by Brigit Young
She felt nauseated up there, giving a speech. Presenting in class was the worst. In the back of the classroom, people giggled, so she spoke as fast as she could.
“They used to say that photographs captured people’s souls.” She had to go faster, the laughter was getting louder. “But even though that’s obviously not true, people were very superstitious back then. People were scared of it. Since its invention, photography has struggled to be respected, but now it has finally been accepted as an art form. Thankyouverymuch.”
She sat down.
Everyone was still laughing. Possibly it wasn’t at her, but it felt like it was. She recalled Jake saying, You’re so paranoid that other people are judging you … You thought you saw something you didn’t … Maybe he was right.
After English class, Diana Farr, flanked on either side by two of her usual sidekicks, stopped her in the hall.
“Great speech,” Diana said, and the two girls snickered.
“Um, thanks,” Tillie said, keeping her head down.
“So why’d you try and ruin my life?” Diana said next, jolting Tillie into looking up into her eyes.
“Um, what?”
Diana’s arms crossed. Her hip jutted out to one side.
“You told me Joaquin liked me,” Diana said.
“He does,” Tillie maintained.
“He doesn’t!” Diana snapped. “I’ve been waiting for him to ask me out for a month! I’ve turned down Ian and Ahmed and Christian! And then I finally text him last night, saying, ‘What’s the deal? I like you a lot, obviously,’ and he goes, ‘You’re awesome and pretty, but I don’t know how you got that impression. I like someone else.’” Diana grimaced. “Someone else…”
“The pictures made it look like he liked you!” Tillie stammered. “He kept … staring at you!” Maybe he’d just been staring at her like everyone stared at her, Tillie realized. Maybe it was nothing special for him, and maybe, once again, Tillie knew nothing about other people at all.
“Well, you were wrong,” Diana said. She put a hand up as if to shush Tillie, though Tillie hadn’t said anything more. “Stop messing with my life. Just stay away from me.”
“Yeah,” her two sidekicks parroted.
And with that, Diana Farr and her friends strutted off.
“You asked me to mess with your life!” Tillie yelled after them, though they were too far away to hear her.
Tillie took a breath and put her hand to her chest to touch her camera, but it wasn’t there. What a shame. Diana’s perfectly highlighted hair would have made a great subject for a photograph as it swayed down the hall.
Without the constant promotion of Diana Farr, and certainly without her cameras, her life as the Lost and Found would officially be over. Tillie tried to muster up a feeling of loss about this, or indignation, or something, but, to her surprise, she just felt numb. It was a relief to go back to being no one. After everything that had happened, it would be nice to disappear again entirely. Besides, she didn’t have any cameras left, anyway.
“Hey, Lost and Found!” someone said as Tillie walked, head down, toward her locker.
Tillie didn’t answer.
“Hey!” There was a moment’s pause. “Hey!”
Tillie recognized the voice of Tom Wilson, whose love note she’d found. Had it been just a few weeks ago? It felt like a lifetime.
Tillie kept walking, determined to get away from what would surely be one of the last calls for the Lost and Found.
* * *
Tillie had spent the past three weeks, most of April, avoiding Jake and re-creating her previous existence as a middle-school hermit. It helped that her parents had grounded her, which meant she had to come home right after school. They took away her cell phone and gave her Dad’s old pager. “It’s from the days of antiquity,” her dad said. “It’s for emergencies,” her mom insisted. Every time Abby saw her she tried to get Tillie to come to lunch with her, and even asked a couple of times why she hadn’t texted her back, and Tillie told her she was in trouble for getting bad grades in math, so she had to make sure to work on homework every day. One day Abby asked her why she didn’t have her camera anymore, and Tillie said, “Actually, my favorite one broke, so…” and she felt like she might cry, so she turned on her heel and sped off as best she could. This humiliating interaction made her want to escape Abby, and all other human beings, even more.
A couple of times, as she went from her lunch in the math room toward art class, she thought she heard Jake’s voice, and she hid inside the nearest girls’ bathroom until there was no way he could still be around.
Ms. Martinez had spent the last three weeks acting like nothing had happened. She complimented Tillie’s work and smiled at her. She didn’t offer her any winks, it was true, but she also didn’t give her disappointed gazes.
And then, one afternoon, Ms. Martinez announced who she had chosen to be featured in the school art show that year: Deshaun Washington. Matt Ross. Tillie Green.
Deshaun and Matt bumped chests and did a boy-hug. Tillie looked away from Ms. Martinez.
“Congratulations, guys.” Ms. Martinez beamed as the class applauded half-heartedly.
She showed them Deshaun’s clay sculpture of a turtle, Matt’s collage self-portrait, and a photograph of Tillie’s dad. In it, her dad bent over a plate of uneaten mashed potatoes, reading a newspaper, and behind him in the reflection of the kitchen window’s glass was Tillie with her camera, focused directly on him. It was the kind of photo that Tillie thought of as a “trick”—it only looks cool, when really it’s clichéd and has been done a million times. But the lighting in the shot was good, and she had been proud enough of it to turn it in for one of their “free subject” assignments.
“No,” Tillie said.
The class quieted.
“I mean, no thanks,” she amended.
“Oh, Tillie, but it’s an honor! We hang them in the hallway, parents come, and then they’re up for a day or two.”
“No, it’s okay,” Tillie said. “No thanks.”
Ms. Martinez gave her a long stare. Then she raised her voice and said, “Who thinks Tillie’s photo should go in the art show? Come on, guys!” Her forced peppiness reminded Tillie of her mom, and Tillie grimaced.
A couple of unexcited “woo”s could be heard, and other than that it was silent.
“Okay.” Ms. Martinez surrendered, her eyes lingering on Tillie for a moment, and moved on.
* * *
Leaving school and heading toward the bus, Tillie saw a familiar face in the line of cars waiting to pick up kids. Jake’s dad sat there, tapping on his cell phone, looking up every once in a while, probably to see if his son or maybe his girlfriend was among the throngs of people rushing out. After a few minutes, Jake appeared and jumped into the front seat. His dad said something and Jake laughed. Maybe he’d told him one of his classic dad jokes, Tillie thought. Jake opened the window a little bit and hollered something to a group of older kids. The kids laughed, and Jake’s dad laughed, too. For a brief moment, Tillie thought she saw the smile wipe off of Jake’s face and then paste back on again, but she couldn’t be sure. Father and son drove away together, and Tillie shuffled off to the bus.
20
Into the World
Her parents thought grounding Tillie was a real punishment. They hadn’t figured out yet that the “boyfriend” they were so worried about was really a fluke friend. Her mom kept saying things to her like, “You know, if you’d used your time and talents more wisely, maybe you’d have time to spend with your boyfriend.” Jake would have found that really funny.
Tillie spent her days watching lots of TV. The mystery shows her parents watched seemed ridiculous to her now. They always ended with some satisfying, good-over-evil resolution. It was unrealistic. Tillie did her PT exercises like clockwork. She finished all her chores each week, and completed her homework right on time. She pretended to listen when her parents had talks with her about affairs and assured her they would
n’t ever divorce. She just smiled and nodded. She acted like a model kid. A bored-out-of-her-mind, model kid.
On a Saturday, as she put away the dishes from lunch, her dad, working on his laptop at the kitchen table, picked up his phone. After answering, his voice lowered and Tillie turned to see her mom mouth, Who is it? He got up and went to continue the call in the bedroom as her mom followed.
A few minutes later, they came back in together and stood at the kitchen table.
“Hey, honey?” said her mom.
When Tillie turned around she saw they wore serious, we-have-to-talk expressions. What other secrets of hers had they discovered? Did they realize she’d snuck out once? Did they uncover more pictures of themselves on her laptop?
“Honey, Ms. Martinez just called.”
Tillie wiped her hands on her jeans and turned to them, leaning against the sink. “Okay…”
“She told your dad that you’ve been chosen to be in the school art show?”
Tillie sighed. “Oh. That. Yeah, I was, but it’s not a big deal.” She turned back to the sink.
“Sweetheart, come here, okay?” her mom asked, and Tillie begrudgingly came, and they all sat down.
Tillie started playing with a paper napkin on the table, picking it apart into little strips.
“She said you said no,” her dad said in a near-whisper.
“Yeah. It’s just not a great picture.”
“She told your dad you’re really talented.” Her mom reached out across the table. Tillie dropped the napkin and let her mom grab her hand. “That it wasn’t even a question of whether or not you’d be chosen.”
Tillie couldn’t imagine it hadn’t been a question. Not after what had happened. But would Ms. Martinez call her parents and say that if she didn’t mean it?
“She told your dad she’s not supposed to say this,” her mom continued, “but your work is her favorite, no question, and she said we should try to convince you to let your work go in. She said it’s an honor. It’s just three kids in each grade, Tillie.”
Was this Ms. Martinez forgiving her? Was this her peace offering?
“Look, we know she hurt you. And trust me, we don’t approve of her actions in that situation.”
Tillie knew. They’d explained to her that Ms. Martinez and Jake’s dad had done something wrong, but they’d emphasized over and over that “marriage is complicated.”
“But she’s still your teacher,” her mom continued, “and this is still a … a special thing. You can let it be about your accomplishments. Not her…”—her mom paused and inhaled deeply—“mistakes.”
“I’ll think about it,” Tillie said.
Her mom squeezed her hand. “Thanks, sweetie.”
Tillie got up, left the last dishes for later, and went toward her room.
Her dad stopped her in the hallway.
“Tillie,” he said, slowly, as if he was about to impart something very important.
Tillie looked up at him. His eyes fell to their typical resting place at his feet.
“Tillie, she said your art … captures something true.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but, as usual, didn’t.
“Okay, Dad,” Tillie said. “I really will think about it.”
He nodded and went back toward the kitchen.
Tillie sat by her windowsill, watching the occasional passerby and the swooping birds. She could only imagine the murmurs that would fill her parents’ room that afternoon.
She said your art captures something true.
Tillie remembered how Ms. Martinez had said that same thing to her in the car the day she’d driven Tillie to the doctor’s. Art should capture something true, you know? she’d said. And your photos do that.
Tillie could perfectly picture that memory of Ms. Martinez, her mind’s eye’s image of the woman from two months ago who kindly picked her up from the bus stop. Someone who had told her she should feel free to make mistakes on an art project, but who Tillie assumed never made any mistakes herself. Tillie hadn’t truly known her then, and, really, she still didn’t know anything about Ms. Martinez. She knew one day, one part of a story. But she’d never known Ms. Martinez’s reasons, her feelings, her truth. So she could hate the Ms. Martinez that now existed in her head. Or maybe she could just … forgive her, like Ms. Martinez seemed to be forgiving Tillie. She could just let her be a different Ms. Martinez now.
Tillie could also vividly picture herself that day—the girl who’d been in the passenger’s seat. That girl was different, too. Back then, Tillie had been scared of everyone. She’d let her pictures speak for her, but she never truly spoke for herself. She’d simply run errands for other kids, happy for a peek into other lives that seemed more full. But now she had stepped into her own life. She’d stepped into the world, walked through the Illinois night, followed leads to bowling alleys, sung and danced in front of strangers, and confronted a man who had once terrified her.
And so much of that was because of the time she’d spent with Jake.
It was because Jake had seen her. When he looked at her he didn’t only see how she walked. He even seemed to like how she walked, like it made her … herself. And it did. It was a part of her. He didn’t see a weirdo behind a camera. He saw a detective, an artist. And she was those things. She always had been. In some part of herself, she’d known that for a long time.
But Jake had also seen someone he could trust, and she hadn’t been that person. She’d broken that trust.
She had to apologize to Jake. She had to say she was sorry, right away. She’d avoided him, she’d given up on the idea of him, but maybe if Ms. Martinez could still care about Tillie enough to call her parents even with all that had happened and gone unspoken between them, then maybe Jake could still care about her, too, and forgive her, even though she’d hurt him.
Just the thought of it flooded Tillie with relief.
Tillie bounded toward her parents’ room.
“Is everything okay, honey?” her mom asked.
“Yeah,” Tillie said. “I have to go out, though.”
“No,” her mom said. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s just really important.”
“I’m not going to allow that, Miss Tillie.”
“Mom,” she implored. “I have to go talk to Jake. I have to tell him I’m sorry, okay? About everything that happened.”
“Oh,” her mom said, taken aback.
“I need to apologize,” Tillie said.
“I see, honey,” her mom said with a smile. She made a motion with her hands as if scooting Tillie out of the room. “Yes, okay, go. Go.”
“Yes, go,” her dad piped in. “Good,” he added quietly as Tillie put her shoes on.
Her mom got up to grab her purse and car keys. “I’ll drop you off,” she said. “And I’ll pick you up a half hour later, okay?” She held out Tillie’s phone. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way. But you’re still grounded.”
Tillie barely heard her. She was already out the door.
21
The Truth
Jake opened the door to his house. He didn’t seem surprised to see her.
He shut the door behind him, and came out to her on the porch, leaning against the outside of the house.
“Is your mom okay?” Tillie asked, despite what she already knew.
“I guess she will be,” Jake said. He paused and then added, “They’re getting divorced. He’ll probably continue to stay with Ms. Martinez for now. I think.”
Tillie knelt down to his front step to sit. He joined her.
“It’s nice out.” Tillie looked up at the green trees.
“Yeah,” he said.
“I’m sorry…” she began.
But before she’d even finished her words, Jake chimed in. “Don’t be.”
“I didn’t—” she started.
“Why didn’t you call me back?” Jake asked.
“Huh?”
“I called you and texted you a bunch. I mean, n
ot at first, but after, like, a week. I tried to catch you a couple times. I called your name once or twice and you ran into the bathroom,” he said. “Abby said she tried to reach you a lot, too. She asked me about you. She thinks you’re awesome.”
“Really?” Tillie couldn’t quite believe it. “My mom took my phone. And I guess I just … didn’t want to see anyone. Didn’t want to be seen.”
“Well, anyway. You’re here.” Jake had bags under his eyes. Even though from afar she’d watched him laughing with his dad, probably trying to pretend he was okay, she bet he’d done some more crying, too.
“Right after all that happened,” he said, “my dad told me how you came to see him. How you yelled at him and those guys.” Jake shook his head in disbelief. “That’s pretty awesome.”
“I told Jim I got my limp from a mountain lion attack.”
Jake snorted, looking like his old self again for a moment. “Oh my God. You’re serious?”
Tillie nodded.
“Oh, that’s brilliant. Ya know, we need to think of other answers you can give people when they ask. You survived an avalanche! Or you fought off a killer octopus or something. Ha!”
She smiled. “Yeah … Not bad ideas, but I think I need to stick to the truth from now on.”
“Yeah … The truth,” Jake said to no one in particular.
“Well, anyway…” Tillie went on, “I should have told you about your dad right away and I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” She said this quickly so he couldn’t cut her off. She had to say it.
Jake didn’t respond.
“You know, it’s so weird here,” he said after a moment. “My dad comes, picks me up, takes me to lunch. Tells me how great ‘Chrissy’ is.”
“Chrissy?”
“Oh, yeah. Ms. Martinez has a cheerleader name.”
“Wow.”
“And then I come home, and my mom is asking me what he said, and it’s all just … It’s just pretty weird.”
“I’m really sorry,” Tillie said.
Jake paused again, looking up at the sky. “I was so angry at him.” With his elbows resting on his knees, he began softly punching one hand into the other, cracking his knuckles. “That first time I saw him, he sat me down. Told me how he’d met ‘Chrissy’ at our stupid parent-teacher conferences last spring when I first took art, how they became ‘best friends.’ Told me how he couldn’t help what he felt with her … You should have seen me, Tillie. He told me he could take it, that he could take anything I had to say to him and that he’d deserve it. At first, I said to him, ‘I thought I was your best friend,’ which seemed to hurt him. Which was good. And then, I just told him I didn’t understand why he would go off and disappear like that, for any reason. Why he wouldn’t tell me where he was or what was going on. He said…” Jake bit his lip. “He said he couldn’t face me.”