Candid (True Images Series)

by Michelle Pennington

  “Uh, well….”

  I didn’t wait for him to say more before I practically tossed it at him and hurried back to the field. I got set up again just in time to catch a great shot of an amazing interception that put Haskins in possession at their own 30 yard line. Within a few plays, they made a touchdown, and I’d been lucky enough to be in the perfect position to get a great shot of the running back as he crossed the goal line with a defender in hot pursuit.

  I stepped back and relaxed as Haskins kicked off again. I was just regretting the loss of my dinner when I heard someone right behind me say, “Hey, do you want your hot dog back?”

  Spinning around, I saw the new guy holding my hot dog and bottle of water over the fence. I couldn’t believe he’d followed me. “Uh, yeah, thanks. I think I have time to eat it now.”

  “Great. I don’t really like mustard.”

  He handed it to me over the fence and I asked, “Why didn’t you just throw it away?” Then, knowing I needed to hurry and eat it, I took a bite.

  “Well, I could tell you really wanted it. You must have been hungry.”

  I swallowed and tried to decide if he was making fun of me. His expression showed only friendly interest, however, so I relaxed. “I was starving. Maybe I won’t faint on the sidelines now.”

  He laughed and I was spellbound by the deep masculine tones that danced over me like a symphony. It was the greatest sound I’d ever heard. Realizing that I was grinning back at him and probably looking like an idiot, I took another bite.

  “My name’s Lee Franklin. I just moved here a few days ago.”

  After awkwardly finishing my bite, I said, “Yeah I know. I mean, I knew you just moved here, not your name.”

  We looked at each other silently for a moment before he prompted, “So what’s your name?”

  Wanting to kick myself, I told him, “Sienna.” Then remembering that I had a last name, I added, “Whitfield.”

  “Sienna? That’s a cool name. Are you on the school paper or yearbook staff or something?”

  I glanced at my camera, staring at it for a second before I remembered what it was. “Oh, yeah. Both. I don’t do much writing though. Mostly I just cover the photography.”

  “It looks like a hard job. Well, I’d better let you get back to it. I didn’t mean to distract you for so long. I’ll see you on Monday though?”

  “Yeah. Definitely.”

  As he left, I turned back to the field and stared at the game without watching it. It was like he’d put my attention in his back pocket and walked away with it.

  Since I wasn’t one of the “pretty people” who would be privileged enough to hang out with him at school, I doubted that he would notice me again. But still, I’d had a moment with him.

  Marisol was going to have a cow when I told her. I laughed out loud at the thought. Thankfully, no one was close enough to hear me. I’d embarrassed myself enough tonight.

  I took the last bite of my hotdog. How had I not noticed how cold it was until now? I chugged my water and went to toss my bottle and hotdog carton over the fence into a trash can. Since I was facing the bleachers, I couldn’t help looking around for Lee. I easily found him climbing up to join a large group of students near the top. I couldn’t be sure, but as he sat down, he seemed to look around until his eyes settled on me. But he probably just felt me staring at him.

  And why was I staring at him anyway? I never acted this way over a cute guy. Feeling like a dork, I hurried back to the field and got to work.

  Who knew a guy could cause so many problems? Forget about that stupid gate. Somebody should have warned me about him.

  Chapter 2

  I got out of bed earlier than usual on Saturday. Even if I’d wanted to sleep in, I couldn’t have while knowing that the paper was waiting for me downstairs. The editor of the local paper had called me after the game last night, practically begging me for a few photos from the game because his photographer hadn’t shown up. After I’d emailed him a few pictures, including one of the shots of Tyson Burkett that I’d taken right before the game, he’d called me back immediately.

  “You took these?”

  “Yeah, I did. Why?”

  “Because these are every bit as good as the ones my professional photographers submit. And this one of the quarterback is amazing. It’s going full color on the front page of the sports section.”

  “Oh my gosh! That’s awesome. Thanks.”

  “I think you have this turned around, miss. I’m thanking you. If there’s one thing you don’t screw up in this town, it’s sports coverage. We don’t usually pay for photos outside of our contracted staff, but I’m making an exception for these. It won’t be much, but something. Maybe we can set you up with a contract for any photographs we request in the future. Will your parents mind if you do a little free-lance photography work for the paper?”

  I almost squealed into the phone I was so excited. Calming my voice, I answered, “No, my mom won’t care. I already get some commissions from friends and Foster’s Photos. You see, I work there and…”

  “That’s great. Look, I have to go, but do you have a website or a blog or anything that you’d like me to put under your name in the paper? I feel bad I won’t be able to pay you much, so maybe I can make it up to you with some free publicity.”

  “I do. I’ll email you the link. Which reminds me, can I post the picture of Tyson on my blog if I sell it to you?”

  “I’ll tell you what - put that it’s been featured in the Haskins Gazette, and I don’t care where you post it.”

  “Deal.” I hadn’t had any problem agreeing to that. I mean, I was super proud that my picture was in the paper. I wanted the world to know.

  My mom had been working in her art studio when I’d gotten home last night and her “Do Not Disturb Except in an Emergency” sign had been on the door. She must have been up late because there was no sign of her this morning. I was a little sad not to share this moment with her, but not sad enough to wait.

  I ran out to the end of the driveway in my pj’s and picked up the paper. I was so excited to see my photos in print that I pulled off the dew covered plastic bag that protected the paper and opened it right there in the driveway.

  When I saw my picture of Tyson’s face under the headline of “Haskin’s Golden Boy” I nearly came unglued with excitement. Because of the lighting, he literally looked golden in the photo, and since the school colors were burgundy and gold, it couldn’t have been more perfect. And it was all possible because of my photo!

  Remembering to look for my name at last, I found it under the photo. “Picture courtesy of Sienna Whitfield.” Then my blog address was listed next to it.

  It was too awesome for words. I held the beginning of a dream in my hands, and I’d never expected it to come so soon. Excitement bubbled up inside me until I couldn’t help clutching the paper to my chest and spinning around. I slipped in the dew covered grass and fell, but it didn’t dampen my joy any.

  As I got up and tried to brush off the clinging wet grass that now covered my arms and pajama pants, I wondered if anybody had seen. Then I realized I didn’t care if the whole neighborhood had seen. Soon they would all be reading their papers and seeing my photographs, and that made everything perfect.

  I hurried across the slippery front lawn and pounded up the sun warmed steps to the porch. Letting the screen door slam behind me, I ran into my mom’s room and jumped on top of her. She let out a surprised cry, muffled by the blanket over her head, and tried to roll me off of her. I was bigger than she was though, so she finally gave up.

  “Get off of me, crazy!”

  I laughed and rolled to the side before pushing my wet, grassy feet under the warmth of her covers and pressing them against her bare leg. She screamed again and jerked her leg away from me, but she was finally awake now.

  She sat up and pushed her tangled mass of curly brown hair away from her eyes to glare at me. “Sienna, what in the world are you doing? Do you know what t
ime I got to bed last night?”

  I didn’t bother to answer. I held the paper out to her, the page folded so that she would see my photograph. “Can you believe it?”

  “What? That Tyson Burkett is in the paper?”

  “No, mom. Look here,” I said, pointing to my name under the photograph.

  “Picture courtesy of…. Sienna! This is your picture? How?”

  “The paper called me last night and asked if I had any. The editor really liked this one and he says he might want to set me up with a contract.”

  “Really? I’m impressed. Of course, you’ll have to wait till you turn eighteen in a couple months, but that’s fantastic, honey.”

  I lay starring up at the ceiling, my gaze unfocused as I imagined the glories of my future career as a photojournalist. “It’s the first step, mom.”

  She reached over and ruffled my hair. “No, the first step was when you swiped my Laundromat money to buy that old camera at the neighbors’ yard sale.”

  “Oh, yeah. You were pretty mad, huh?”

  “Well, it wasn’t fun washing clothes in the sink for a month.”

  “Like you never swiped the Laundromat money to buy paint or gesso or something. We always had clothes hanging up around the house to dry back then.”

  “Do I need to remind you how we finally managed to afford our own washer and dryer? By selling my paintings, remember?”

  “Yeah, sure I do. You traded two of them at the junk shop downtown for a used set that was rusted all over the top where the paint had flaked off.”

  “But they worked!”

  “Yes they did,” I agreed to pacify her. I decided not to remind her about symphony of knocking, shaking, and humming that they produced every time we ran them. You could hear it from the street. “Are you going to cook breakfast anytime soon?” I asked.

  “No. Why do you think I taught you to open a box of cereal?” She flopped back down on her pillows and pulled her blanket up over her shoulders.

  Knowing she wouldn’t get up again for hours, I got up to leave. Before I left though, I grabbed the pillow I’d been laying on and slammed it down on her head. Her only reaction was to wrap her arm around it and mumble, “Thanks.”

  Laughing, I went to get my breakfast. Several minutes later, I was eating a bowl of raisin bran with the morning paper propped up in front of me so that I could admire my work when a terrible realization hit me. Here was awesome publicity for my blog, and I hadn’t updated it in weeks.

  My cereal forgotten, I raced upstairs and pulled up my blog. Looking up the stats, I saw that sure enough, I’d had more than the usual number of hits. It was still early though, so I had time to get a new post up.

  I’d stayed up late organizing my photos from the game and running them through Photoshop to crop them or make minor adjustments to the lighting or contrast. It was a routine that took discipline, but with the enormous amount of pictures I took, if I didn’t do it immediately, I often didn’t get around to it. This wasn’t the first time I was relieved that I’d already done the hard work.

  I uploaded the picture of Tyson with a simple caption that gave his name, when it was taken, and that it had been featured in the paper. Then I sat looking at the picture on my blog for some time.

  As always, it amazed me how one picture could capture the essence of someone’s soul. Tyson was quiet, studious, and just plain nice. He was the opposite of the star quarterback persona – except that he was also good looking and athletic.

  It was kind of bizarre that he wasn’t more popular than he was – kind of like Katie Edwards, my only ally among the cheerleaders last night. There was a definite popular crowd in our school, and these two were barely in it. Which was ironic to me, because they were both really good looking and had a lot of friends. The problem was that they were too nice to make the ruling class I sarcastically called the “pretty people.”

  This was my senior year, and I still hadn’t figured out the whole popularity thing. I mean, didn’t people have to like you to be popular? From what I’d seen though, it really just meant that people either envied you or feared you. Basically, it was all about image.

  Then it hit me like a ton of bricks – Tyson’s image was wrong. It was time people knew he was more than just the quiet guy at the back of the classroom or the calm, dependable quarterback on the field. In my pictures, I had caught the depth of Tyson’s character. I doubt that many people had ever seen this side of him.

  Every line etched in his expression showed the intensity of the emotions whirling through him, and the steely set of his clenched jaw showed his determination to control them so they could drive his performance. The combination of barely leashed emotion and a profile that belonged on a Greek coin would make the girls go crazy over him.

  Maybe part of me was still writhing from Jordan’s accusation that I liked Tyson, but for a few moments I imagined Jordan as one of those love sick girls, drooling over his picture while never having a chance with him.

  The last part was probably true anyway, even though she didn’t know it. I’d seen the way Tyson had been looking at Katie lately, and if he liked a sweet, intelligent girl like her, I was pretty sure he would never be interested someone like Jordan.

  Wouldn’t it be too awesome if Tyson became one of the most popular guy in school? He sure deserved it more than the guys who were popular now. Plus, it would be the sweetest kind of revenge to make Jordan want something she couldn’t have, and if all the other girls in school were in love with him, she’d want him.

  I bet I could make it happen too, if I could get enough girls to check out my blog. I just had to figure out how to do that.

  I got up and paced around my room, thinking. My eyes wandered aimlessly around, barely seeing the collection of drawings and paintings by my mom that crowded my walls. When I faced the wall behind my bed however, I stopped and stared at it.

  Over the years, I’d tacked up hundreds of photos I’d taken. It was basically just a collage of my work. One of them was a landscape I’d taken and had blown up to poster size. It was massive and drew my eyes like a magnet, even on the busy wall with so many other pictures competing for my attention. It was impossible to look at anything else.

  With my eyes still glued to it, I knew I’d found the answer to my problem. If Tyson looked great in a small picture, how amazing would he look on a poster?

  Excited to get started, I sat back down and got busy. As I created the poster, I realized that my blog title was really lame. “Sienna’s Photography Blog” just wasn’t going to cut it. I thought for a few minutes, and then, with a jolt of inspiration, I came up with a title that reflected what I really wanted my blog to be about.

  With a happy satisfaction, I pulled up the design tab for my blog and typed “True Images” into the title bar. After all, that’s what I was showing here - the essence of who Tyson really was.

  I saved the file for the completed poster on a flash drive to take to work with me. I’d be able to print the poster in my free time between customers today. I couldn’t wait to see what kind of a reaction it got. I also couldn’t help but wonder if a sudden interest in Tyson would take some of the spotlight off the new guy on Monday.

  Hah! Like that would happen. I knew the devastation Lee Franklin was about to inflict on the heart of every girl at school on Monday. If only I could keep the damage to my own heart minimal, it should be fun to watch.

  *****

  I got to school later than I’d planned on Monday morning. I wanted to catch Mr. Greeley before school started and set my plan in motion, but it had taken me longer than usual to get ready.

  I hadn’t exactly meant to primp in front of the mirror for thirty minutes, but seeing the plain girl reflected there had been depressing. I just looked so… blah.

  Usually, I only finger combed my wavy, strawberry blond hair and let it do whatever it wanted, but today, I’d put some effort into making it look nice. Then, instead of just powder and lip gloss for makeup, I put on som
e eye shadow. If it weren’t for Marisol forcing me into the makeup aisle at Target, eye shadow and I would be strangers to this day.

  Not that it made much difference. Lee Franklin wasn’t going to fall in love with me because there was a little Caramel Dream and Chocolate Indulgence on my eyelids. I’d be amazed if he even remembered me, except maybe as the weird girl who’d thrown her hotdog at him Friday night.

  I reminded myself that getting into a relationship with someone was out of the question until I’d graduated anyway. It was too risky. After all, I had big dreams to follow with my photography, and I didn’t need a guy getting in the way.

  But my heart didn’t seem to care about being logical. This whole attraction thing was annoying.

  I was twenty feet from the journalism room when the first bell rang. With no time to talk to Mr. Greeley, I decide to act now and ask permission later. Dodging back and forth through the crowded halls, I made my way to the bulletin board outside the journalism room. I rearranged all of the flyers and notices on it and stuck my poster in the center.

  There wasn’t time to admire it or make sure it was straight. I took off in a near sprint through the now practically empty hall to my home room, grateful it was in this building. Hopefully the poster would generate some interest. I had to build up a strong following on my blog if my plan to popularize Tyson was going to work.

  The first indication that my poster was getting some attention was at lunch. A tenth grade girl came up and told me she had just followed my blog. Since an enormous smile split her face, I knew exactly why she’d followed me. Well, one down, a couple thousand to go.

  I pulled my phone out and texted Marisol to see what her plans were. She replied that she’d meet me at our usual spot under the giant oak tree in front of the cafeteria. I sat down on one of the benches there and pulled out my peanut butter sandwich while I waited. I didn’t expect to see her anytime soon, but she surprised me.