You Have a Match(67)

“I’m gonna take your picture.”

Leo watches me for a beat. “No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“You don’t photograph people. Like, ever.”

“Yeah, well—I’m getting some practice.” This is not exactly a lie, given the Phoenix Cabin shenanigans I’ve been documenting. He’s right, though. I don’t photograph people.

But this—the sky casting its warmth on him, like his face was made to catch light. The gold in his eyes, the straight plane of his nose, the sharp curve of his jaw—these parts of him I’ve tried so hard not to notice, now on such full display that trying to look away would be like trying to deny every moment I pined for him, when it feels like the last thing I want to do is forget.

I pull out Poppy’s camera, glad I snuck into the cabin to grab it during dinner. It takes an extra second to turn on, one that seems to last so long that it’s not the camera, but the universe: Are you sure about this? Is this what you want?

I don’t understand why it’s asking until my eye is in the viewfinder, and Leo is staring at me through the lens.

This isn’t a photo, I understand. It’s a memory. I’ve spent my whole life trying to capture perfect moments, treating each of them like a victory. This is the first one I am capturing out of defeat.

“Abby?”

The next twelve hours will be a minifuneral, saying goodbye to everyone and everything here, but this is a goodbye, too. Leo will spend the rest of summer here, and I’ll spend it in summer school. Then I’ll go back to Shoreline High, with all my classes and tutoring sessions, and Leo will be gone. The problem is solved before it could even become a problem; I’ll never have to tell Leo the truth about how I feel about him. We’re out of time.

I should be relieved. Nobody’s feelings will be hurt. Nobody’s pride will be compromised. And nobody’s heart will break except mine.

I focus Leo in the frame and click.

There’s this uneasy silence that follows, me poised with the camera level with my chest, Leo’s stare fixed on me like the camera was never there at all. I think about uploading the photo, and it scares me, thinking of what I might see. What I won’t.

Leo breaks his gaze first. I’m not the coward anymore.

“I wish…” Leo leans forward, frustrated. “Oh my god. Abby!”

“What—”

“Your camera, get your camera, it’s—”

“Holy shit.”

There they are, off in the distance. A pod of orcas. They’re unmistakable, slick and gleaming as their backs slide in and out of the water, their distinctive fins cresting over the ripples.

“Take the picture,” says Leo. “It’s the perfect shot.”

Poppy’s camera is too old. It doesn’t have a prayer of capturing them at this distance. I could sprint to the cabin maybe, grab Kitty, and get back in time to catch something magnificent. The kind of photo I’ve dreamed of taking for years.

But no photo will capture this—the soar of my heart in my throat, the swell of my whole body, this weightlessness that makes me feel like we’re in free fall, untethered to the earth. Without consciously deciding to, we take off at a run to the edge of the water, giddy and disbelieving, chasing this feeling louder than words.

We watch them in silent awe, our excitement pulsing off each other like something we can touch. Then it happens—one of them leaps out of the water, this joyful, enormous, impossible thing, so far offshore but somehow close enough that it feels like he is leaping just so the two of us can see.

We turn, our eyes cracking into each other’s like the lightning on the first day at camp. It is energy and chaos, but rooted in something so deep that for once, it doesn’t scare me. I feel strangely invincible, like the moments happening right now don’t count for anything, but somehow count for everything at once.

Somewhere buried in the back of my mind, I know I shouldn’t let this happen. It’s the exact opposite of how I was going to handle this. But maybe it’s like Savvy said, about things getting worse before they get better. Well, this is the worst thing I can think of: giving Leo another chance to reject me. And if he doesn’t, giving myself a chance to know what this might feel like, even if it can never be mine.

I’m not seeing anything beyond Leo by the time my eyelids slide shut, something stronger than any one sense guiding us forward, pulling us into each other. It’s inevitable. Thunder after lightning. Order after chaos. Hope after—

“Have you seen Finn?”

The kiss is interrupted before it can begin, but neither of us jump. We’re frozen. His eyes are so wide on mine that I can only assume he never meant for it to happen. I’m the one who has to take control and take the quiet step back before Mickey comes into view. Leo is blushing furiously enough to warrant a trip to the nurse, but oddly, I am calm.

The feeling was enough, I think. Just to know it. To have it in my bones, make it a part of my history. There was a beautiful before, without an after to wreck it on the other side.

“Not since this afternoon,” I answer for us. “Why?”

Mickey didn’t even notice us nearly playing tongue hockey in full view of half the camp. Her brow is furrowed, and she’s rubbing her arms so anxiously that I’m afraid she might peel Princess Jasmine clean off.