Em and Em

by Budzinski, Linda

  She and most everyone else had arrived at Molly’s at ten o’clock, right after the football game. The first person she saw when she walked through the door was Zach Reagan. Zach was shy, the school’s all-star pitcher, and he could carve a wave like no one else. She’d been crushing on him forever, so she about died when he handed her the first Jell-O shot of the night.

  She downed it without ever taking her eyes off his. It was cool and sweet and burned her throat just a teeny bit on the way down. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m Emily. We have lunch together. I mean, the same period. Not that we sit together or anything.”

  Zach gave her an odd look, and Emily felt her face grow red. She turned, fake-waved to someone across the room, and escaped. Total flirting fail.

  She spotted Jimmy and Brad standing in a corner. They both still wore their eye black—as if they’d needed it for a night game. She and Jimmy sat next to each other in geometry. He flirted with her sometimes, though she couldn’t tell whether it was because he liked her or because he wanted to cheat off her homework. Jimmy had muscles on top of muscles, a hot car, and a never-ending stream of girls drooling after him. Emily glanced back. Zach was still watching her. Oh, man. She had to talk to someone. She took a deep breath and walked up to Jimmy and Brad.

  “Hey, guys. Good game.” They’d lost, twenty-eight to three.

  Brad scowled, but Jimmy gave her a huge smile. “Hey, Em. Thanks.” He turned to Brad. “This chick really knows her angles. Isosceles triangles and trapezoids and all that stuff.” He was slurring his words. “But you know what I like most about her?” He leaned toward Brad and whispered loud enough so Emily could hear. “I like her curves.”

  Emily blushed and laughed. She glanced back toward where Zach had been standing. He was gone, probably hooking up with someone much less dorky than her.

  “Hey, where’s your drink?” Jimmy asked. He shouted to no one in particular. “Get this girl some Jell-O shots!”

  Things started to blur after that. There was another shot, a game of poker, which Emily lost, a game of I Never, which she won by a landslide, and finally the hot tub. Emily had borrowed one of Molly’s bikinis, and she remembered constantly having to tug at the bra because her chest was smaller than Molly’s.

  That was it. She didn’t remember getting out of the hot tub, Jimmy and Brad leaving, crawling into bed, none of that. And she certainly didn’t remember anyone shooting videos.

  She had just resigned herself to calling Jimmy and asking him what he was talking about when her phone rang. It was him.

  “What video?”

  “Well, good morning, Miss Sunshine,” he said. “You know what video. You were waving at the camera.”

  The alarm in Emily’s head returned, louder. Much louder. “I swear, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Jimmy laughed. “It’s on the way.” He hung up.

  A few minutes later, Emily’s phone buzzed. She checked her text, and there it was—a three-second GIF of her in the hot tub with the entire offensive line. She was topless, dangling Molly’s bikini bra in the air and, as Jimmy had said, smiling and waving at the camera. The GIF played over and over and over, until at last Emily threw her phone across the room. She ran into Molly’s bathroom and puked.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Clutching her portfolio, Ember wound through a crowded maze of desks, computers, and newspaper stacks toward a cubicle in the back of Room 221, home of the Bruins Bulletin. A sign taped to the side of the cubicle read, “Editor in Chief: Charles Moore.”

  She paused and cleared her throat. “Hello?”

  No answer.

  “Hello? I’m here for the interview?”

  A rustling noise from behind made her jump. Ember turned to face a guy who was slightly taller than her. He had a dark mop of hair poking out at interesting angles, a lightly stubbled chin, and intense brown eyes framed by thick-rimmed glasses.

  “Hello. I’m Charles.” His voice was deep and warm. He held out his hand, and she nearly dropped her portfolio as she reached out to shake it. “Sorry. Let me take that for you.” He set her portfolio on the nearest desk and gave an appreciative nod. “Old school.”

  Ember’s face grew warm. “I know. It’s just … photos can look so different in print.” She unzipped her backpack and pulled out a jump drive. “I brought this, too, though. So you can scroll through them on the screen if it’s easier.”

  But Charles had already opened her portfolio and was bent over it. He didn’t say a word, merely nodded as he examined each shot.

  Ember was proud of her photos and loved sharing them, but Charles’s intensity as he pored over them made her feel self-conscious. She’d weeded out the ones that showed the name of her old school or too much of her hometown, but still, these were her closest connection to her past, to everything she’d left behind.

  She tried to read his expression. Did he like them? Hate them? His face revealed nothing.

  “So, do you go by Charlie? Chuck? Chaz?”

  “No.” He shook his head, never taking his eyes from the photos. “It’s Charles.” He said it just like that. As though it were the most natural thing in the world for a teenage boy living in the United States of America to call himself Charles.

  “Oh. Well, I’m Ember. Or Em. Either one.”

  Charles straightened. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. Please sit.” He pointed to a nearby desk and sat down across from her.

  It wasn’t until Ember sank into the chair that she realized how badly her knees had been shaking. She took a deep breath. “I realize you’re already almost a month into the school year, but if there’s any way at all I could—”

  “We need a photographer.”

  “You do?”

  Charles nodded. “We have one, and she’s excellent, but she can’t shoot the football games. We need somebody to work the games.”

  Ember forced a smile. Football? Not exactly what she’d had in mind. She pointed to a Bulletin on the desk beside her. “So this other photographer. She took that picture of the janitor?”

  “Yep. Brilliant angle, isn’t it? And look at this shot from last week.” Charles leafed through a stack of papers on a nearby rack and pulled one out. Its cover had a huge close-up of a volcano erupting. It wasn’t a real volcano, of course. It was someone’s science project, but the lighting in the photo made it appear like something straight out of Hawaii.

  So M.L. Martin was a she, and the janitor shot was no fluke.

  Staring at the volcano, Ember felt as though her head might explode. This interview wasn’t going at all the way she’d imagined. Her biggest fear had been tripping over a detail about her “past.” She hadn’t even considered that the Bulletin might have someone on staff as good as—maybe even better than—her. Someone who could make the banal so … beautiful. “School repairs and science fairs. Amazing.”

  Charles’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing, it’s just … I’m impressed.”

  “Right.” He stood. “I realize you probably had more interesting stories than broken light fixtures where you came from, but just because we don’t have stabbings and drug busts every week doesn’t mean we don’t put out a solid paper.”

  Ember stared down at her hands. She’d given the wrong impression. Sort of. Just this morning, she’d been thinking about how lame the paper would be, but now, seeing these amazing photos and listening to Charles, she wanted to take it all back. Still, he had no right to assume anything about where she came from, even if she didn’t really come from there. She met his gaze. “The metal detectors cut way down on the stabbings, you know.”

  Now it was his turn to appear uncomfortable. “I wasn’t … I didn’t mean to—”

  Ember sighed and stood to face him. “Forget it. You need someone to shoot the games? I can do that. Just tell me when and where.”

  She didn’t need to be friends with Charles. She didn’t even need to get along with him. In fact, the last thing sh
e needed was this oddly cute boy in her life to complicate things.

  Charles walked over to a huge calendar of the school year hanging on the wall. “I know it’s short notice, but can you start tonight?”

  Ember hesitated. She almost felt as though she’d be cheating on Zach if she didn’t spend her Friday night stalking him. But that was ridiculous, right? Plus, she couldn’t very well turn down her first assignment. “Sure. No problem.”

  Charles disappeared into his cubicle and returned with a press pass. “This will give you full field access.”

  “Awesome.” Full field access. Allowing her to stand on the sidelines right alongside the players—Midwestern versions of Jimmy and Brad. Up close and personal.

  “Something wrong?” Charles asked.

  “No. Not at all.” Ember took a deep breath. She was being a brat. She’d wanted a spot on the paper, and he was giving her one. She should be grateful. “I’ve got this. Thanks.”

  She reached for her portfolio, but Charles stopped her. “Who is this?” He pointed to a photo of Zach on the mound. She’d shot it during one of his practices. She loved the way his arm extended in one direction and his leg in the other as he released the ball, creating an odd combination of tension and balance. And, of course, there were his muscles. His beautiful, tanned muscles.

  Ember could feel Charles’s eyes on her as he waited for her answer. “He’s a friend from back home.” Her voice cracked as she said it, but Charles let it go.

  “It’s a great shot.”

  “Thanks.” Ember closed the portfolio and headed toward the door.

  “You know, it’s funny,” Charles called after her, and she stopped and turned. “Your friend is wearing a Mets jersey in that photo. I’d always heard Philly fans were so loyal.”

  Ember forced a laugh. “Yeah, well, he always was a rebel.” She gave an awkward wave and shot out of the classroom, down the hallway, and out the front door. She didn’t stop to breathe until she reached her mom’s waiting car.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” her mom asked. “How did the interview go?”

  “Fine. It went fine. Great, in fact.” Ember gave her mom what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

  It was true. She was the Bruins Bulletin’s newest photographer. And Charles’s comment about Zach’s jersey was merely an observation. No way did he suspect anything. He couldn’t possibly.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Where had all these people come from? Ember scanned the stands. The entire county, not to mention all of Ewing, had to be here. Now she understood the five pages of coverage in the school paper. And also how much trust Charles had placed in her with this assignment.

  She shivered and zipped up her jacket. It was a chilly night for September, and an angry wind whipped around the field. She’d much rather be home in her warm bedroom, or better yet, back in Jersey in Zach’s arms.

  A cannon blast heralded the Bruins’ arrival onto the field. All forty-two of them charged past, a herd of two-legged beasts shouting and grunting and slapping each other’s backsides. Ember ducked into the shadows of the bleachers and stroked the rim of her camera lens, feeling the rough plastic ridges against her fingertips. She could do this.

  Her camera. It felt so natural draped around her neck. It was a part of her, like another limb, or more accurately, another eye. It was as though the simple act of carrying it somehow brought the world into sharper focus. She hadn’t taken a photo in nearly three weeks, since before all the trouble, and she hadn’t realized until now how much she’d missed it.

  Once the stampede ended, she ventured back out onto the sidelines and searched the stands for her mom and Tricia. They’d insisted on coming, and though Ember had protested, in a way she was glad they were here. A waving motion caught her attention, and she recognized her mom’s slim figure and long dark hair. Tricia, almost as tall as her mom now, stood beside her, smiling down at Ember but apparently too cool to wave. Ember grinned and stuck out her tongue.

  “Nice lens.” A Bruins player appeared beside her.

  Ember started, biting her tongue. “Ouch!”

  “Sorry. Are you okay?” His voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t make out his face under the helmet. He reached toward her, but Ember shrunk back.

  “I’m fine.”

  The player took off his helmet. Ember blinked. “Charles?” He wasn’t wearing his glasses. She wasn’t sure whether he looked better with or without them, and she had a sudden vision of Clark Kent transforming himself from nerdy reporter into a caped football superhero. “You? Play football?”

  “Yes. Why is that so hard to believe?” He looked down at the ground. “I’m the place kicker.”

  Crap. For the second time today Charles thought she was dissing him. It wasn’t that she couldn’t imagine him playing, it was just … seriously? Did every male above the age of seven here have to suit up? “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you in uniform, that’s all. You should have told me you were on the team.”

  Charles shrugged. “Well, now you know.”

  Yes, she did. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. They stood facing each other awkwardly for a moment. “Well. Good luck tonight,” Ember said finally.

  “Thanks. You too.” Charles pointed toward her camera. “Make sure you get my good side.”

  Ember laughed and watched his retreating figure, allowing herself to wonder for just a moment whether that might count as his good side.

  ***

  Turned out, football was a lot harder to shoot than baseball. Ember could never be sure which way everyone was going to run, and most of the time the guy with the ball was covered up by a bunch of other guys. What if she shot the entire game and came away with nothing? By halftime she’d started to panic.

  “Ember! You’re here!” Claire ran up to her and gave her a hug.

  It was an awkward sort of hug, because of the camera, but Ember couldn’t help but smile. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped her mom was watching. Look, Ma, I’m making friends! Girl friends! “I’m on assignment,” she said, pointing to the camera and the press pass around her neck.

  “On assignment? Like, for the Bulletin?”

  “Yeah. I’m their newest photographer.”

  “Ahhh.” Claire gave her a funny look.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. It’s just … never mind. Congratulations. And good luck.” Claire turned to walk away and then pivoted back around. “By the way, there’s a party afterward. Want to come?”

  Ember paused. Back home, parties meant drama and trauma. But it felt good to be invited, and maybe things would be different here. “I’ll think about it. Catch up with me after the game.”

  Shooting the second half was easier. Ember started to get the hang of the action and the adjustments she needed to make for the crappy stadium lighting. Toward the end of the fourth quarter, the Bruins took the ball down the field to the six-yard line. A touchdown would almost guarantee a win. Ember crouched at the edge of the end zone and prepared to capture the big moment. She’d noticed that the team ran most of its plays toward the left side of the field, so that was where she stationed herself. Please, please, let them come this way.

  Behind her, the crowd chanted, “Bru-ins! Bru-ins! Bru-ins!” Across the field, the school mascot, a kid wearing a huge, roaring bear head, was jumping up and down like crazy. If she was lucky, maybe she could catch him mid-jump in the background.

  As the teams lined up for the play, Ember glanced toward the bench. Charles stood there, holding his helmet against his right hip and shouting to his teammates. Just a few feet beyond him, Claire waved her pompoms and performed impossibly high kicks. The crowd’s roar intensified.

  Ember shook her head. All this over a stupid game.

  The play unfolded in slow motion. The quarterback dropped back and turned toward his left, just as she’d predicted. He passed to a receiver running straight toward her. Sweet.

  Click. Click. Clic
k. His form grew larger and larger with each shot. It was perfect. Until it wasn’t. He scored, but he didn’t stop. The play morphed from slow motion to warp speed as he barreled on. What the … Ember scrambled to get out of his way, but her feet tangled beneath her. She tripped. Landed hard. Her camera. She covered it with both hands. Please don’t break the camera.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “She’s coming to.” The man’s voice sounded far away. “Give her some space, boys. Back up!”

  What had happened? The last thing Ember remembered, she was shooting Claire’s backflip dismount from the pyramid at halftime, and now here she was lying flat on her back, head pounding. She reached up to rub her forehead, and her hand came away with blood on it. “Holy …” She tried to sit up, but the man stopped her. He had a shaved head and kind eyes. She recognized him as the head coach.

  “You took a spill. You’ll be all right.” He held up his hand. “How many fingers?”

  Ember squinted. Took a spill? How? In front of the whole freaking stadium? She closed her eyes, trying to remember.

  “Stay with me.” The coach tapped her cheek. “I don’t want you to fall asleep, understand? How many fingers?”

  “Two.”

  “Good. What’s your name?”

  “Emily Slov—”

  “Ember! Ember O’Malley!” Her mother’s panicked voice cut her off.

  “Mom?” Ember lifted her head to find her mother pushing through the crowd of players.

  “Her name is Ember O’Malley.”

  The coach gave her mom a tense smile. “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m asking her. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

  Her mom knelt down beside her. “Oh, Ember, you poor thing.” Taking a packet of tissues from her purse, she began dabbing at the blood on her forehead.