by Lisa Yee
“I think it’ll be a great experience for both of you girls,” my mom had said, “especially since you’ve been able to keep your friendship going from so far away.” Camila had already flown with her family all the way from Brazil. Now she was flying here from Chicago all on her own. She was definitely adventurous.
As I walked out of Zac’s room, Dad called to me from downstairs. “Lea!” he said. “We need to head to the airport in five.”
The airport! Camila! “Okay!” I said, and ducked into my room. I grabbed my sweater and took a look around. Ginger was napping on her favorite rock in her tank, worn out from the morning’s activity. My bed was made, its floral quilt folded neatly below the scrolled wood headboard, and my journal lay facedown on my desk where I’d been writing in it that morning. Of course, it wasn’t just my journal. Originally the red leather-bound book had been Ama’s diary, one of many she kept over the years as she traveled the world. After she died, I’d taken her journals with me on our trip to Brazil. They inspired me so much that I’d decided to pick up where Ama had left off—recording my own travel adventures.
I turned over the journal and looked at my most recent entry.
Dear Journal,
Although I’m only traveling to the airport and back today, it still counts as an adventure, because CAMILA IS ARRIVING AND I AM SO EXCITED! Can you tell? :) I can’t wait to see her again, and show her all the great things about St. Louis!
When I came downstairs, it smelled like a bakery. Dad was waiting for me. I looked through the oven’s glass window. Golden bubbles were forming on top of the gooey butter cake. I inhaled the delicious scent. “Behave while I’m gone,” I ordered the cake.
“Don’t worry,” laughed Mom. “Your cake will be here when you get back. And so will Camila!”
“What are you going to show Camila while she’s here?” my father asked me as we entered the freeway ramp.
I began to list everything I’d been thinking. “The Arch, Grant’s Farm, City Museum, the Mississippi steamboats, the Opera House…”
“Hold on,” said Dad, changing lanes toward the airport. “That might be too ambitious. Camila’s only here for eight days. Don’t forget, you two are doing that photography class at COCA.”
Yes! How could I forget? COCA is the Center of Creative Arts, one of the coolest places in St. Louis. Every school vacation they hold a day camp for kids. In the summer it’s usually for the performing arts, but during spring break they were holding a visual arts camp, and Camila and I were enrolled in the photography class. I’d convinced my best friend Abby to take the class with us, too. I just hoped she and Camila would get along.
Taking photos is one of my favorite things to do. My blog about the Amazon rainforest is filled with photos I took when I was there. On the weekends, Abby and I like to walk her dog around our neighborhood, and all around are interesting things for me to photograph. Once I took a photo of a man walking down the street with his pet ferret on his shoulder, and in the picture, he and the ferret had the exact same look on their faces! I love watching the world go by until I see a picture I want to take. When that happens, it feels like everything slows down and comes into focus.
Dad had arranged for us to meet Camila at the flight arrival gate. We waited as passengers streamed through the open doors. Finally, Camila appeared. She looked a little lost, but as soon as she saw me, she burst into a smile. I ran up and with a little hop, she hugged me.
“How was your flight?” I asked as we headed to the baggage area. “Okay,” she replied. “I am glad it was short.” I nodded, remembering that Camila was afraid of heights. “I closed the window shade to try to forget we were in the clouds,” she said, frowning.
Camila’s bright purple bag was waiting at the luggage carousel. Dad picked it up, and we started back to the car. A breeze hit us when we exited the terminal, and Camila shivered. “I did not think it would be so cold right now,” she said. “Usually, we visit in summer.”
“It’s actually pretty warm for April,” I replied, but Camila wrapped her arms around herself as if she was freezing.
As Dad drove home, Camila looked out at the gray skyline. I couldn’t tell what she was feeling, so I just kept talking. I talked about Lafayette Square, and camp, and photography, and Abby, who couldn’t wait to meet her.
“My best friend Abby’s mother is a veterinarian, and their house is like a rescue shelter,” I told her. “They have a dog and two cats and a parrot and a new puppy named Tiny that they’re fostering. We can go over and play with them, since she just lives two blocks away.”
Camila gave a faint smile, pressing her cheek against the window, and closed her eyes.
Was it my imagination, or did Camila seem less than excited to be here? She’s probably just tired, I said to myself, but worry started digging into my stomach. What if Camila thinks St. Louis is boring? Brazil is colorful and dramatic, with its huge rainforest full of wild monkeys and sloths, and its endless beaches. Everything is warm there, even the ocean. Compared to that, St. Louis could seem kind of blah.
I looked out the window. The passing stone buildings and trees blended together in a dull grayness. I sighed. Then, in the distance, something caught my eye. It was the gleaming silver loop of the Gateway Arch. Seeing it somehow made me feel better. St. Louis is great, I reminded myself. I just have to make sure Camila has an amazing time, that’s all.
amila’s welcome dinner flew by in a whirl of food and laughter. My father made sure to keep the bad puns coming. “Don’t mind my cheesy sense of humor,” he said to Camila as he handed her the basket of mozzarella garlic bread.
“Ugh, Dad!” I said, shaking my head, but Camila laughed. Although she hadn’t said much, she seemed happier than she had been in the car, especially when I started talking about all the places I wanted to show her.
“You have to see the Arch close up, obviously,” I said. “Hopefully we’ll also have time to go to Grant’s Farm. They have dozens of horses and a huge petting zoo,” I told her. “Oh, and we have to go see my mom’s new project! She’s helping to rebuild an old mansion.”
Camila looked interested. “Really?” she said to my mom. “This is what you do?” My mother nodded.
“She takes old buildings that are about to collapse and fixes them so they’re as good as new, or better,” I explained. I’d seen photographs of some of the houses my mom had restored, but I’d never been to one of her building sites before. I loved the idea of visiting.
As Dad served gooey butter cake, I told Camila it was a St. Louis specialty. I watched as she took her first bite.
Her eyes lit up and she smiled. “It is sweet!”
“Lea made it for you,” my mom told her.
“It’s my favorite dessert,” I added.
Camila nodded, her mouth full. “I think now it is my favorite, too!”
After dinner, when we finished clearing the dishes, I took Camila upstairs to show her my room.
On the stairs, she paused. “Is this your grandmother?” she asked, looking at the photographs lining the staircase wall. She pointed to a picture of Ama in a snorkeling mask in Bali.
“That’s her,” I said. In the photo, Ama was beaming and giving a thumbs-up. Around her neck hung the compass necklace she always wore.
I squinted again at Ama’s picture. I could just barely make out the flower on the compass’s face. I’d never seen another compass like it before. Looking at it, I felt sadness wash over me. I had left Ama’s necklace in Brazil, as an offering to the Goddess of the Sea, Yemanjá. I knew I had done the right thing, but part of me wished the compass was still hanging around my neck, to remind me of my grandmother.
I showed Camila the other pictures of Ama on the wall. There were photographs of her at all different ages—with Grandpa Bill on their wedding day in 1960, and then later, with my mom as a baby. Mostly, though, there were photos of her exploring: surfing in Mexico, cross-country skiing in Siberia, and skydiving with Zac on his eighteenth birthda
y. I loved the shot of her leaping over a boulder on Bondi Beach in Australia, hair flying. The look of sheer joy on her face seemed to lift her up. Although Ama hadn’t started traveling until she retired, she was still the most adventurous person I’d met. “I’m not fearless,” she used to say, “but I don’t let my fear stop me.” When I looked at all the photos of her, pride swirled with sadness inside me.
“Your grandmother was a very unusual person,” Camila said.
I nodded. Worried that I might cry, I swallowed hard and changed the subject. “Do you want to see my room?”
The minute Camila started looking around my bedroom, I felt a little nervous. My walls were covered in a jumble of maps and photos. I wished I had put away the National Geographic magazines stacked on my night table and piled by my bed. Camila didn’t seem to notice all my things, though. The second she spotted my turtle, she headed over to her tank.
“Ginger is so cute!” Camila exclaimed. “Even cuter than in pictures.” Ginger lifted her head up to look at Camila. I showed Camila how Ginger liked it when I scratched her under her scaly chin, and how to pick her up. Camila stood, cradling Ginger and squinting at a map of India with a dozen tiny colored pins stuck in it. “Why have you put these here?” she asked.
“Those are all the cities in India I want to visit,” I told her. “Delhi, Mumbai, Jaipur, Agra…Every time I see a photo of a place I want to go, I put it on the wall with a map.” Camila wandered around, looking at the maps of Japan, Paris, Tangier, and the Galápagos Islands. “I once made a list of all the places I wanted to go,” I explained, “but I kept adding to it so I ran out of space. It was just easier to put up maps and photos instead.”
“Where is the map of St. Louis?” Camila asked.
“I don’t have one,” I said.
Camila raised her eyebrows, surprised. “Why not?” she replied.
“Because it’s my hometown,” I said, shrugging. “I already know all about St. Louis.”
My eyes came to rest on the most recent photo I’d added to the wall. It was a shot of me with Camila on the beach. We were wearing swimsuits and colorful wish bracelets. Looking at the picture made me happy—and a bit nervous. Brazil was like a festive party dress. Compared to it, St. Louis seemed like jeans and sneakers.
After Camila turned in for the night, I checked my tablet. I had a new e-mail from Zac! Ever since he went to Brazil, it had been tough to keep in touch, especially lately. Last week he had moved from the town of Santa Sofia, where he’d been living with the Barros family, to Manaus, a large city in the middle of the Amazon rainforest. He was now doing research and working at an animal sanctuary. I hadn’t heard from him since the move, so I was excited to get an e-mail.
Hey, Lea,
Hope you’re enjoying your reunion with Camila. Things are good here. The Manaus sanctuary is smaller than the one near Santa Sofia that took care of Amanda, but they really need me here, so I’m getting to do a lot for the animals. Yesterday I helped rescue a pair of baby macaw parrots! I’ll try to send some pictures soon. Give Mom, Dad, and Camila big hugs for me.
xoxo Z
Warmth wrapped around me. I loved knowing that Zac was helping animals. He and I had worked together to rescue Amanda, an orphaned baby sloth. We had found her alone in the forest, weak and injured, and taken her to a wildlife sanctuary near Santa Sofia. I had helped them treat her and nurse her back to health. Amanda was still growing and getting stronger, and the vet there, Erika, sent me adorable pictures of her every week. Sloths are so cute! I couldn’t wait to see Zac’s pictures of the animals he was working with.
The next morning, Dad dropped us off at the Center of Creative Arts for the first day of photography camp. COCA is a sleek glass and metal building. Although it looks very modern, it’s already a local landmark. A few years earlier, they’d done a big renovation to restore it to look exactly as it did when it was built. Mom had worked on the project, so whenever I went there, I felt especially proud.
Kids were swarming the registration desks by the front entrance. Once we checked in, we pushed through a pair of huge glass doors into the busy lobby. Along the back wall stretched a tile mosaic of the St. Louis skyline against a swirling starry sky. Camila looked around, excited. “Wow,” she said. “Can we take a selfie?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed. We crammed together in front of the mosaic. I lifted up my camera, but as I snapped, someone jostled me from behind.
“Lea!” It was my best friend Abby, wearing a grin as wide as her headband. Her thick black curly hair was pulled up in two mini buns, and she was wearing a plaid dress, red tights, and her usual round-framed glasses. Abby’s mom is black and her dad is white, and with her mom’s broad smile and her dad’s loud laugh, she’s a perfect blend of them. Like me, she loves animals. Having so many rescue pets means Abby’s always covered in pet hair, but she doesn’t mind. She says what she means and doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her—two reasons why I really like her.
Before I could say, “You photobombed our selfie!” Abby started shaking Camila’s hand, laughing and peppering her with questions.
“Camila, right?! You look just like your photo. I’m Abby Hudson. So, what do you think of St. Louis? Have you been here before?”
I could tell that Camila didn’t understand everything, but she tried to keep up with Abby’s questions. “Nice to meet you, Abby… No, I have never before been to St. Louis…”
As we walked to class, Abby paused for a second. “Honestly, you guys, I’m worried about taking photography. What if I’m bad at it?” She grimaced. “I usually spend spring break playing soccer at the community center.”
“I love soccer!” Camila said enthusiastically. “I play forward.”
“Cool!” Abby said. “I’m a goalie. I also play the oboe. I like taking photos with my phone, but I’m not like Lea here—she’s an expert.” She grinned at me.
“I’m not,” I said, modest.
“Well, you’re more of an expert than me,” Abby insisted. “You took third place in a national photography contest last year.”
“I am also not an expert,” Camila confessed, sounding relieved that she wasn’t the only one.
“Great!” Abby told her. “We can be beginners together!”
When we walked into class, six kids were already there, sitting in front of sleek silver computers. The walls were lined with posters of different photographs. A tiny short-haired woman wearing big jingly earrings stood up front. She waved to us as we came in.
“Our last photographers have arrived!” she said. “Welcome! I’m Nedra Garcia, a.k.a. Ms. Garcia, and I’ll be your teacher. Please, pick a computer.”
Camila sat between Abby and me in the front row. Ms. Garcia gave us a friendly smile as she handed out digital cameras to the students who hadn’t brought one.
“Make sure you take good care of these,” she said. “Now, before I talk about what we’re going to do, I want to hear what each of you hopes to get out of this class. So speak up.”
Kids started raising their hands. Most of them wanted to learn Photoshop to get rid of mistakes or shadows in their photos. A red-haired boy named Kevin wanted to learn how to use Instagram better.
Abby waved her hand. “I want to learn how to take a photo without accidentally putting my thumb in front of the lens,” she said. A few kids laughed. “It’s true! It happens a lot!”
“I think you’ll find it easier to avoid that with a real camera, if you’re used to using a phone,” said Ms. Garcia with a smile. Her eyes flicked over to me. “And what about you—”
“Lea,” I said. “I just want to learn how to take better photographs.”
“That’s a great goal,” Ms. Garcia replied. Her earrings swayed as she nodded. She looked around the room at the class. “This week, I’ll be teaching the basics of Photoshop. You’ll learn how to set filters, crop, and adjust color and brightness, all basic skills in digital photography. I should warn you, however, that knowing how to erase red-ey
e is not the same thing as learning how to take a good photograph.”
Ms. Garcia turned to look straight at me. “That’s because a good photo isn’t about filters or lenses or photo apps. It’s about how you look at the world. A good photographer is always trying to see things in a new way, to discover what’s being overlooked, to show the viewers something they’ve never seen before, or show it in a way they’ve never seen before.”
Confusion clouded my thoughts. I knew I was good at photography. Everyone said my photos were great. But I didn’t really know what Ms. Garcia meant by “seeing in a new way.”
Ms. Garcia walked over to a poster of a vintage-looking black-and-white photo. In it, a woman in a black evening dress stood between two elephants, her arms elegantly stretching to touch their curving trunks.
“This photograph is a classic,” said Ms. Garcia. “It was taken by Richard Avedon. There are many reasons why it’s so good, but the main reason is…have you ever seen a woman in a dress like this with two elephants?”
I hadn’t.
“It’s totally unexpected,” she explained, “which makes it memorable. Not only that, but the lighting, the positioning, the focus and composition all work together to make it unique and beautiful.”
Ms. Garcia moved to another black-and-white photo, of a group of workmen eating lunch sitting on a steel beam…thousands of feet in the air above a city!
“No one knows who took this picture,” she said. “At first glance it looks perfectly normal, right? Just a group of men having lunch at work suspended in midair. Yet it’s also extraordinary, because it gives you a perspective on the city, and on construction workers, that the public had never seen before it was published.”
Finally, Ms. Garcia crossed to a color photo of a young girl. She was wearing a red headscarf, and her sea-green eyes stared straight into the camera. Excitement bubbled inside me as I recognized her. I know that picture! I thought. It’s from National Geographic!
