visual of our backyard. Yep, I'm pretty sure we have flowers.
Seems like my mom is always sticking some blooming thing in a vase. I write back:
It's a deal. My camera is at home. After school, I will immortalize your battle wound. Then you can shoot flowers.
She reads the note and nods.
Cool. I can't wait to get my pixels on her face.
CHAPTER NINE
Macro photography is usually associated with nature.
âMitsu ProShot I.S. 5.3 camera guide, 2007
"I don't understand," says Shannon. "You're going to take pictures of her?" We're walking to the bus stop.
"Of her eye, yeah! I can't wait! I might even do a seriesâyou know, take pictures of it every day while it's changing colors."
"Huh. And she's going to your house?"
"Yeah. She likes to shoot flowers."
"Shoot flowers?" says Shannon.
"Take pictures of them. She's going to take pictures in our garden."
"Butâ"
"But what?"
Shannon shifts the straps of her backpack. "But I mean, even
I've
only been to your house once."
You've only beenâ"
"I know it sounds stupid, but I'm your girlfriend, and I've
only been to your house once. Now Marissa gets to go?" Shannon's lower lip trembles a little bit.
I'm not following this at all, but she seems to be getting upset, and I can feel things moving into Not Good Land. "Wait," I say carefully. "What do you mean 'Marissa
gets
to go?' What's the big deal? You can come over to my house anytime you want."
She crosses her arms. "Uh, no I can't, Blake."
"Why not?"
Okay, now she's getting
mad
instead of sad. I'm trying to keep up.
"I was taught to wait for an
invitation
to someone's house, rather than inviting myself over."
"Oh." I feel like crossing my arms, too, and mimicking,
I was taught to myeh myeh myeh myeh myeh.
I take a deep breath. "Shannon?"
"What."
"Would you like to come to my house?"
"When? Today?"
"Sure. If you like. With Marissa and me. She won't care."
I have soccer!"
Blow it off."
"I can't blow off
soccer.
" She looks truly appalled.
We're stuck. I'm pushing, she's pulling. The door won't budge.
"How about tomorrow?" I say.
"I've gotâ"
I reach out and pull her close. "I know. You've got soccer. But you also have an
open
invitation to come to my house. Okay? So if you ever want to blow off soccer and come home with me"âI put my lips close to her earâ"I would love that."
She relaxes against me. I inhale her flowers-and-rain scent. "I wish I could," she says. "You know my mom would kill me, though."
"Why?"
"She worries about us being alone together."
I squish her against me even closer. "Are
you
worried?"
She shakes her head, her hair tickling my neck.
"Forget Marissa," I say. "Why don't you and I sneak away someplace?"
Ahh! Turns out that's the right thing to say.
***
No one is home yet when Marissa and I get to my house, so I dig my key out and unlock the door. The Dog Formerly Known as Prince dances around and whines his welcome-home song. Marissa pets him gingerly; it's clear that she's a cat person.
"What's his name?" she asks.
"Well, it used to be Prince," I explain. "We got him from the Humane Society. But he didn't seem like a Prince to us, so we decided it should be The Dog Formerly Known as Prince."
She looks blank.
"You know, like the singer?" I say. "Never mind, it's a lame family joke."
"Wow, you guys have a piano," she says. "Do you play?"
Nah. My mom made Garrett and me take lessons, but they didn't stick. She plays, though."
"I wish I could play an instrument."
"Let's eat, I'm starving." I head for the kitchen. We power down some milk and cookies, like hungry kindergartners, and Marissa looks around the room rather than at me. She gets up to examine a photo hanging on the wall by the window over the kitchen sinkâit's Garrett when he was a baby. His face is covered in some kind of orange baby foodâcarrots? squash?âand he's clutching a little spoon. My dad is at the edge of the frame, grinning at Garrett.
"Cute," she says. "Is that
Seems like my mom is always sticking some blooming thing in a vase. I write back:
It's a deal. My camera is at home. After school, I will immortalize your battle wound. Then you can shoot flowers.
She reads the note and nods.
Cool. I can't wait to get my pixels on her face.
CHAPTER NINE
Macro photography is usually associated with nature.
âMitsu ProShot I.S. 5.3 camera guide, 2007
"I don't understand," says Shannon. "You're going to take pictures of her?" We're walking to the bus stop.
"Of her eye, yeah! I can't wait! I might even do a seriesâyou know, take pictures of it every day while it's changing colors."
"Huh. And she's going to your house?"
"Yeah. She likes to shoot flowers."
"Shoot flowers?" says Shannon.
"Take pictures of them. She's going to take pictures in our garden."
"Butâ"
"But what?"
Shannon shifts the straps of her backpack. "But I mean, even
I've
only been to your house once."
You've only beenâ"
"I know it sounds stupid, but I'm your girlfriend, and I've
only been to your house once. Now Marissa gets to go?" Shannon's lower lip trembles a little bit.
I'm not following this at all, but she seems to be getting upset, and I can feel things moving into Not Good Land. "Wait," I say carefully. "What do you mean 'Marissa
gets
to go?' What's the big deal? You can come over to my house anytime you want."
She crosses her arms. "Uh, no I can't, Blake."
"Why not?"
Okay, now she's getting
mad
instead of sad. I'm trying to keep up.
"I was taught to wait for an
invitation
to someone's house, rather than inviting myself over."
"Oh." I feel like crossing my arms, too, and mimicking,
I was taught to myeh myeh myeh myeh myeh.
I take a deep breath. "Shannon?"
"What."
"Would you like to come to my house?"
"When? Today?"
"Sure. If you like. With Marissa and me. She won't care."
I have soccer!"
Blow it off."
"I can't blow off
soccer.
" She looks truly appalled.
We're stuck. I'm pushing, she's pulling. The door won't budge.
"How about tomorrow?" I say.
"I've gotâ"
I reach out and pull her close. "I know. You've got soccer. But you also have an
open
invitation to come to my house. Okay? So if you ever want to blow off soccer and come home with me"âI put my lips close to her earâ"I would love that."
She relaxes against me. I inhale her flowers-and-rain scent. "I wish I could," she says. "You know my mom would kill me, though."
"Why?"
"She worries about us being alone together."
I squish her against me even closer. "Are
you
worried?"
She shakes her head, her hair tickling my neck.
"Forget Marissa," I say. "Why don't you and I sneak away someplace?"
Ahh! Turns out that's the right thing to say.
***
No one is home yet when Marissa and I get to my house, so I dig my key out and unlock the door. The Dog Formerly Known as Prince dances around and whines his welcome-home song. Marissa pets him gingerly; it's clear that she's a cat person.
"What's his name?" she asks.
"Well, it used to be Prince," I explain. "We got him from the Humane Society. But he didn't seem like a Prince to us, so we decided it should be The Dog Formerly Known as Prince."
She looks blank.
"You know, like the singer?" I say. "Never mind, it's a lame family joke."
"Wow, you guys have a piano," she says. "Do you play?"
Nah. My mom made Garrett and me take lessons, but they didn't stick. She plays, though."
"I wish I could play an instrument."
"Let's eat, I'm starving." I head for the kitchen. We power down some milk and cookies, like hungry kindergartners, and Marissa looks around the room rather than at me. She gets up to examine a photo hanging on the wall by the window over the kitchen sinkâit's Garrett when he was a baby. His face is covered in some kind of orange baby foodâcarrots? squash?âand he's clutching a little spoon. My dad is at the edge of the frame, grinning at Garrett.
"Cute," she says. "Is that
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