Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(14)
“Only child.”
He’s answering my questions but only just. He’s not offering anything extra. The professional in me suspects he’s doing it on purpose, but the teenage girl in me wants to believe he’s just being a teenage boy. Suspicion wins out.
“Do you have a job? What do your parents do?” Somewhere along the way, my tone has shifted into something more aggressive, less natural.
Will freezes with his hand halfway to my tray and turns in a wide move to face me. His brows are drawn, and he studies my face for a moment like he’s trying to figure me out. “My mom’s an accountant and my dad is a freelance consultant.” His tone is tight with unspoken tension, and I’m suddenly feeling very self-conscious about giving him the third degree.
I try to think of something to say to extricate us from the tense moment, but I’ve got nothing. Eventually, Will has mercy on me and says lightheartedly, “And I’m too busy being awesome to fit in a job.”
He reaches again for my food, and I playfully smack his hand away, then slide my tray a few inches from him. “Come on, man. For real! Go get your own food.”
Will sighs in resignation and pushes to his feet. With shoulders slumped and a look of pure dejection on his face, he says, “Fine. I can take a hint.” Before he ambles off toward the food line, he winks at me. “Enjoy your book. And your fries.”
For a brief moment, as I watch him go, I consider calling him back and offering him my entire lunch just to have someone to talk to. But even more distasteful than being alone is the idea that I could come across as desperate after being all weird.
Which is exactly why I’m going to photography club this afternoon. Maybe if I have a wider circle of friends, I won’t feel the urge to chase after Will and beg him to spend time with me. But some tiny part of me wonders if it’s more about Will and less about me feeling lonely. Even if that were the case, I’m not ready to face that truth. One thing at a time. I’ll start with photography club and maybe consider a crush on Will if it comes to that.
Chapter Six
I hesitantly approach the room where photography club is held. I almost feel like I’m trying to crash an invitation-only party. I don’t know what lies beyond the burgundy-painted metal door of A116, but I imagine a room full of students taking professional-quality photos against a studio backdrop and standing around critiquing one another like art connoisseurs. By the time I set my hand on the doorknob, I’m questioning my decision to join this particular club. I stand there far longer than I’ve intended, debating whether I should go in or turn tail and run home.
Eventually, I manage to work up the nerve to open the door and peek inside. A small group of students, maybe seven or eight, sits on stools grouped together at the far end of a row of tables pushed together at the center of the room. No one notices me at first, and this helps me work up the nerve to step fully into the room.
Several voices are talking at once, excitedly, quietly, kindly—several parts of one discussion, but by the time the words reach me at the doors, they’re all garbled together. I step closer, then closer still.
When there’s only a few feet left between the tables and me, a girl seated at the large table looks up at me. Her tight black curls bounce with the movement, and she brushes them away from her face with a dark, sparkly-manicured hand. “Hi! Are you here for photography club?” Her smile is bright and genuine and immediately puts me at ease, even when the other photography enthusiasts all turn to gawk at me.
I nod.
“Great!” She pulls out an empty stool next to her. “Here, you can sit next to me. I’m Trinity; you can call me Trin. That’s Leo, Davis, Jacob, Andrea, Karen, Matty, and this…” She motions around the circle as she names each person, then concludes with the petite girl seated next to her. “Is Lacey.”
I’m on the receiving end of a round of waves and greetings, and I reciprocate with a soft wave of my own while circling the table toward Trin. “I’m Marisol. Mari,” I say, and take the seat she pulled out for me.
“Hi Mari, we’re just talking about our pictures from last week and what our theme should be this week.” Lacey points with a delicate, caramel-colored fingertip toward an array of pictures spread out across the tabletop. “Last week, we did reflections.”
The evidence of last week’s theme is spread out in front of me: pictures of reflections in water, in glass, in mirrors, in shiny objects. “So you guys pick a specific theme every week and then share what you come up with? Like a book club?” I’m immediately self-conscious about my own lack of skill.
“Only if you want to. There aren’t really any rules here. We all just want to have fun and encourage one another in our mutual hobby,” the dark-haired boy with glasses across the table says—I think Trin called him Jacob. “If you’re not comfortable sharing your work, you don’t have to.”
Relief makes me feel a little lighter.
“What equipment do you use, Mari?” Trin asks, and my lack of answer pulls me down like gravity.
There’s no point in beating around the bush. If I keep coming back after this meeting, they’re going to find out eventually that I’m a fraud and know next to nothing about photography. I pull Mom’s camera out of my bag. “I, uh, borrowed my mom’s camera. I don’t really know a whole lot about photography. I’ve definitely never done anything like this”—I hover my hands palm down over their pictures—“before. I just saw the flyer and thought it looked interesting.”