Not The One

Ch. 2

I sat in my mother's office chair, swinging back and forth as I took in her neat, empty office space. Most things were packed into boxes on the floor, or moved to home until she knew what to do with them, but on the walls were still some of the photos I'd taken that my mom had saved. Polaroids. Other parents kept old drawings around for the memories, but from the moment I could hold a camera in my hand and knew how to properly handle it, I'd left crayons behind for good. I wasn't sure about my Dad, but my mom had kept most of my photographs, as well as the second Polaroid camera I'd ever owned after the first one "grew legs and walked" as she liked to say. I stepped closer to the wall where my pictures were tacked. One was of my first day of fifth grade, where I'd turned the camera on myself and snapped the picture. A few others were from a middle school field trip to St. Augustine where I'd taken pictures of Mom and Grandma, both chaperones. I had pictures from Dad that day, since he'd showed up late, but of course they weren't up on my mother's wall.

My red Canon DSLR, nicknamed "Rebelle" after its' model type, sat in its bag at my feet. Before I'd surprised Mom by coming to visit her at work, I'd taken some time to snap some photos out near the front of the building. Thanks to a group project in philosophy taking up more valuable time than I'd liked, I hadn't had a chance to try out my new telephoto lens I'd just splurged on. My mom made it more than clear how she felt about my spending crazy money on my hobby, but it was honestly my hope that one day it would become more than the thing I did on the side. It was my last year of high school, and when I wasn't applying for schools and photography programs, as well as signing up for standardized tests and fighting against the pull of senior-itis, anytime left over was split between my blog and building up my portfolio.

"...ahh, we then yes, we can check with..." The sound of my mother's voice distracted me from all thoughts of blogs and portfolios as I reached for my camera. Peering outside the door frame, I spotted her, tapping her foot impatiently as she talked on the phone, probably a client. Looking at my mom, you'd expect me to have the same tan skin, lose black brown curls and thick, arched eyebrows. Instead, I looked like I was adopted whenever we stood next to one another. The only thing I got directly from my dad was my two shades darker skin tone and full nose. Otherwise, we might as well not have been related either. I pulled out my camera, and from the shelter of the door, took photos of my mom as she took no notice of me. I smiled as the rapid tick noise of my camera went off.

PSA Announcement: Rant City
You...Yes you in the back!
"This is your captain speaking..."
Unless you're one of my OTPs, stop the face sucking now! Yeah ok fine, woo PDA but if you can't get a room then go the frick somewhere else!! Don't nobody and I mean NOBODY wanna see you get freaky in the school hallways, library, in front of the impressionable dogs (yes, that's just rude man) or walk in on you in the bathrooms...I'm disgusted. Truly disgusted...
#rantover

"GO AMBER!" Antoinette screamed in my ear, and Catherine laughed at me when I winced. We were in the school's gym after hours to support Antoinette's cousin in her first game of the season. While our boys' team was always a hit or miss, the girls' basketball team never failed to impress. Jazzy leaned closer to my ear so I could hear her above the general noise of the crowd and the game. "Is it me or do the freshman look so young this year?" I fiddled with my camera, keeping one eye on Amber as she huddled with her team and coach. All the players wore some kind of sliver either in their hair or tied around their wrists, along with the navy blue and white jerseys which desperately needed to be retired. "I guess so, I don't know," I finally said, lifting my camera up and snapping an off-guard shot of Catherine. She eventually caught on, giving me goofy look of her own.

Only Antoinette and I were really paying attention to the game, and even all of my attention wasn't on the game. As long as we were winning, that meant I wouldn't have to hear Antoinette's bitching later. Now she stood, fingers pressed against her mouth in concentration and my lips split in a smile. Just a year ago, we were all watching her on the field, with the same number Amber had now— twenty-two—micro-braids dipped in silver dye to show her team spirit, and a matching navy blue sweatband pushed across her forehead. An aggravated injury in her ankle and a warning from the doctor had forced her to give up the sport our last year, and I wondered what stopped my friend from tearing down the stands and putting herself in the game right now. I placed my camera down, taking another look at the freshman on the team and then a look back to my friends, comparing them all. Maybe Jazzy had been on to something. We did all look different after four years of being in the same place.