Apparently, everyone who gets accepted into Stanford scores at least 1465.”

“My cousin scored a little below 1400, and she got into UCLA and some universities whose students scored higher. UCLA doesn’t require SAT scores for admission, but she was able to use hers to satisfy a writing requirement,” Aaliyah Johnson tells her. “With your application alone, you have a good chance of becoming a Bruin.”

I turn around. Perched on my tongue is a question about the factors that UCLA considers when reviewing applications. But now the subject deviates to college campuses. Would it be weird to jump in now? Sandra looks my way.

“Were you going to say something, Emilyn?” she asks me.

Aaliyah whips her head around and winces. “Oh, I didn’t see you there.”

I’m so quiet most people don’t notice me right away. I don’t participate in class, and I’m not much of a social butterfly, so that makes me the World’s Most Invisible Person. My question is still perched on my tongue, but as all eyes stare at me, I blank. Finally, I reply, “Never mind. I forgot what it was.” I twist back around to my computer.

Ms. Choi wanders around the room, gazing at the glossed photographs taped across the walls. She approaches me and beams at my photo, her black hair falling off her shoulders. “Wow, Emilyn, I love what you did here! You made the bridge look so magical, like it could take me to another world. I feel like I’m in a summer wonderland!”

“Thank you,” I say. My thick lips curve upwards, and I tuck my waterfall of coal-shaded hair behind my ear.

“Are you applying to any photography programs?”

I shake my head. “My parents want me to pursue a career in bio.”

“Well, at Sacramento State, I double-majored in photography and biochem. It was twice the workload, but I enjoyed all my classes! Some more than others. Now I’m a scientific photographer.”

I can do that? I think. I can have two majors?

Before I can ask Ms. Choi to elaborate, she pats my back and resumes wandering around the room.

Initially, I took photography as an elective, a fun class that could boost my GPA. But with every lesson and assignment, I’ve grown more and more in love with it, and it’s like I’ve eaten the cheese and been caught in the trap. I examine my edited photo, thinking about everything Ms. Choi said. Maybe bio doesn’t have to be my only concentration. I can major in a practical field and a fun one.

“Before we leave,” Ms. Choi begins, standing at the front of the classroom, “does anyone have anything to share?”

The photo of my backyard’s fence and its faded paint and cracks, I think, looking at the chimney of final portfolios stacked on Ms. Choi’s desk. My whole life, I was expected to do everything my older sister Aprilette did. Get good grades, volunteer, plan a future that would win me comments like, “You’re going places!” and “Your parents must be proud to have a smart daughter like you!” At first, it felt nice being compared to my Até. But eventually, it made me feel as invisible as I always do. Like only Aprilette existed, and I didn’t matter. Capturing the faded paint and cracks of that fence made me feel like, for the first time, that something was mine. I discovered the faded details myself. Locking the paint and cracks in focus, I wanted to keep examining them, through my camera lens and my Photoshop canvas.

But what if people think it’s weird?

As hands raise, mine stays down. Knots twist inside my stomach. There’s nothing in this world that scares me more than speaking in front of others. Once the words are out, they’re out, and I can never predict what people will say or think. The moment everyone’s eyes lay on me, it feels like they’re inspecting for any flaws I undoubtedly have.

Sandra raises her hand and says, “I’m really proud of the photographs I took of my grandparents walking on a beach in San Diego.”

Ms. Choi says, “I love those photos, Sandra! It brought me back to all those times I visited my relatives in Korea.”