How I Fly (23 page)

Ellen

We’ve worked in silence for a whole hour. Cam, bending over the small glowing fireflies, and me on the far edge of the pathway with my lens always pointed at the lake. It’s practically perfect. So comfortable that I’ve been able to process my endless, whirling thoughts about what just happened with Harrison. I’ve refocused on what I want for my future. I’ve mulled over what’s going to change between me, Cam, Patrick, and Laura when we return home to Brights Grove. Made a plan about how we will all stick by Cam when the gossip hits that he’s returned. I’ve even dialed in how I’m going to finish the final projects for Professor Perry so he’s impressed enough to offer
me
one of the scholarships. I’ve wondered about how my mom’s doing without me, thought about how Nash would be upset with me for taking off the black metal boot without him to supervise, and have even promised myself to put the boot right back on when I get back to my room.

Then I took all of those whirling thoughts and buried them in my work. I’ve somehow used the sounds of the crickets and the frogs nearby, the repetitive sounds of the waves hitting the shore, the faraway music and laughter from the distant bonfire, plus the steady
click-click-click
of Cam taking his own shots nearby, to reach a point of calm and contentment that I’d nearly forgotten I could feel.

I think it’s partly because I’m out of the boot, and for the entire hour I’ve been so balanced and steady on my feet without the crutches to drag around that I feel like I’ve crossed some sort of personal threshold.

I feel so light. So happy. So peaceful.

Like I’m a flying bird and there’s nothing holding me back or stopping me, not even…
myself
. I’ve just flown through my camera lens, way up over the lake, high to circle the moon, and most importantly, it’s taken me back into what it feels like to be me.

I’m so happy to recognize myself that I almost put down my camera and wrap my arms around my own stomach!

Somewhere along the course of all these past months, while getting my legs repaired and becoming Harrison’s girlfriend, I’d lost myself. And even though we’re here at a photography workshop doing what we all love, along the way I wound up photographing what Harrison loved. He was always in my space, looking over my shoulder, making suggestions I’d never want to try—but try them I did, of course. Even when his suggestions messed up my shots more than doing anything that I would call
good
, I would humor him to the point of my personal exhaustion. Like, before heading off to the bonfire.

He’d wanted to do photo editing all afternoon. A suggestion that was fine with me, because we need to have our assignments turned in by next Friday. I also love working ahead, so I agreed to bring my laptop down to his room to work. But then we wound up only working on
his
shots. I gave my suggestions on how he could enhance or crop them to be even stronger—which is always fun for me, and he really appreciated it—but we never got to the part where I could download my shots off his computer onto my laptop. The more I think about it, and now that I’ve had some distance, I wonder if Harrison said all that stuff about being a bad friend because he knew it—our time spent together—was actually all about him.

Being here, in utter silence while taking photos with Cam, I get that I’m doing my thing, while Cam is doing his thing, only we’re doing it together without invading each other’s space. Harrison had this way where he took up all the space and all the attention, and yes, even all the energy in the room. I’m not worried about someone watching or waiting for me like I always was when Harrison was near, either, and nor does Cam make me feel like I’m constantly slowing him down. I feel like I’m his equal, his friend, and I’m newly exhilarated. Inspired.

As I pull my Nikon strap over my neck so I can rest, I realize how much I’ve missed using my own camera. All week I’ve been stuck using Harrison’s heavier camera. His is a gorgeous piece of equipment, to be sure, but it’s one that never felt right to my hands. Mostly because after every shot I took, Harrison would grab it away from me, analyze the shot on the monitor, and then shove it back at me while bossing me to hurry up and take the next one so he could capture this or that just as soon as I was finished.

I just took over one hundred, undisturbed, what I hope will be
good
shots of the light the bonfire was throwing on the shallow waters on the lake, and my hands aren’t tired. Then I captured some reflections of the rising moon, and then because of the awesome telephoto lens—which is as good as Harrison’s—I zoom in on the bonfire itself.

I gasp with excitement as I freeze photo after photo of orange sparks, floating and shining as they trail up in to the night sky. I’m so zoomed in that I don’t see someone adding giant logs onto the fire. When that happens I’m so surprised I shout out, “Wow! Wow! Oh my—cool!” as my finger’s doing another rapid succession of shots. “Cam! There’s just explosion after explosion of embers and sparks flying huge and high! It’s making these awesome silhouettes of our WOA class, and I just took a shot of them looking like pagan moon dancers! Cam! You’ve got to come get some of these!”

He joins me. I’m so engrossed in my own shots I only pause to look at him when he leaps off the edge of the pathway. I won’t follow, because I’ve vowed to be cautious. He’s stretched out flat on his stomach in front of me, taking shots of the scene while lying down, muttering things that I was saying, like, “Wow. Cool. Very cool.”

Envious and curious, I bend down as far as I’m able to try to see what angle he’s capturing with his camera, but I almost topple on to my face. Distracted now, I decide to rest. Once I’m seated, I wind up staring not at the bonfire, but at Cam Campbell.

I can’t help it. Staring at Cam Campbell used to be one of my favorite pastimes. He’s so…perfectly made.

With his back to me, I openly take in the new, even wider width of his shoulders, now flexing as he holds himself up on his elbows to support his camera so it stays out of the sand. I admire how the bonfire in the distance is lighting up the tips of the small bit of hair growth that is part of his new, leaner, more severe look. He was always hot with the longer hair and the way his mom dressed him all preppy cute, but like this…in the beat-up cargo shorts, and the simple faded T-shirt with this very short military haircut that makes him look like…like…

*Mind goes crazy. Pictures Cam climbing a fast-moving above-ground train and leaping off into dark bottomless pits to prove himself! Then pictures Cam in a maze…and running fast. Then Cam in a soldier’s uniform, defeating madmen dictators and exploding whole airplanes with a simple bow and arrow! Pictures Cam pulling out an obsidian stone dagger while inside a trendy nightclub to defeat demons and aliens hiding among us—and he saves a cat!*

I swallow and almost laugh out loud, just when he pauses and looks back at me. He grins so wide that my heart catches, and I’m unable to stop the guilt-from-staring giggle that sneaks out.

“What? Are you laughing at me?”

“No. And yes. I’m just…thinking this scene…you on the sand like that…makes me miss reading. When this summer workshop is over, I’m going to bury myself in books.”

*Reminds self: I only love boys in books. I love only boys in books from faraway worlds. Because loving real boys in this world always hurts.*

“Books? What?” He flips over and jumps to his feet in one fluid move, not once needing to take his hands off his camera, and snaps a few shots of me, still smiling at him like I’m a fool.

I explain, “With you doing that belly crawl, you just reminded me of every dystopian book and/or movie hero I’ve seen since we were in middle school. Of course, you’d have to trade that camera for some sort of weapon. Our hotel would need to be underground, or inside some ember-filled city, and of course you and I would need extra superpowers or the ability to read minds.”

“Or, at the very least, we’d have some sort of save-all-mankind goals going on.”

“Always the goals.” I grin.

He nods. “I l
oved
all of those books.
City of Ember
was best, though. Do you remember how we had to write that paper about it? I went crazy for that story. Best paper I’ve ever written.” He looks back at the giant sparking bonfire in the distance. “It’s kind of true—with this empty stretch of beach in front of us, we could be stuck on any and every movie set ever.”

“Right?”

He nods up at me. “Even you there, with the orange firelight reflecting across your face and the dark, star-backed trees behind you.” He walks toward me, snapping shots with every step, and talking like a movie trailer announcer: “In a world where there’s only fire, sand, and sky, how will these two survive with only fireflies to lead the way?”

I laugh, happy that he gets me, happier that he’s playing along. “Exactly.”

He sits next to me and points at my camera. “Do you mind? I saw something down at the fire that needs—I need a better look at something.” His gaze skates away from me.

“Oh. Sure.” I pull my camera off my neck and hand it to him.

He points the camera toward the people at the bonfire then starts adjusting the lens, then adjusting it more. “I knew I saw…”

Then he utters some unintelligible curses.

“What?” I ask.

He pulls the camera away. “I don’t want to say. For so many reasons.” He hands the camera back to me. “But…” he adds, handing the camera back.

“But maybe I
should
look for myself?”

He shrugs.

I shake my head and place the camera strap over my head. “I already know what you saw. Or…I think I can guess.”

“You do?” He blinks.

“Harrison and I broke up just before the bonfire. With no regrets. No tears. No drama.”

“What? Oh. I’m sorry.” There’s no elation in his voice. Only concern.

“I’m sure he’s locked on to one of the exchange students by now?” I laugh, trailing my fingers into the sand near where I’m sitting.

“Yes.” His voice is still extra calm, almost devoid of emotion, but he sits forward, as if trying to read my face in the darkness. I wonder—hope—wish—that maybe he’s as relieved as I am about the breakup, but I don’t have the courage to ask him.

He adds, “I can’t believe you’re laughing about it.”

“Why? I know Harrison well. Truthfully, he and I were never—it wasn’t like we were—” I force myself to tear my eyes off Cam’s face when I add, “We weren’t soul mates or anything.” I shrug, hating that my stupid voice wavered on that last line. I fill my voice with confidence again as I go on: “We all have huge projects to turn in soon. Because of the scholarship looming, we decided to back off and just be—
stay
—friends. He and I were going through all the things—that all of us—you know—all couples think about.”

He frowns. “What would that be?”

“How having a relationship is too much pressure. How there’s not enough time with all of our goals and with university looming, there’s always how we should just chill out and not get too serious—yeah—all that. Because we all
know
it would suck to risk those friendships on falling in love. Why ruin what’s so good when stress and life just gets in the way? You and I both can at least admit how much all that kind of thing really hurt us. And it hurt us like hell, right?” I watch his expression as carefully as he’s been watching mine.

He nods, and answers quietly, “It did. Hurt like hell.”

“And so this is better—”

“
What
is better?”

“Being friends, of course. It’s dumb to be so young and wrapped up in all this false—
seriousness
that goes with
being in a relationship, right?” I shrug, trying to play it all cool, when he doesn’t protest anything that I’ve said. His silence has torn me up inside. He doesn’t want me back…in any way. He agrees with me. He admitted it hurt like hell. Because my eyes are threatening to fill with tears, I try to look all busy by reaching around my head so I can pull my braid free of the weighted camera strap, but it gets stuck.

At this point I’m now avoiding breathing and looking at Cam’s face, so I see his hands twitch because he’s watching me tug on the strap. I can tell he wants to help me out, but he knows me well enough to wait for me to ask. I turn my head to the side and tug my strap again just in case, but the metal clip that connects to the camera is now completely wound into my hair. “I—do you mind? Helping me?” I finally say, and risk a look back at his face as he moves closer to me. His hands are already on my hair, but I feel his fingers shaking as they brush gently against the back of my neck.

“The thing is caught good.” His breath along the side of my cheek has sent shivers of longing down my spine. He whispers, “Hell, half your hair is tangled in it now. I’m going to have to unhook everything and try to pull it all out from under your hair so I can untangle all of this under some light, okay?”

He pulls harder, and I feel everything constrict around my neck. I nod, wondering if the universe is trying to play a joke on me right now.

“Can you turn your neck to the side and secure the camera?”

“Sure.” It’s my turn to tremble as I turn my neck to the side.