Flicker

by Melanie Hooyenga

  I'm not sure if I'm supposed to feel grateful for being noticed or motivated to try try try, but I feel neither. I just want to get to photo class. "Okay, I'll try."

  He smiles, a wide grin that he probably thinks looks benevolent, but comes out looking smarmy.

  "I gotta go." I run into the hall just as the bell for the next class rings.

  Turner's class is surprisingly boring today. Since we've all taken pictures of at least one game, he's working his way around the room to see what we've got so far. That means while he talks to each student for three minutes the rest of us are stuck reading about contrasting light and dark in a composition.

  I already know more than I care to about light, but I've been experimenting with shadows. It's crazy how your perspective to the sun can completely change the mood. It might be a boring soccer game, but add a dramatic length of darkness running alongside the player and you have an entirely different effect.

  Okay, so I admit, I'm really into this. One thing I've learned in this class that I didn't realize before is how different the same event looks through different people's eyes. We may see the same thing, but depending on our position relative to the subject and the light relative to the camera, not to mention the photographer’s interest in the subject, you could end up with totally different results.

  I glance across the room at Cameron. He's reading, his fingers twitching over the edge of the page. I rest my hand in the same place on my book and imagine holding his hand.

  I'm lost in a daydream when Turner stops next to my desk. "Don't forget what we talked about last week."

  My brow furrows.

  "The newspaper." He taps my camera. "You've got some good stuff here and I think you'll be surprised by how much you might like getting your work published."

  How do I explain that it's not so much a fear of getting rejected, but a fear of having attention directed at me?

  "Just keep it in mind."

  That shouldn't be a problem if he's planning to remind me every week.

  The bell rings a few minutes later and I wait for Cameron outside the door.

  "What time do you want to leave?"

  I slip my arm through his. "Leave?"

  "For the game."

  Panic flutters in my chest. "It's an away game?" I wouldn't have agreed to go if I'd known it involved riding in a car in late afternoon.

  "Yeah, but it's only a half hour away. And we can finally spend some time alone."

  "That sounds wonderful." Dangerous, but wonderful. Driving anywhere at the end of the day is risky but it's even worse when I'm tired or excited or nervous. I do a mental scan of my body; I appear to be all three. Being near Cameron does that to me.

  A grin brightens his face and my anxiety wanes. Really, what am I worried about?

  We stop by my car so I can grab my sunglasses and a hat. They aren't a guarantee I won't flicker, but they help.

  "You can't find any bigger than that?" Cameron leans against the side of the car while I toss my books in the trunk. He snorts. "It's not even that sunny out."

  "What?" I run my fingers over the edge of my oversized specs. "I like them." Especially since they block out most of the light. "You want to stand here all day teasing me?"

  He dips his head and gives me a quick kiss. "Maybe."

  We cross the parking lot to his car and follow a caravan of cars onto the street. I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes.

  "Tired?"

  "A little. All this school spirit stuff is exhausting."

  "I wonder if there'll be a lot of people at the game."

  I peek at him. "It'd be kinda nice if there aren't."

  The light turns red and he downshifts, then reaches for my hand and links his fingers through mine.

  The touch of his skin anchors me, preventing me from drifting into the discombobulated haze that sometimes envelopes me when I'm riding in a car with my eyes closed. Flashes filter through my sunglasses. I lower the brim of my hat with my free hand.

  Cameron squeezes my hand. "Headache?"

  "No. More of a preventative measure. I don't want to flake out on you this afternoon."

  We ride the rest of the way in relative silence, Cameron absentmindedly rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb, me thrilling at the flutter of emotions that course through me with every caress. I'm not used to feeling this way about someone. I don't know if that's why I pushed the other boys away, or if it really was because I was worried about them finding out about me, but for the first time I'm wishing I can tell someone about the flickering.

  Careful not to turn my head, I glance at Cameron out of the corner of my eye. His left hand rests loosely on the steering wheel, his gaze trained on the road. He's the only boy I trust—and that came long before I had any feelings for him. Maybe I can trust him with this, too.

  I clear my throat. "Cam?"

  "Yeah?" He slides his hand up my arm and turns to look at me.

  It's too soon. What the hell am I thinking?

  "Biz?"

  "I want to tell you—"

  His phone rings. His hand moves to his pocket but he doesn't answer. He's waiting for me to finish.

  Not gonna happen.

  It rings again.

  "Do you need to get that?"

  He checks the display and sighs before answering. "Hey, mom." His grip on the steering wheel tightens as he listens. The color fades from his face and the muscle in his jaw trembles.

  I touch his arm.

  "Did the police call you?"

  My head whips up. "What happened?" I whisper.

  He shakes his head at me. "We're on our way to the football game." He listens. "I can't. I have to take pictures for a project that's due next week."

  It must not be that serious if he doesn't have to go home right away.

  He glances at me, then back at the road. "Maybe we can leave a little early." I nod emphatically and he attempts a smile. His mouth wobbles and his voice cracks. "I love you, too."

  I force myself not to pounce the second he hangs up. Three deep breaths later, I speak. "What now?"

  He runs his free hand through his hair and a tear slips down his face. "Another girl is missing."

  My stomach rolls. "When?"

  "This morning."

  "Why did the police—" I stop. I already know why the police called his parents.

  "It’s not about me. They think it's connected to Katie."

  I stumble for the right thing to say but come up empty-handed. "We can go back. Turner will give you an extension."

  "And tell him I'm crying over some kid I don't even know?" His voice breaks again and the car veers onto the shoulder. He presses harder on the gas. Gravel kicks up on the side of the road.

  A flutter of panic makes me sit upright. "Do you want me to drive?"

  He swerves into the opposite lane.

  "Cam!"

  The car straightens and we slow to a normal speed. "Sorry."

  "You're freaking me out." I have a weird sense of reverse déjà vu. How many times have we had this same conversation, except I'm the one scaring him? "Are you sure you're okay to drive?"

  "Biz, I'd never let anything happen to you." The color is starting to come back to his face but his eyes are a little too wide, making him look a little deranged.

  "I know you wouldn't on purpose, but it was like I lost you there for a second." Again, same words, different person saying them.

  "I'm okay." He rolls his shoulders and tilts his head from side to side the way a boxer does before entering the ring. Thanks, Dad, for shoving that bit of knowledge into my brain. "But would you mind if we leave at halftime?"

  "Of course." I'm a little disappointed that we won't have as much time together, but it's not like I won't see him again. "Do you still want me to come over tomorrow?"

  A frustrated sigh fills the air between us. "I don't know. Can I tell you in the morning? I have a feeling tonight's gonna be bad."

  Okay, now I'm officially upset and w
e aren't even at the game yet.

  "Hey," he grabs my hand. "I want to see you. You're practically all I think about. I just don't know with my parents."

  "It's not fair for them to basically ground you because of all this."

  He raises an eyebrow and I cringe.

  I despise whiney girls and here I am acting like a two-year old. "You know what I mean. What do you do with them anyway? Do you sit around and talk about her?"

  He pulls his hand away. "I just try to be there for them. You know, help out more around the house. It's sad for me, but for them it's like reliving her disappearance all over again."

  "It's not like that for you?" I try to eat the words but they're already out. Am I dense? "I'm sorry I'm being an ass. This isn't coming out right." I take off my sunglasses, flickering be damned. "I'm genuinely wondering what you do at home with them, I'm not—"

  He stares straight ahead.

  Shit.

  When we get to the school I consider staying in the car. Cameron didn't speak for the last five minutes and I'm terrified to open my mouth in case more nonsense spews from me.

  He climbs out.

  I don't move.

  He sticks his head through the open door. "You coming?"

  "Are you sure you want me to? I seem to have misplaced the filter between my brain and my mouth."

  That earns a grin.

  "I'm sorry for earlier. I just—"

  "Don't worry about it. It's not you I'm mad at; it's this fucking guy…"

  I really am a girl. He's thinking about the kidnapper and the horrible things he's doing to these girls and probably did to his sister, and I'm stressing about whether or not he's mad at me. I get out of the car. Cameron grabs our camera bags and we walk hand in hand to the stadium.

  Once inside, we stare up at the looming bleachers. They're double the size of the ones at our school and every square inch is filled with purple and gold.

  Cameron snorts. "What was that you said about school spirit?"

  "There's no lack of spirit here, that's for sure."

  "Do you wanna stake out a spot or just wander around?"

  My legs are stiff from the ride and although it's bright out, the sun feels good on my face. "Let's walk around. Maybe we can get what we need in the first period and be done with it."

  "Quarter."

  "Huh?"

  "Football has quarters."

  I roll my eyes. This is not information I need to know. I lead him along the path in front of the bleachers and scan the crowd for any of our friends. A few familiar faces pop out at me but most of our friends don't go to home games—there's no way they'd trek to an away game. Two girls from our photo class wave from the third row, and Turner himself is sitting a couple rows back. "Turner's here."

  Cameron looks up. "Checking up on us?"

  "That doesn't seem like his style, but you never know." My conversation with Turner about getting photos published comes to mind. Maybe he's here to make extra money.

  We stop at the end of the bleachers and turn to face the field. Guys my age should not wear spandex. Ever. Yet there they are, bent at the waist, their junk on display for everyone in the stands. "Ugh."

  "I can't tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say that."

  "Can't they wear sweats or something?"

  "It's got something to do with aerodynamics. At least that's what I tell myself. You'll never catch me in pants like that." Cameron unzips his bag and pulls out his camera.

  I do the same just as a whistle blows.

  Woo-hoo. Let the fun begin.

  Chapter 18

  Football is a lot noisier than soccer. The whistle blows ten times as often, the players insist on slamming their helmets together every chance they get, and every person in the stadium screams any time the ball moves. I follow the same routine as before and take two dozen pictures before the end of the first quarter. I guess it doesn't matter much what I'm shooting once I get into it.

  Cameron clicks away beside me, his steady breathing the only calming thing around me.

  "You getting anything good?"

  He presses a button and shows me his display.

  My mouth drops open. "Cam, those are great."

  He zoomed so close on the players that you can see the sweat through bars in their facemasks. In another series, he captured their backs when they were all lined up and crouched at the line.

  I punch him lightly when I see the next one. It's me, focused on the field.

  "I couldn't help myself. We've spent all this time taking pictures for class and I don't have any recent ones of you."

  "Well then let me return the favor." I shift to face his and his lips fill the frame. Okay, maybe I better zoom out. His face fills the display and I press the button. I widen the shot further, focusing on the crowd behind him so his face goes blurry. Click-click-click. Something at the edge of the frame catches my eye. I point slightly over Cameron's shoulder and zoom in on the crowd. "It's him."

  "Him who?"

  "That man."

  Cameron twists around and places a hand on my camera. "Show me."

  I switch to display mode and the man stares back at us.

  Cameron stands up and pulls me to my feet. "We need to tell someone."

  "Cam, wait. He's probably someone's dad. It's not like I've seen him anyplace other than games."

  "How many kids does this guy have that he's been at three different sports? We don't have that many big families in our school."

  He's convincing, but I feel weird telling on someone who hasn't actually done anything. Wait, Turner's here. "We could talk to Turner. He'd know if that man's a parent."

  Cameron's already walking towards the stands.

  "Hey, kids." Turner rises when he sees us. The people next to him slide down and we squeeze onto the bench. "Having fun?"

  I nod, surprised. I am having fun. Not because of what's going on out on the field, but time seems to slip away when I'm taking pictures. "Yeah, Cam's got some really good shots."

  Turner takes Cameron's proffered camera and flips through the images. "Cameron, these are really impressive. I don't know if Biz told you that I've been encouraging her to try to get her photographs published in the local paper, but apparently I need to have that same conversation with you."

  Cameron lowers his head so his hair falls in his face, his reaction when anyone says something nice to him. "Yeah, maybe." He clears his throat. "But that's not why we came over here." He nods at me and I shake my head.

  Turner looks back and forth between us, waiting. It's like he's got my dad's manual.

  I exhale dramatically. "It's probably nothing, but Cam thinks we should tell someone." I pause. Tattling is such a childish reaction. It's not like the guy did anything. Why are we even—

  "Well I'm here. Tell me." Turner looks me in the eye, oblivious to the shouts and screams that surround us.

  I look over his shoulder, but there's nothing out of the ordinary. Now I'm just stalling.

  "Biz, just tell him."

  I take another deep breath and spit it out. "There's this man who I keep seeing at the games. Nothing happened but he kinda freaks me out the way I keep catching him watching me. And he's always alone. He's gotta be someone's dad, because why else would he be there, right?" Saying the words out loud makes this whole thing sound even more ridiculous.

  Turner leans his elbows on his knees. "When you say he freaks you out, how do you mean? Has he said something or looked at you strangely?"

  I think back to the past couple games. "He definitely hasn't talked to me, but it was creepy how I'd see him through my viewfinder and he'd be looking at me. But I'm sure he was just watching me take pictures. I mean, how many high school kids have a camera like mine?"

  Cameron scoffs. "That makes no sense and you know it." He touches my back and gently traces his fingers over my shoulder blades. "Stop making excuses. He scared you, that's why I wanted you to tell someone."

  "What made you decide to tell
me right now?" Turner asks.

  "Because I saw him again."

  "Here?"

  "Yeah, just a few minutes ago. We were taking pictures near the side of the field."

  "Right, I saw you there."

  "And when I turned to the crowd he was there. I told Cam, but when I looked back to where I'd seen him, he was gone."

  "Did he see you?"

  The memory of the way the man's dark eyes seemed to disappear inside his skull sends a chill through me. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure."

  Turner seems to choose his words carefully. "Is there any chance you got a picture of him?"

  My camera weighs heavily in my lap. "Yeah, at the soccer game on Tuesday. I didn't mean to, but he was in the frame."

  His eyes drop to my camera. "Any chance it's still on there?"

  I shake my head. "No, I delete them after they download. I can bring in a flash drive on Monday."

  "Can you email it to me instead?"

  "Uh, sure." The anxious expression on Turner's face makes my head spin. I had myself convinced that I was overreacting and figured Turner would tell us to stop causing trouble. I never expected him to validate our concerns.

  Turner pulls a business card out of his wallet and hands it to me. "Could you send it to me tonight?"

  Cameron sits up straight. "Are you saying this guy's up to something?"

  "I don't know, but given the events over the past week, I think it's smart to look into every possibility." Turner looks at me. "You know my friend at the newspaper?"

  I nod.

  "Her husband's a cop."

  Cameron's mouth drops open. "We're not saying he did anything. I don’t want to accuse him of anything."

  Turner’s face softens. "Cameron, relax. I'm going to pass the photo along and they can choose to do with it as they wish. I'd be remiss to ignore the intuition of two of my favorite students."

  A sudden rush of heat stalls my words in my throat. Favorite students?

  Cameron recovers more smoothly. "Will you let us know what they say?"

  "I'm sure it will be nothing, but I'll pass along anything worth repeating."

  That doesn't sound like a yes to me. Before I can protest a whistle blows and people rise all around us. Including Turner.