He approaches to take the loupe from her and look at the negative. I don’t like how she edges closer, practically pushing against his arm.
Focusing my attention on my film, I study each of the images and select one of the rusted faucet for enlarging. The printmaking process has the same kind of meditative feel as baking—putting the right elements together to create a finished product. With Darius’s help, I make a test print to choose the exposure I like the best.
“What about ten?” I hold the print up to the light.
“What about it?” Darius asks.
“Do you think it looks good?”
“Do you think it looks good?”
I throw him an exasperated look. “Yes.”
“Then that’s the one you should use.” He turns the light off so Simon can place photographic paper on the enlarger easel.
“Is your camera digital?” I set my test print on the table. “I can’t imagine you’d have time to develop a bunch of film before sending prints to the news services.”
“I use digital, yes,” Darius replies. “I still have a few film cameras, though.”
“What do you take pictures of now when you’re not working?”
“I don’t take pictures when I’m not working.” Though his voice is nonchalant, faint tension threads his shoulders.
“Ever?”
He shakes his head and moves toward Brianna to check on her test print.
I don’t get it. I think again of the camera cradled in his big hands like it was an extension of his body.
When I was a girl, he’d taken pictures when he came to visit—of our family, the garden, the beach. I don’t remember him ever being without his camera. But aside from that one moment in my father’s office, I haven’t seen him even hold, much less use, his camera since he came back.
“Mr. Hawke, check it out.” Simon is standing at his developing tray, poking at a print with the tongs. “I totally don’t remember taking this, but it’s really good.”
Darius approaches. I move to peer over Simon’s shoulder at the image rising through the developing fluid.
It’s my face, though it doesn’t resemble the one I see in the mirror every day. I’m looking to the side, my hair blowing over my cheek, my eyes narrowed in concentration. I look focused and sharp. Even…interesting.
My insides tighten. “You don’t remember taking that?”
“No, but check out the lighting and depth of field.” Simon takes the photo out and drops it into the stop bath. “You look like a painting or something. Man, I wish I knew what settings I’d used.”
“F-stop was two point eight, shutter speed was one two-hundredths of a second. ISO was two hundred.”
Simon and I both look up. Darius is studying the photo, his expression unreadable. My heart thumps.
“Oh.” Simon snaps his fingers, like he just had a sudden realization. “No wonder it’s so freaking good. Can you show me how you did this? I really like portrait photography.”
“There’s a lot more to it than just camera settings. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
As Darius turns away, his eyes graze swiftly over mine.
A light flickers on deep inside me, as if part of me is waking up.
CHAPTER 11
Nell
“Would you please hold still?” Simon lowers the camera with a sigh. We’re outside in the school quad, and instead of doing the class assignment, he’s been fixated on getting the settings right for outdoor portraits.
“I have to take my pictures too.” I throw him a mild scowl and adjust the lens on my camera. “Go take a photo of Brianna Lawson.”
“She scares me.” Simon peers through the viewfinder at me. “She’s like a super pretty Godzilla with painted claws.”
I can’t help laughing. Simon snaps the shutter release. “Gotcha! That’s going to be a good one. Is your roll done?”
“Almost.” Though I haven’t known him long, Simon’s easygoing, nonthreatening attitude has already put me cautiously at ease.
I take a few more shots of the school garden when a slight girl wearing jeans and a Superman T-shirt exits a classroom and starts toward the administration offices. I zero the lens in on her and snap the shutter release. Though she’s too far to have heard the click, she glances my way and pauses.
I give her a little wave. She tilts her chin in acknowledgment.
“You know that girl?” Simon bustles up beside me. “She was in the new kid group with me at the beginning of the year for the tour and stuff. Poppy or Crabgrass or something.”
I frown at him. “Clover.”
“Right.” He peers in her direction, his eyes sparkling. “She has a great face, strong angles, and kind of a pixie thing going on. You think she’d let me photograph her?”
“Doubtful. She seems pretty shy.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to ask, huh?”
Before I can stop him, he’s jogging toward Clover, who backs up as if she’s about to be cornered. I hurry after him.
“Clover, right?” Simon sticks out his hand. “I’m Simon. We met at the beginning of the year. Or rather, we were stuck on a boring tour together.”
“I remember you. Hi.” She shakes his hand and shifts her gaze to me.
“Hey.” I offer her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Simon and I are in a photography class right now.”
“You ever pose for someone?” Simon asks.
Clover goes pale. I pinch Simon’s arm to tell him to shut up, or at least play it cool.
“What he means is that he’s getting into portrait photography,” I explain. “That’s his way of asking if you’d be interested in posing for him.”
“Uh, I don’t think so.” She scratches her ear.
“It’s totally legit,” I add hastily. Though Simon and I aren’t exactly friends, he’s been nice to me, and I don’t want anyone thinking badly of him. “Simon has been wanting to do some portraits for his portfolio so he can approach people about doing their senior portraits. You’d be a great model. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine.”
“What would I have to do?”
“Just be yourself,” Simon assures her. “Smile or sit and stand a certain way. Super low pressure, I promise.”
“I can plan to be there too, if that helps,” I add.
“I’d have to ask my mom.” She fidgets and glances at Simon again. He gives her his engaging grin.
“Are you busy after school?” I ask. The mention of Fern inspires a memory of the warm, welcoming comic book store. “The three of us could grab a coffee and then Simon can meet your mom.”
“Yeah, that would be okay, I think.” Clover points toward the office. “I’m supposed to deliver these papers for Mr. Franklin.”
“Do you want to meet over by the art room after the last bell? We can walk downtown.”
“Okay.” She looks as if she still doesn’t know what to make of the request, but she gives us both a wave before continuing toward the office.