Summer in the Invisible City by Juliana Romano Page A

my photograph, the light seemedliquid. It pooled in the empty seat next to them and slid down the slick surface of the metal pole.
    Benji singles out my picture right away.
    â€œWhat do you guys see here?” he asks the class, pointing to mine. “Sean?”
    â€œA boy on a train,” Sean grumbles. Sean fell asleep twice today already.
    â€œI like the pole,” this girl Alexis says. “I like how shiny it is.”
    â€œI like the kid’s sneakers,” Cody with the long hair adds. “They look brand-new.”
    Benji jumps in. “It seems like there’s lots to look at in this picture. When there are so many things happening, how do you know what the picture is really about?”
    â€œMaybe it’s about a lot of things,” Alexis adds.
    â€œMaybe it’s about
light and shadow
,” Izzy says.
    Benji lights up. “Yes!”
    He looks at the photo, temporarily turning his back on us, and Izzy takes the opportunity to stick her tongue out at me. And then she laughs, which makes me laugh, too.
    Benji hears us laughing and turns in our direction, locking eyes with me. “Is something funny, Sadie?”
    My laughter stops abruptly, a car screeching to a halt. My face burns as I shake my head
no
, too shamed to speak.
    â€œGood,” he says.
    When he turns away again. Izzy rolls her eyes at his back, like
Benji is so uptight
. I try to smile in agreement, but I’m worried that Benji thinks I was laughing at him when really, all I think is that he’s wonderful.
    When I get home, my mom is sleeping on the couch in the front room.
    I tried so hard to find interesting people to photograph for this assignment, but now, seeing my mom resting there with wide stripes of afternoon light lying across her body like tropical leaves, and her gold bangles slumped drowsily down her wrist, she’s the most amazing subject in the world. I pull out my camera and take her picture.
    She must hear me rustling because she wakes up.
    â€œHey, honey,” she says, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Wow. I just touched bottom.”
    â€œGuess what?” I say, putting down my camera to untie my shoes. “Benji loved my photo this week.”
    â€œWho is Benji?” she asks, sitting up.
    â€œBenji is my photo teacher. How could you forget that? I talk about him constantly.”
    â€œOh, right. Gosh, how did I forget that? I’m just really out of it today.” She sighs. “I need some tea. Maybe that will make me feel more grounded.”
    Whenever my mom is stressed she gets super spacey. For some reason, it annoys me more than if she just snapped at me.
    â€œI’ll make it,” I grumble, heading to the kitchen.
    If Allan were here, he would want to know everything about what Benji said. He’s probably even read the essay that Benji assigned over the weekend.
    â€”
    I put a pot of water on the stove and lean against the refrigerator. The kitchen window is propped open with astained cookbook and soft, humid air seeps in from outside.
    Every day, the days are getting longer. Summer is opening up like a flower. Soon, Allan is going to be here and then everything is going to finally be the way it’s supposed to.

Chapter 12
    Allan lived in the city for a year when I was in fourth grade. I had barely ever seen him before then and, at first, when he told my mom he wanted to see me, I said no because I was so scared.
    That was back when I used to take Saturday morning ballet class from my mom’s friend. I always felt like a real ballerina warming up in that room, the out-of-tune piano banging out music as we stretched. Something would stir inside of me when I clutched the worn wood of the ballet bar, the wet sleety city outside all cold and hard and ugly, and everything inside hot and kneaded and beautiful.
    Even though I was afraid to meet him, my mom said it was important that I did. So one Saturday morning, we ate