The screen fills with an image of Tom’s face, and his big, cheesy grin makes me release a small laugh through my nose.
“What a dork,” Anna says, apparently missing the point that Tom was just clowning around for the camera.
I close one eye as I consider the photo. “I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve talked to Tom, and he can be pretty funny.”
Petra smiles at me, and I feel myself blush.
Photos continue to scroll by, showing students in every imaginable state of mid-sentence. It’s almost as if the goal of the photographer was to catch candid angles of students with their mouths twisted and their eyes half closed. When a photo pops up showing Kaia unattractively shoving a bite of food into her wide-open mouth, I reach over and click the pause button.
Anna laughs. “Yeah, I’m thinking this should maybe be on the front-cover page.”
Looking at the humiliating picture, I think of how happy I would’ve been to see it during my first few cycles through. Back when I thought Kaia was stealing Colton from me. Then I think of her kitten heels facing the wrong way inside the bathroom stall.
“I have to be honest, Anna,” I say. “I don’t think sharing this picture with the whole school is a good idea.”
“You’re kidding, right?” she says. “Kaia is a terrible person. The only reason I haven’t posted this photo online is because I’m saving it for the yearbook. Then everyone will see it at once and it can spread faster and live on longer.”
“I understand she was awful to Katy a few years ago, but this is super harsh.” I squint at her. “Is this maybe about Colton liking her? Because I can tell you for a fact that those two belong together.”
“Are they officially together now?” Petra whispers scandalously. “There’s been a will-they-or-won’t-they tension building up between them since the end of last year.”
Anna’s straight, even hair swings as she snaps her head to glare at Petra.
“Sorry,” Petra says.
Anna shakes her head and stands up. “Okay, I’m calling this meeting to order.” She raises her voice. “Thank you all for helping to make this the best turnout ever, guys.”
I look around. It’s not a very big group. I’m pretty sure that putting together a yearbook and writing captions and double-checking names will be more work than this small handful of students can manage.
Anna asks, “What do you guys think of a layout where we dedicate one photo collage and section to each clique in the school? It will be a more honest way of organizing the yearbook, since that’s how everyone usually hangs out anyway.”
“What about fringe people?” Katy asks. “Will they get their own separate page?”
Anna thinks a minute. “We’ll either round them all up for one group photo together, or else sort them to be included within the established groups.”
Half to myself, I say, “Sort them?” We are not at Hogwarts. This is only going to reinforce the walls between the groups. It’s the opposite of Breakfast Clubbing them.
“I don’t know,” Petra says. “I think the jocks and cheerleaders will expect a bigger portion of pages since they obviously participate in more things.”
Anna says, “Which is just one more reason why an even number of double-page spreads for each clique will be better. Look, I have a few shots laid out to help give you guys the idea.”
What she really means is that she’s done a mock-up version of the yearbook with each group segregated into their own giant multi-page section. I shouldn’t have worried about this project being too much work, because Anna has basically completed the whole layout already.
“This is an impressive amount of progress,” I say. “When did you do all of this?”
“I wanted to finish the more intense structure work before we get too deep into the semester. There’s always so much grinding away to do once classes take off.”
I look at her a moment, trying to figure out if she’s still on the first day of school with the rest of our peers, or if she’s actually into it months deep the way I am. She just stares back at me blankly. It would seem she’s genuinely already stressed out about schoolwork. On day one.
The first page she shows us has the one image of Czyre brooding, surrounded by pictures of vampires from a popular television series. “For the goths,” she proudly announces.
Petra says, “Um, most of these people do not go to our high school.”
“Yes.” Katy pretends to fan herself. “Believe me, I would’ve noticed.”
Anna rolls her eyes. “It isn’t easy to get photos of the goths at this school. The lighting underneath the stairs isn’t exactly conducive to taking candid photographs. I just used these as fillers.”
“We can handle getting the photos.” Petra laughs. “But are you seriously going with that font?”
“Forgot the font, what’s up with the caption?” I point to where big red letters dripping with blood label the page Goths Gone Ghastly.
“It’s a work in progress,” Anna says with a sly grin. “Wait until you see the rest of the layouts.”
The only page that has been fleshed out to look like an actual yearbook page is the one with the people who are here on the committee. They’re pictured smiling and laughing, with words like friendship and joy sprinkled generously in the margins. It’s as if they’re the only ones Anna sees as real people.
For the rest of the pages, she’s basically done a caricature of each clique, and given them harsh labels and quotes. I’m almost positive it’s meant to be satirical, but it’s clear to me that Anna is a girl in need of a hug.
“We’ll obviously be swapping out pictures of our actual student body for these stand-ins,” she says, pointing to a photo of a famous wrestler in a flex pose on the jocks’ page. “But this should give everyone the general idea what sorts of shots we’re looking for.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re going to want to change this label too,” I say, pointing to the bold blue collegiate lettering that reads Muscle Heads. “And this,” I say when she turns to a page titled Circus Freaks that features a few of Tom’s friends. Anna has filled in the extra spaces with carnival sideshow people who are colorfully dressed and performing acrobatic stunts. I can almost envision Tom being proud of the pages, and it makes me wonder how he and his clique-mates see themselves.
Anna has even dedicated a bright pink page to the cheerleaders, with a swirly font that reads Mean Girls. I think about the girls I got to know as they helped me learn the routine with painfully slow deliberation. I picture Jacynda working obsessively to perfect each of her routines, and the fact that Tammy clings to the squad as a way to feel a part of something. They’re about the farthest things from mean girls in this entire school.
I watch as Petra and Katy point to Anna’s pictures and laugh. Clearly, I’m not the only one who made unattractive assumptions about the cheerleaders before I got to know them.
And I’m shocked to realize that despite everything I’ve learned by watching teen movies from the 1980s, the cheerleaders at Punxsutawney High just might be less snobby and elitist than the school’s resident nerd girls.
Anna describes the types of photos we need to start capturing in order to swap them out from her layout. Since it will take a few months to have the yearbooks printed, and she’s so certain we’ll all be too busy to function in the very near future, she has us going out two by two right after this meeting to search for the other cliques and get as many candid photos as we can.
She and Katy high five when she announces the two of them will be working to get super-sweaty and gross photos of the cheerleaders practicing in the cafeteria. Having my days repeat is nothing compared to this out-of-body experience as I watch Anna plot to humiliate the rest of the student body. But, as Katy cautions, “Just nothing bad enough to get us called out by the administration.”
Anna is busy telling Petra that she’s on mall duty. She asks, “Who do you want to bring with you?”
Petra smiles at me. “I’m think
ing Andie here can be my assist. I’ll show her around too, since she probably hasn’t even been to the mall yet.”
“Great.” I try to look enthusiastic. “We can get photos of Colton and his buddies while we’re there.” I try to remember what Tom’s group was referred to as. “And maybe the, um . . . circus freaks?”
“Who’re the circus freaks?” Petra squints at me, and I flip back to their yearbook page so I can point to their label.
“Oh,” Petra says. “Right.”
I look up, and Anna has an annoyed expression on her face. But she’s not upset about me messing with her yearbook. Instead, she asks me, “How do you know Colton Vogel’s going to be at the mall?”
Whoops. “Oh, you know. Just sorta . . . guessing?”
Anna continues studying me. “Why would you specifically mention him?”
“I honestly don’t have a crush on Colton, if that’s what you’re asking.” I say it a bit too firmly, but that’s just because I’m defensive about the fact that I once had such a huge crush on him.
Petra chimes in. “You and I are going to have a blast at the mall. Even if nobody from school is there.”
I want to thank her for intervening with Anna, who is quickly distracted by people lining up to ask her questions. When nobody’s looking, I sneak back over to the computer and click the back button through the photo slide show until I get to that unattractive shot of Kaia.
After making sure I’m not being watched, I drag the picture to the desktop trash and quickly click on “empty trash.”
Because let’s face it: Kaia isn’t my favorite person in the world, but nobody deserves that level of public humiliation.
chapter 13
When we get to the mall, Petra leads the way. Again, I find myself walking near the food court just in time to catch a resounding round of, “Woodchucks! Woodchucks! Woodchucks!”
“Ugh,” Petra says, using her long lens to capture some candid shots from across the food court. “What a bunch of Neanderthals.”
“That Motko kid is actually pretty smart,” I say.
Petra lowers the camera and makes a face. “Who, Mark? What makes you say that?”
Note to self: Motko’s first name is Mark. I shrug. “He’s in my advanced math class. From what I can tell, he’s definitely good at numbers.”
She raises the camera back up to her eye. “Yeah, well. Having a brain might make it worse that the guy acts like such an adolescent.”
“I think he just wants to fit in, and likes to have a good time when he’s with his friends,” I say, instead of pointing out that we are, in fact, all adolescents.
I wonder for half a second if my looping could be some sort of developmental thing. Like, everyone has one day to repeat over and over until they’re mature enough to handle growing up. Then, I think of my mom and realize this theory doesn’t hold up when there are grown-ups who seem like eternal teens at heart. In fact, Mom may have jumped ahead in time.
“Hey there, Andie.” A familiar voice greets me, and I see Tom waving in my direction.
“Hi, Tom.” I walk over to where he’s standing with his eclectically dressed friends.
Petra hands me the camera. “Here you go—let me see what you’ve got.”
“Sure.” I turn to ask the colorful crowd, “You guys mind if I take a few shots?”
In answer to my question, one girl climbs on a guy’s shoulders as they all gather into a spontaneous group pose. One guy leaps into a girl’s arms so she’s cradling him like a baby, and a few of them give sideways peace signs while making exaggerated duck lips.
“Okay.” I laugh. “So this is happening.”
Holding up the camera, I look through the lens at the overthe-top poses, and the first thing I realize is that the focus is off and I have no idea how to adjust it. I take a step back, examining the front lens of the camera and trying to remember what I learned in the photojournalism workshop I took at the community center. I remember writing down something about f-stops, but the tiny numbers running in rows around the side of this fat lens seem meaningless to me now.
“Sorry, guys,” I say to the frozen group. The smiles grow fake and the positions sag and falter as people get too heavy to hold up. A wave of nervous laughter runs through the crowd as tired arms droop.
Things feel so uncomfortable that instead of focusing on the camera puzzle in front of me, my brain shuts down and a voice in my head just starts sounding the alarm, Awkward! Awkward! Awkward! over and over. Finally, Petra moves in beside me.
“Oh, okay,” she says, making a few quick adjustments.
When I hold the camera back up I call out, “Ready,” and the group revives itself, trying to recapture the initial spontaneous vibe with varying levels of success.
Petra says, “It’s easier to start by focusing on one person at a time.” Reaching over to the top of the camera, she pushes in the zoom.
“Uh, thanks?” I take a photo of a girl who’s dressed like a fifties cartoon sweetheart as she blows a kiss at the camera, and I smile. Moving down the line, I zoom in on one person at a time and can see that they each very much have their own look happening.
The guy with the yellow suspenders hooks his thumbs around them and looks off into the middle distance. But I catch him glancing back at Petra when he thinks nobody’s looking. I frame one of the acrobat couples and then the kissy-faced duck impersonators, appreciating how much fun they’re all having.
There are a few hippie-looking standouts in the group whose bathing habits seem a bit “European,” but even they’re wearing authentic-seeming seventies clothing and detailed accessories. For the most part, the group members have put thought and effort into the way they look. Except it’s as if they don’t care what any outsiders might think of them, and they’re not trying to fit into any particular mold. They each seem to have dressed to please themselves.
I continue moving down the line and find myself zoomed in on a familiar face: Tom. I lift my head in surprise. Looking at just his face, he’s quite cute.
I tilt my head at him, and it’s like he’s framed by a whole new perspective. He stands with his arms spread wide, displaying drooping jazz hands, and I decide he is maybe more than cute. Tom might be very cute. Especially when he’s smiling . . . and right now, he is giving me the biggest, most genuine smile.
Petra leans in to whisper to me, “You’re doing great,” which wakes me from my gawking at Tom.
I ask the fifties girl her name, and when she tells me she’s Sue, I say, “I love your dress, Sue. Do you mind holding that pose, but moving just a half step to your left so I can get your full skirt into the shot?”
I reposition a few other people, zoom out so they’re all in frame, and tell them, “Say, ‘Punxsutawney’!”
In unison, they call out, “Punxsutawney!” and I click the shutter, rapid-fire.
Scrolling back through the pictures, I laugh at the twisted expressions I’ve captured. “Okay, so I got you all on the p and the s and the w. Maybe we can try that again.”
Petra calls out, “But let’s just go with the classic saying of ‘cheese’ this time.”
The group obligingly calls out, “Classic saying of cheese!” holding out the e until I definitely get the shot.
Looking down at the screen display, I smile. “Okay, so I got one with everyone’s lips all twisted on the ch, but the rest of the shots look really great.” I scroll through the photos.
“We should really get going,” Petra says. I follow her eyes over to where the guy in suspenders is half having a conversation with two girls, but over their heads his stare is mostly focused on Petra.
The way she continues looking back at him seems almost wishful. I ask, “Do you like that guy or something? Because I think he likes you too.”
“What? Who? Chuck? No! How’d you even . . .” She grabs the camera from me and starts walking down the mall corridor. “Let’s go. We’ve got to cover the rest of the mall.”
Chuck turns to watch h
er go, and even without the zoom lens I see his dejection. I wonder if this could be another star-crossed-lovers situation . . . Social divisions in this high school seem to be even stricter than the family divides in a Shakespeare play.
Curious, I wave Tom over. He ambles up to me with his head dipped to one side, and I ask him, “Is there some sort of social barrier between your clique and the girls running the yearbook?”
He squints. “What?”
“I mean, okay, what are you guys considered?” I gesture with my arm and ask louder, “What would you guys call your social group if this was a movie?”
A few of them laugh and I hear a chorus of “Freaks!” and “Geeks!”
One girl calls out, “We’re self-aware nerds!” and an approving cheer erupts.
I grin. “Self-aware nerds. I like it.” I picture a fun layout in the yearbook using these photos, and realize Anna might be wrong about segregating by group for the yearbook, but she’s right that students seem to keep to their own circles in real life.
I glance back at Colton and his friends, who appear to be drinking milkshakes in a competitive manner. I guess when you love sports, you turn everything into sports.
When I turn back, I realize Tom has been standing there, looking at me. “Do you really need to label everyone that badly, Andie? We’re each individuals. How about trying to see us as such.”
“Sorry.” Holding up my hands in defense, I say, “I didn’t mean to offend anyone. I’m just trying to figure out the social system here at Punxsutawney High. At my old high school, we didn’t have enough students to group off separately.”
“Yeah, well, sorry I can’t Breakfast Club everything here for you with a tidy John Hughes bow.” He raises his voice. “We will not be easily categorized for your convenience!”
“Let’s go, Andie.” Petra must’ve realized I wasn’t following her, and she’s made her way back to us. She adds, “We’ll just label the photo ‘Punx High’s troupe of thespians.’”
Pretty in Punxsutawney Page 15
