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I’m also practicing my presentation on my own. In my room, I use Aprilette’s old yearbooks and read out loud in front of different pages. If I practice seeing unfamiliar faces, maybe, on stage, I’ll feel less nervous.
Jase’s face, however, is becoming more familiar to me. We talk so much I don’t feel nervous seeing him anymore. He eats lunch with me beside the entrance of the SMARTake building. At first, I thought he was just pitying me for eating by myself. When we sit together, though, I feel this comfort I only feel with people I’ve known for years. I can’t figure out how that’s possible since I haven’t known Jase all that long.
During lunch, he tells me stories of his performances at Blossoms while I tell him stories about my photography class.
“One time, my string popped off when I was playing a guitar solo,” he tells me after digging a bite into his turkey sandwich.
“Yikes, that’s awkward,” I say. “Did you stop playing?”
“Nope, kept going. Played another string. It sounded funny and definitely didn’t go with the song, but I couldn’t just stop playing.”
“Wow, nice quick-thinking skills. I would’ve freaked or froze.”
“Can’t really do that when you’re performing, or else there’s no music. I’m kind of used to doing things in the moment.” He takes another bite of his turkey sandwich. “It’s more exciting, anyway.”
“I’m not exactly an in-the-moment person. I have to come prepared.”
“Come prepared.”
“That’s a good idea, right?”
Jase thinks this over and chuckles. He must remember our first interaction from day one of SMARTake.
“Tell me about that.”
“Tell you why coming prepared is a good idea?”
“Why you like coming prepared.”
“I prefer knowing what to do so I can prevent any disaster.” I bite into my adobo sandwich, getting a good taste of the meaty sauce. “In my photography class, my teacher assigned us to take photographs in bright light. I took mine without checking my histogram. It looked fine on the LCD screen, but when I exported it to my Photoshop workspace, my teacher said it was overexposed.”
At the last word, Jase slants his head to the side.
“My photo was too bright, which made it look washed out.”
“Ah, gotcha. So, is that why you use your history-gram? To be prepared when you take pictures?”
He means histogram, but I appreciate that he pays attention to my photography lingo. “Yup, that’s why I use my histogram. I was totally embarrassed when she pointed out my photograph was overexposed, but at least she taught me how important a histogram is. Now I’m always prepared whenever I take a photo.”
“It’s great you learned something from it. But sometimes shit just happens.”
“Well, I think it’s better to know what you’re diving into beforehand.”
“So, when are you going to show me your pictures?”
“Whenever I feel like it,” I tease.
I’ve yet to accept his follower request. If I do, he’ll see all my photos. Really, I’m not sure when or if I’ll ever show Jase my photographs. They’re just too personal for me.
After our math class, Jase and I stroll through the parking lot together, and when he splits the other direction toward his car, I wish the parking lot were much farther away. Before I start my engine, my phone pings with an email from Ms. Choi.
Happy summer, my fabulous photographers!
I sent out your final portfolios, so they should be in your mailboxes this week. If you have any questions, feel free to email me.
Have an amazing break and see you all when the school year starts!
I drive back home as quickly as I can. Within safety parameters, of course. The second I reach the mailbox, I yank the door open, catching a glimpse of a brown package the size of a book. It has to be my final portfolio. I pull it out and examine the label, which confirms it’s for me.
