The Tiffany’s.
“Wow,” I say. “That would be cool to see, huh? I wonder if we’ll get to go to Tiffany’s this week. Photograph some diamonds.”
“You’re missing the point—did you see what she labeled her project?” Sofia asks, pointing to Kensington’s caption.
“#HometownAttraction?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s all pictures of tourists in the city. She’s making fun of them.”
“I don’t think this is making fun of them.” I defend Kensington. “She told me that New York can be an annoying place to live sometimes—maybe this is what she meant. That tons of people are always coming here from all over the world, gawking at the place that you think of as yours. I mean, I’d definitely think it was strange if tourists were constantly wandering around my town.”
“I think it’s snotty,” Sofia says. “There, I said it.”
“The pictures are nice, though,” I say, scrolling through her other shots.
“I’m not impressed,” Sofia says.
Before we can continue, one of the PhotoRetreat leaders claps his hands, rising above us as he stands on a chair. I hold out the remainder of my second slice to Sofia, and she consumes the whole thing before he has finished quieting the crowd.
“Do you always eat like this?” I whisper. “It’s pretty impressive.”
“I ate three Starving Man microwave dinners once. In one sitting,” Sofia whispers back.
“Maybe I should have let my mom buy more snacks for our room after all.” Sofia gives me a serious nod, and we turn our attention back to the middle of the room.
“For those of you who I haven’t met yet, I’m Roberto,” the man begins. “I’m an executive at PhotoReady, and this PhotoRetreat was my brainchild.”
The room begins applauding Roberto, while Sofia murmurs, “If he does say so himself. . . .”
“As your introductory materials explained, this week is not a photography course, per se,” Roberto continues. “It’s a chance for you—some of our most active junior high school PhotoReady users—to come together, to engage, to start to look at the world around you in a new way. All through, of course, the medium of PhotoReady.”
“He’s awfully serious,” Sofia whispers, and I hit her knee to quiet her.
“Each morning, we’ll meet in a makeshift classroom in your dormitory,” Roberto continues. “We’ll come together to talk about the photos you’ve taken the day before. In particular, we’ll be examining a certain aspect of the pictures, one that will be assigned as you head out for the day. You’ll be looking at things like light, contrast, motion. Think of this week as an experiment: a chance to photograph things you’ve never captured before, and might never get to again. While we hope that by the end, you’ll have gathered enough tips and tricks to make your future shots even more successful, the goal here is more about experience than mastery. You have been selected from all corners of the country—learn from each other. See each other. Look at one another—and the city around you—through a brand-new lens.”
The room bursts into spontaneous applause again, and Sofia smirks. “How much you want to bet he dreamed of being a poet when he was growing up?” she teases.
“I think it’s nice,” I tell her. “At least it’s not high-pressure.”
“Beginning tonight, every time you head out in the city,” Roberto continues, “a counselor will be assigned to your group. They will be there to help with directions, to provide guidance, to assist you in finding new subjects to photograph—but only if you need them. If you’d rather explore more independently, the counselors will keep their distance. We understand that for many of you, this will be your first time photographing New York. We encourage you to capture whatever moves you—places, people, scenery, et cetera. Just remember that you’re only permitted to use the cameras on your phones—no external equipment—and that no apps besides PhotoReady can be utilized to edit your pictures. By the end of the evening, load your favorite shots onto your profile, and make sure to include the correct label. For this evening, we’ll be using #PhotoRetreatNight—since it’s your first outing, we’re leaving the options open, with your only task being to photograph the city in the evening. Tomorrow morning, we’ll take a look at your most interesting shots and discuss them.”
One of the retreaters raises his hand. When Roberto points at him, he asks, “Do we have to go as a group, or can we head out by ourselves? I know my way around New York.”
“Good question,” Roberto says. “You must—must—be with at least one other PhotoRetreater at all times, and you must—must—be with a counselor as well. While the retreat itself is not meant to be strict, we are rigid on this one point. Got it?” The group nods. “Now starting tomorrow, you can choose your groups yourselves, but tonight, we’d like you to head out with your roommate. It will give you an opportunity to get to know each other before you return to the dorm this evening.”
“Wait, that means we have to go with you-know-who,” Sofia whispers urgently.
“I told you, she’s not bad,” I assure her. “But let’s hope Ella isn’t assigned as our counselor. I don’t know if I can take a whole night of ‘perfecto’ talk.”
“Agreed,” Sofia nods.
“If you’re not already near your roommate, pair off now and start to talk about anything in particular you’re hoping to capture. Once a counselor comes your way, you’re free to leave.”
I glance around the room and catch Kensington’s eye. She walks toward us, looking sullen, but I’ve come to expect that expression from her.
“Be nice,” I remind Sofia. “I promise, she’s okay.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Sofia says, nevertheless giving Kensington a large fake smile once she reaches us.
“Enjoy your pizza?” she asks her with Ella-level perkiness.
Kensington shrugs and looks to the side. “I thought it was soggy,” she says. “The pizza place in my neighborhood is better. This tasted like it came from Long Island. No offense.”
“We’re not from Long Island,” Sofia states defensively. “I don’t even know where Long Island is.”
“Hi, girls,” one of the female counselors approaches us just in time to break up Sofia and Kensington’s passive-aggressive pizza fight. “You’re the three-peat room, I assume?”
“Not by choice,” Sofia mutters under her breath, and I elbow her in the side.
“I’m Nina,” the counselor tells us. “If you don’t mind, let’s exchange cell numbers in case we lose track of each other. Then I’ll give you three a chance to discuss where you might want to go tonight—I’m here for directions, or ideas if you need them, but otherwise, you’re in charge!”
“We won’t need directions,” Kensington says shortly, and I catch Sofia rolling her eyes behind her back. Less than five minutes into our first PhotoRetreat mission, and I wasn’t sure how we were going to survive the rest of the night together.
Or in this case, the rest of the #PhotoRetreatNight.
Once Nina has our numbers, she leaves us alone to decide where we’d like to go. The three of us stand in a circle, no one saying a word. By this point, the pizzeria is cleared out of PhotoRetreat participants, which means we’re behind. And if Sofia and Kensington aren’t going to communicate with each other, that only leaves me to speak up, whether I want to or not.
“So,” I begin tentatively, “what about Times Square? That has the most lights in the city, right? So it should be pretty easy to photograph at night.”
“Yes, I obviously need to see Times Square,” Sofia agrees. “Let’s go.”
“Great,” I say, beginning to make my way toward the door.
“You two can’t be serious,” Kensington says, which makes Sofia cross her arms. “Times Square? There’s no way I’m going to Times Square.”
“Just because you get to see it every day doesn’t mean I have ever seen it,” Sofia insists. “It’s not fair for you to be snobby about it.”
“I haven�
��t been to Times Square since like 2009,” Kensington argues. “No one from the city ever goes to Times Square.”
“Why are you on this retreat anyway, if you’re already the New York City expert?” Sofia asks. “What’s the point?”
I feel my face growing hot with embarrassment—even if I’m not directly involved in this fight, it’s uncomfortable enough to watch. But Kensington only gives Sofia a long, dismissive sigh. “Look,” she begins. “Either we go to Times Square, like everyone else at this retreat—and everyone else in the world, for that matter—because that’s the only place they’ve ever heard of. Or you can trust me to show you the places the tourists don’t see. The real New York.”
I look at Sofia, trying to will her to agree. It’s not that I wouldn’t like to see Times Square again, but Kensington has a point. What’s the use of having a real New York native with you if you’re just going to go to all the tourist traps? If we follow Kensington’s lead, we might be able to capture more interesting scenes than the chaotic hustle of Times Square.
That is, if she and Sofia don’t strangle each other in the meantime.
When Sofia remains silent, I suggest a compromise. “How about tonight, Kensington leads the way, and we try to go to Times Square at some other point this week?”
“Fine,” Sofia agrees more quickly than I had assumed she would. “But I need to see Times Square before we leave.”
I ignore the face Kensington makes out of Sofia’s view as I guide them toward the pizzeria’s door. “So, Kensington, you’re in charge.” Kensington passes in front of me, tossing her blond hair off one of her shoulders before coming to a short stop.
“Wait, before we leave, tell me what you’d like to do tonight. I’m not talking about pictures. I’m talking about doing,” Kensington says.
“Eat,” Sofia answers almost instantly, which makes me laugh.
“I’m with her,” I say.
“What, specifically, would you like to eat?” Kensington asks. “This will help narrow down where we go.”
“Dessert,” Sofia and I answer at the same time, and now it’s Sofia’s turn to laugh.
“Cupcakes or cookies or ice cream or what?” Kensington asks. “I need particulars.”
“Your choice,” I say to Sofia. “I would eat any of them.”
“Cookies,” Sofia says. “Definitely cookies.”
“Got it,” Kensington says, pushing through the door. “Nina, we’re headed to the Upper West Side.” Kensington begins walking with purpose down the sidewalk, Sofia and I scrambling to stay near her. And while I try to keep my eyes peeled for good photographs, I’m distracted by the looks on both Sofia’s and Kensington’s faces. Where there at the bottom, right below their noses, are the smallest, faintest traces of honest-to-goodness smiles.
* * *
Within a few minutes, I find myself doing something I’ve never experienced before: riding the subway. Kensington helps Sofia and me buy MetroCards, and she shows us how to swipe them at the turnstiles in order to reach the train platform. I don’t think we’re doing much to convince her we’re not the country bumpkins she thinks we are, but I barely care anymore. It somehow feels right to have Kensington as the boss, and despite the number of new experiences—and new people—all around me, I feel safe with her around. Kensington doesn’t look like the type of person who takes any nonsense, from strangers or otherwise.
In contrast, I’m pretty sure that Sofia and I look wide-eyed and innocent enough to be the target of anything New York has to offer.
As the train pulls into the station, I turn and see Nina standing a respectful twenty feet behind us. She boards the same subway car but remains at the other end of it.
“It’s like we have our own Secret Service agent,” I say as the three of us huddle around a pole, holding on.
“I know,” Sofia agrees. “I kind of feel sorry for Nina—do you think we should include her?”
“No,” Kensington answers definitively.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “It seems impolite to ignore her.”
Kensington sighs, as if we’re exhausting her. “If we include Nina, she’s going to start thinking she has a say in where we go,” she explains. “These college kids, they come to the city and suddenly think they’re experts on the place. Trust me, Avalon Kelly, we don’t want her interfering.” I begin to respond but then snap my mouth closed in surprise—how did Kensington know my last name? I’m sure I never told her . . . maybe Ella did? Was it somewhere on our dorm materials?
“How do you know her name?” Sofia asks before I think of a way to broach the subject. So much for subtlety.
“I saw it on PhotoReady, Sofia Aronzo,” Kensington answers. “You’re not the only one who can properly track down people on the Internet.” I’m afraid this exchange is going to turn into another battle between them, but instead, Sofia looks impressed.
And maybe even entertained.
Could Room 609 maybe, possibly, be starting to gel?
“Then why didn’t you follow our accounts, once you found us? Huh?” Sofia asks in a teasing tone. “Too good for us?”
“The same reason you didn’t follow me when you found my profile, I’d imagine,” Kensington answers. “Following first is essentially showing the other person that you cared enough to search for them. I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.”
“Okay, can we please all follow each other now, and get it over with?” I interject. The three of us pull out our phones and open PhotoReady as the train comes to a halt. I look out the door and see a sign that reads Times Square—42 Street.
“Hey, Sofia,” I say, pointing. “Look where we are.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Kensington says. “We’re not getting off. Though the good news is this station has cell service, so we can get this you-follow-me-I’ll-follow-you ridiculousness completed.”
“What’s your PhotoReady name again?” I ask her.
“@W84PX,” she tells us.
“You know you’re going to have to explain that one, right?” Sofia says.
“It’s part of the street address for Kensington Palace in London,” she answers. “Not all of us are so literal as to put our actual names in our actual profiles, @SofiaNoPH and @AvalonByTheC.”
“Very funny,” I say. “Hey, do you think I could take some pictures while we’re on here, or will people beat me up?” I ask Kensington quietly, looking around. There are some great characters in this subway car that I’d love to capture. Specifically the man carrying an antique birdcage with nothing but crinkled tutus inside.
“I wouldn’t do it,” she says. “But if you want to take a picture of us, no one will stop you.”
“You’re going to let me take your picture?” I ask, mocking a shocked expression as I flip my lens around for a selfie. The three of us squeeze our heads into the frame, and Sofia calls, “Cheese!” as I snap the photo. I take down my phone so we can examine ourselves.
“That’s definitely post-worthy,” Sofia decides.
“Agreed,” Kensington says. When they both look away, back to their own phones, I load the picture onto PhotoReady, cropping myself—and my metal smile—out of it. Sofia’s and Kensington’s heads fill the frame, genuinely happy grins on each of their faces. Subway smiling, I caption the photo, then I give it the correct #PhotoRetreatNight label.
“Here we are,” Kensington says as I feel the train coming to a stop. She pushes off the subway as the doors open, dragging Sofia by the wrist while Sofia drags me. We step onto the platform and I look at the sign above us: 66th Street—Lincoln Center. Over sixty blocks from where we were minutes ago, and a world away from where I started this morning.
Sofia and I follow Kensington as she leads us down one flight of stairs then back up another, down a corridor and through a bright underground hallway.
“Do you get the feeling that we’re the rats, and she’s the Pied Piper?” I remark as we scramble to keep up with her. Even with the chunky wedges on her shoes,
Kensington somehow manages to outpace Sofia and me by at least three strides at all times.
“Please don’t mention rats while we’re in the subway,” Sofia tells me.
“I don’t think rats actually live down here,” I say. “At least not that we would see. That’s probably an urban myth.”
“Oh, no—it’s true,” Kensington calls back. “Take a good look at the tracks when we’re headed downtown later. You’ll most likely spot one scampering across.”
I see Sofia do a full-body shiver at this news as we step onto an up escalator.
“Where are you taking us?” Sofia asks, as I turn and see Nina boarding the escalator behind us. I wonder if we’re the group that has traveled farthest from the dorm—and whether Nina loves us for it, or hates us.
“I figured to appease you, I’d give you a touch of tourist first,” Kensington says as she reaches the top of the escalator, Sofia and I on her heels. “Ta-da.” She says this last part in her typically unenthused tone, which makes it all the funnier.
“Wow, Carnegie Hall?” Sofia asks.
“Lincoln Center,” I correct her, gazing around at the trio of white buildings as we make our way toward the center of the plaza. A gigantic round fountain sits in the middle, spewing water up toward the sky at select intervals. My family and I had come here to see The Nutcracker when I was younger, but that was in the middle of the day. At dusk, the place looks much more magical.
“Hurry up and take your tourist shots so I can show you the more exciting part,” Kensington says, and dutifully, Sofia and I whip out our phones and begin photographing the place from all angles.
The three of us run off in different directions—well, Sofia and I run; Kensington saunters—each trying to capture the scene from a new perspective. I head to the sidewalk to photograph the stairs leading to the plaza. When I lean all the way down and place my camera along the top of a step, I manage to fit the stairs, fountain, and front of the Metropolitan Opera House all in the same frame. I trot back up the stairs, snapping pictures of the square edges leading to the Philharmonic’s entrance, then I scurry over and stand on a ledge to the right of the opera house, leaning back to photograph the humongous arches of its façade. From this perch, I look around for my people. I spot Nina near the escalator where we got off, trying to keep an eye on all of us at once. Sofia has seated herself on the rim around the fountain, taking selfies with the shooting water as a backdrop. And even Kensington is taking pictures—granted, she’s practically sitting on the ground, seemingly photographing a stray ant, but still. I would have expected her to be standing off in the corner mocking us for being touristy.
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