How I Fly (25 page)

Ellen

I know I’m dreaming, because Cam’s sitting by my side watching over me like he’s some sort of angel. His beautiful, silver-gray gaze has lost the mask I’ve grown used to seeing. It’s floating over me like we just kissed and he’s longing for more kisses. And I wonder if we really did just kiss. Is that why I think I can fly right now?

I smile, wishing this dream would last forever, and he smiles back.

Then Laura’s there—calling out from far away. I realize I’m really overheated and my legs are cramping. I hear Professor Perry’s voice say, “It’s working. Finally! Let’s get on with it already.”

Disoriented, I gasp and pull my head off my arms and look at the crowd around me. Harrison’s making this stressed and annoyed face, like he can’t believe I’d fall asleep at a time like this. He’s actually avoiding connecting his eyes to mine, which is fine with me. I sit up, flex my legs, and quickly check to make sure there’s no drool on my chin. I feel my cheeks burning as Cam slides nearer and says, “Welcome back. It’s show-time. You okay from sitting this long?”

“For now.” I nod, grateful he can’t hear the fluttering in my heart or see the images from my dream that were about me and him, flying and kissing. (And that are still floating inside my head.)

“Wonder who’s up first?” Laura mutters.

Professor Perry doesn’t make us wait, and quickly steps up, holding a microphone.

“I apologize for all of this. Due to the delays, we are going to have to run this program backwards. I usually hold off revealing the three scholarship finalists and their work until the end, but because the administration has other business to attend to and the visiting middle school students are probably getting hungry, we’re going to go ahead and reveal who we’re going to interview as our top three choices!”

The crowd in the seats behind us applauds, and everyone around us starts whispering. My heart spins as fast as my head with my sudden apprehension. Laura grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. I squeeze back.

*Thinks: Me. Pick me. Pick me! Please pick me!*

“I’d also like to point out that these students are going to be showcased in no particular order. I will then pass out ballots and you will simply number them. One being your favorite, and three being your least favorite. Also, for the students in the room—please know this was an impossible task to decide the winners this year. Maybe it’s because you all have had Instagram for years and that some of you were probably born holding cell phone cameras in your hands.” The class laughs and erupts into more whispers as he continues, “But I’ve honestly never seen such good work submitted before. Now, please know that winning doesn’t guarantee you a spot in this university program. You still need to have good grades, great test scores, and be in a good standing with me, with this program, and with your home high schools in order to arrive here as a freshman. Which is
why
—”

My heart starts thumping heavily against my chest with nervousness and grows heavy with worry as Professor Perry holds up his hands to quiet the room.

*Wonders: Is he talking about Cam? Is Cam in good standing after being arrested? Was he ever actually suspended after my accident, or will he be able to fix that when we go home?*

“Which is
why
we have additional runners-up selected for a waiting list as well. As good as the work is, we have some students here who’ve pushed the envelope of what we normally would or would not accept in a student here. So, again, let me be clear if I haven’t been already—being featured here means
the process
of winning one of the coveted full rides to this esteemed institution has only just begun.”

I quickly glance at Cam, because I have the urge to grab his hand how Laura’s grabbed mine and give it a squeeze. But Cam’s folded his arms against his chest. His eyes are shuttered and distant, and I get that he’s folded himself against his heart because he also thinks some of that speech is about him.

“Now.” The professor smiles. “All of the students in front of me have just panicked. They’re wondering if my little speech was about them.” Professor Perry smiles wider, and the audience laughs—but from this part of the room, you could hear a pin drop. Professor Perry is thoroughly enjoying being the center of our agony. “But I have to say to my students that this is the same speech we give each and every year, and it’s mostly made for legal reasons.”

He goes on, and I want to breathe a full breath of relief, but with Cam’s face so locked up and pale, I can’t.

“There will also be additional merit- and need-based scholarships that will be awarded to many of you. Next year, you students will be seniors. Should any of our runners-up decide the Western Ontario Arts School is their top choice as they go through the application process, all who qualify will be given a direct letter of recommendation from me to submit along with your applications. You are truly an exceptional group of students. I wish I could take all of you. On the flip side, for those of you who would like to complain about not being in the final three and you would like to know why, I’m available this evening for appointments. Don’t expect me to sugarcoat anything for you. This is a university class within a university setting, so please know I can’t stomach any crying, nor will I allow anyone’s mom or dad to call me about the decisions. Got it?” His eyes travel over each and every one of us, and end on me.

We all nod as he signals someone to get the lights while he flips on the projector.

“Okay, then. Our first student we’re going to feature is…
Camden Campbell.
” The room bursts out in applause, and before any of us can do anything but trade happy smiles, Professor Perry brings up a blank, black screen and clears his throat. “Silence, please. We will now show three of what I thought were Mr. Campbell’s best shots.”

With the room completely silent and dark, I decide I don’t care anymore. I pull away from Laura and reach out to grab Cam’s hand and squeeze it hard. He presses his thumb into my palm—almost like he’s telling me he can’t quite believe he was chosen.

Professor Perry says, “Before we look at Cam’s images, I would like to point out that this student—like most of you here—can be seen as having natural talent. Cam’s teacher back home informed me that Cam is in fact new to photography. I was amazed to discover this young man had only taken one semester of formal photography classes before submitting his work to the WOA competition. Cam’s self-taught ability to photograph his chosen subjects while also capturing light in ways that astound my imagination have me, as a professor, really looking forward to what he is hopefully going to teach me someday. Excellent, excellent work, Mr. Camden.”

“Thank you, sir.” Cam grips my hand even tighter.

The crowd erupts again into applause. Over the noise Harrison makes a strangled sound, and when I meet his gaze, I see him pulling a face. He then leans toward my ear and says, “Professor Perry can’t be
serious
!”

I shake my head and wonder at the malice crossing his face.

“Harrison!” I whisper extra low. “Really? Shut up.”

Harrison doesn’t answer. Instead, he rolls his eyes and stares up at the monitor like I suddenly don’t exist. I figure he’s only jealous because maybe he’s seen me holding hands with Cam. Feeling guilty—even though I know I shouldn’t feel guilty—I try to pull my hand away, but Cam holds on to mine hard. I don’t fight him on it, because I’ve felt it trembling. He must need a friend right now.

Professor Perry clicks his laptop, and an image that’s half-dark and half-light fills the screen. The entire room almost gasps with wonder. We’re looking at grass so zoomed in it appears surreal. It’s lit by only the moon and the little glowing bellies of the fireflies as they fly up into the night sky away from it. They’re curving into a very cool arc, and the way he’s shot it, or overexposed it during his photo editing—because I really can’t tell—makes me unable to see the difference between the insects flying up and the billions of stars in the sky. It looks the Milky Way. Only, the Milky Way is not at all what we are all used to seeing. It’s what we as humans hope to see and speculate over—it’s the Milky Way in space, and come to life.

“I know we would all like to look at this one forever, but I’m going to move us along.” The professor clicks to the second photo. This time we’re staring at a little frog. Or, should I say, a close-up of a frog’s eye. Only, it’s not an eye—not how Cam’s shot it. We can see the shape of what is obviously a frog, perched on a rock. But his eye looks like a black, shiny planet, reflecting the night sky. But because Cam used a fish-eye lens, it’s really difficult to tell if the sky is reflecting on the frog, or if the frog is reflecting on the sky—and it’s so cool that I’m grinning.

“Wow. Wow!” Laura’s bouncing up and down. “These are amazing!”

“Best ever,” I whisper, leaning into Cam’s ear.

Professor Perry says, “For his final shot, and though we didn’t do any time-lapse work with this summer session class, it seems Camden Campbell’s well on his way to mastering the skill himself.” He clicks to the next image. Once again, everyone breathes in like they can hardly believe what they’re seeing. I recognize the lake in the background, because the moon is high in the sky and casting a reflection over the water and lighting up the sand—but what’s amazing is how the little wooded spot where we took the photos has been transformed into a fairyland. There are green ribbons of light floating through the entire photo, and once you see those you get that they’re firefly trails, captured light—only, the bug that made each trail of light is long gone. The trees and the grass look like someone’s strung them with thousands of micro holiday lights—only they’re not lights coming off each bug. Like the light trails, he’s captured points of lights where the fireflies had once landed, then flew away.

The entire photo is lit up.

I look over at him in wonder.

“How long did that take?” I whisper.

“All night. But it was easy. No way I could sleep after you left me there.”

His comment and the pressure of his hand make my heart thrum inside my chest.

Professor Perry has the lights turned back on. “Unlike Cam Campbell’s work, the next scholarship student winner doesn’t ever seem to photograph nature.”

My heart sinks. He’s not talking about me. I couldn’t imagine leaving nature out of my photos. The professor announces, “This student is one who doesn’t talk much, either. Congratulations to Sydney Stiles, who’s here all the way from the province of Alberta. She has been quietly wowing me with her shots since day one.”

The room erupts with applause and more congratulations. I also applaud, but I’ve caught Harrison’s eye. I wonder if his pale, panicked face reflects mine? If Sydney Stiles won, then that means there’s only one scholarship spot remaining. Confidence and hard work aside, because he and I both have tons of that, as does every student in this room—it means, statistically, our chances don’t look very good right now.

The lights fade, and I try to be happy for Sydney as the professor describes her talents. “Sydney’s work features photographs that are usually close-ups of faces. She captures expressions, freezes emotions, and I’ve actually laughed out loud and almost cried while looking at her work.”

The first shot is a close-up of an entire family stuffed too tightly on the bench outside the Grand Bend ice cream shop that we all recognize, because we all stopped there numerous times last week. Sydney’s captured so many things with this one shot I can’t even be jealous or sad that she won, because it’s just—
perfection.

There’s a young mom, her makeup smudged, her cheeks completely sunburned, so she appears younger than she probably is. She looks very happy to be sitting down and holding a large bowl of what appears to be a hot fudge sundae. Her expression of sheer excitement about her bowl of ice cream that’s crossing her apple-cheeked face matches
exactly
the excitement on her two daughters’ faces. The three share the same ice-blue eye color and wispy ginger-blond hair. It’s catching the light and blowing off their faces. One little girl, about six years old, has the spoon from her ice cream bowl already in her mouth. Her eyes have gone up to the sky and are wide with pleasure from whatever she’s tasting. The second daughter, a little bit older, was captured the cherry in one hand, with her mouth open and about to chomp off the top of her whipped cream. And although they’re all doing something different, they are mirror images of each other.

The father of the family is what grabs you the most, though. He’s holding a simple cone, one scoop of vanilla. Only, his cone is completely forgotten because there are drips melting off of it. It’s like he hardly knows he’s holding it. He doesn’t match them at all. His hair is dark, as are his eyes, and when you look at the whole shot, it’s his look of love and sheer happiness—or is it pride that’s caught in his expression? He doesn’t care about his ice cream. His eyes are only for his wife, for his daughters, and how he only adores his little sunburned family.

The entire room stares in silence for a long moment at the photo, until Professor Perry interrupts us with, “Captivating. Isn’t it? Well, look at her next.” He clicks his computer, and the giant screen lights up with a zoomed-in shot of a little dog, standing paws pressed up on window glass. A few people laugh and say, “Aww.” My heart constricts with the emotion found in this simple shot. It’s obviously a beach cottage, because in the window’s reflection we see the lake and the sand and blurred people. The dog’s expression is so intense and desperate that you can almost hear him pleading for his people to come back for him.