"Would you please calm the fuck down?" Harry begged, pulling my hands apart from nervously twisting together as we walked.
I huffed in annoyance, partly at myself and partly at his interference in my little inner turmoil, but I let him separate my hands from their mission of fidgeting endlessly as we navigated the streets towards the Arts building. I expected him to release me after forcefully pulling my hands apart, but in keeping with his habit of always keeping me on edge, his hand remained gripped with my own, lacing our fingers together as we turned the next corner.
Normally, this little development would set me into yet another tailspin of questions. Why is he holding my hand? What is he trying to convey? Does he even realize he does these things and how much they fuck with my mind? But currently, I was much too distracted. Because currently, we were on route to the exhibit of graduating students, where my project with Harry would be displayed to the faculty and prospective employers.
In reality, I expected him to be even more nervous than me. Considering his intense dislike for attention, and his violent refusal to anything related to his past and his scars, I fully expected him to back out from accompanying me tonight. Or even if he didn't cancel on me, of him at least being moody and mercurial considering the setting.
But he had been nothing but supportive since we left dinner with my family, saying our goodbyes and heading across the city towards the Arts building. The exhibit was to open at six, and the closer we got to the site, the more tense and anxious I became.
Harry stayed quiet for the most part, glancing over at me occasionally to find me increasingly nervous and jumpy as my mind created the million and one scenarios that may occur during the night. Everything from my work being viewed as complete rubbish, and Harry throwing a fit, to being offered my dream job, and me fainting on the floor. There were so many possibilities for how this night could go, and the unknown was the worst part of it. I had no control over anything from this point out, and just had to find some small form of chill, and be confident that what we had created together would be viewed as deeply and moving as I felt it was.
We walked in a tense silence for the last few blocks, Harry staring straight ahead, guiding me through the streets as I was distracted in my own little world. As the lights of the Arts building came into view, I paused in my tracks, my nerves reaching an all time high. Harry was jerked back by my hand in his, halting his motion.
Turning to find me with an inevitable deer in the headlights expression, he sighed, before guiding me to the side of the sidewalk and out of the way of other passers by.
"Lane, listen to me," he said, placing his hands on my upper arms, dipping his head down into my eye line. "Your project is amazing, okay? I have absolutely no doubt that it will get rave reviews, and everything will be fine. I know you're psyching yourself out right now, but just try and enjoy this okay? Whatever happens, happens."
I swallowed loudly, nodding my head mechanically at his words without ever really taking them in. I knew he was right, but at that moment, all I could think about was the impact this one night could have on my future. That thought alone, even apart from the project mark, how many photos were featured and all those other details, was terrifying. So many students put their faith in this one night, and if it didn't work out, where did you turn next? How do you even start?
"Hey," Harry called, his hands releasing my arms to place themselves on either side of my face. He put his face right in front of me, giving me no choice but to look into his eyes. "Breathe."
On command, I exhaled, my breath blowing across his face, causing his hair to ruffle. He chucked, before taking my hand again and leading me towards the lights of the building that held my fate.
***
"Absolutely incredible,"
"Moving and captivating,"
"Honestly, completely heartbreaking the way the series draws you in. You can't take your eyes off him,"
The comments, compliments and ovations swirling around the room in response to my series was making my head spin. Never, ever, did I expect this kind of response.
We arrived shortly after opening, only about half the student body and faculty present. Professor Murray was front and center, greeting each student, and handing them a folder with his remarks and final grades the moment you walked in.
No point in prolonging the inevitable, I suppose.
The moment he saw me, he smiled.
"Ms Jennings," he greeted, pulling a manila envelope from his pile, and handing it to me. "Well done, and congratulations."
"Thank you," I said, my voice shaky. I hadn't even had a chance to review the work yet, and already he had me anticipating what was to come.
His eyes flickered to Harry, his smile widening.
"I see you brought your muse,"
Instinctively, my eyes flickered to Harry, expecting him to take offense for the title of muse, since it so blatantly put him in notice. Surprisingly, however, he laughed.
"I suppose I've been called worse," he grinned, his hand tightening against my own.
Professor Murray laughed along with Harry, before turning his attention back to me.
"Enjoy your night, Lane," he smiled. "You've earned this."
I nodded, the fluttering in my stomach increasing as Harry lead me further into the studio. The moment we were away from the entrance, I pulled him to the side, handing him my folder.
"I can't open it," I stuttered, shoving the envelope against his chest. "You do it,"
"Lane," he laughed, taking the folder from me.
"Just shut up and do it, please," I whined, releasing his hand to twist my own two together nervously.
Rolling his eyes, Harry opened the flap, pulling out the two sheets of paper inside. His green eyes scanned the first page, before moving it aside to review the second. Slowly, a grin crept onto his face.
"You got an A, babe," he smiled. "And five photos in the exhibit,"
"What?!" I squawked, tearing the pages from Harry's hands. My own eyes reviewed the rubric, comments such as 'moving,' and 'progressive' and 'capturing the true essence of your subject' blurring my vision. Moving the rubric page aside, I read over the professors additional comments.
'Ms Jennings,
Please allow me to first congratulate you on your graduation. You've achieved a wonderful milestone in your life, and I commend you.
I also must say, without hesitation, that I was completely moved and entranced by your final submissions. The flow in which you created with your selections, the way you created a scene through the entire series although each image was shot in a different setting, was incredibly skilled and insightful. I found myself following along as if it were a story, giving me a haunting glimpse into this young man that I couldn't understand. Getting to the final images, showing his scars, finally brought together the insinuation of the emotional scars he held. The way you were able to capture both, so eloquently and respectfully, shows true talent and skill.
I have no doubt that you will do well in your future endeavors, and if this series is any indication, I look forward to seeing your work on the worlds stage.
The panel has selected five of your final images for exhibition.
Congratulations
DM'
My eyes read through his comments once, then twice, before raising to Harry. He was smirking at me, beaming more like it, before reaching down and lifting me clear off my feet. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I gave in to him as I hung in the air, laughing against his neck.
"I told you so," he teased, setting me back down on my feet.
"So you did,"
"I may have to remind you of this moment forever, you know that, right?"
I narrowed my eyes at him playfully. "You mean the one night where you were right?"
"The first night of many, love," he laughed, taking my hand and pulling me into the studio.
The next two hours were a blur. Congratulations mixed with questions about my inspiration and settings, paired with questions to Harry on how it was to be featured in such a raw way. He took it all in stride, and although he was noticeably tense and his answers clipped, he was much calmer than I expected. More than once, when the attention got to be too much for him, he would excuse himself under the pretense of getting us a drink.
I had met with countless editors, photographers, assistances and media personnel. The names and faces blurred together within the first hour, as business cards, opportunities for employment, and considerations were passed my way. I already had four business cards in my purse of prospective magazines and photographers requesting to meet, and I couldn't have been more excited.
The work presented in the exhibit was amazing. My eyes roamed each image selected, the variety and techniques used to capture the theme of secrets so wide and intriguing. There were concepts I had never even considered, and more than once, despite the praise my work was receiving, I questioned its merit against some of the competition.
I had just spent the last ten minutes talking with an editor from the New Yorker, a lovely woman whose attention seemed more on Harry and his appeal than my actual work, when he finally excused himself for the third time to 'get us a drink'. Within moments of his departure, the woman too took her leave, causing me to smirk at her disappointed, retreating back.
I wandered the busy studio, taking my time reviewing the works I had already examined extensively since arriving. The endless chatter had blurred into a white noise of voices, glasses clinking, and laughter. All the nerves and fear I had felt hours before was gone, in its place a feeling of complete elation. Regardless of how the rest of this night went, I was proud.
"Ms Jennings?" I voice interrupted, causing me to turn.
I was met with a tall man, possibly late thirties, his brown hair slicked back gently. The dark blue suit he wore was a contrast to his pale blue eyes, as he looked at me expectantly.
"Yes?"
His smile widened, his hand extending to me.
"Mike Ward," he introduced. "I am one of the editors of National Geographic,"
My eyes widened at his title, as I reached out a shaky hand to accept his greeting.
"I just wanted to introduce myself, and say that I am quite impressed with your work here tonight,"
"Thank you," I squeaked, my hand falling back to my side.
"The way you were able to capture the inner essence of your subject is remarkable for someone just finishing college," he continued. "I found myself drawn in to his story, before I even know what his story was. That takes talent,"
"Thank you," I repeated stupidly.
Seeming to sense my shell shock, he smiled. "I was wondering, have you done much street photography? Anything on scene or in the field?"
"Um," I swallowed, clearing my racing mind. I thought back over my current portfolio, of the images I had stored on my countless external drives littered around my room. "I have. Its one of my favorite genres, to be honest."
Mikes smile widened. "That's wonderful. Would you be interested in coming in for a meeting some time this week? I would love to see what else you have done."
"Really?"
"Yes," he laughed. "I will be upfront now. We have a team scheduled to depart for Somalia in the coming weeks, to work along side local humanitarian efforts and document the ongoing fight against the genocide still raging through the country. It isn't a position we usually offer someone without past field experience, but it is a possibility. It isn't an assignment for the faint of heart, I can assure you. But its one that will garner you worldwide notice, and probably change your life."
I could feel my eyes widening as he explained the possible offer. Never in a million years did I expect something like this. I figured, if anything, an entry level position with a local magazine. Starting out at the bottom, like all other students. Very few had the opportunity to join such strong teams early on, and I felt myself reeling.
"I feel you have a talent for capturing people, Ms Jennings. And it is the lives of the people we want to show the world. We need to bring their stories, back here in the small form we can. If this isn't a project you would feel comfortable with so early on, I completely understand. Like I said, it isn't an easy one. But I would still love to review your work, and see what opportunities we may have,"
"No!" I shouted, startling even myself. "No, I'm definitely interested," I amended, reining myself in.
"Wonderful," Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a card. "Please give me a call tomorrow, and we can set something up for later this week. Please bring a variety of work, but feel free to focus on images you feel would suit the project I have described."
Taking the card offered, I glanced over the raised text, before my eyes returned to him just as Harry stepped up to my side.
"Here you go," he said, handing me a drink.
His eyes moved to Mike, and he waited silently for an introduction.
"Harry, this is Mr Ward," I saw, my voice still noticeably edged. "We were just talking about an opportunity,"
"An opportunity I hope you seriously consider," he smiled, shaking Harrys hand. "You certainly have a way with the camera, yourself," he commented, nodding towards Harry.
"It's a hate, love, hate, kind of relationship," Harry quipped, retrieving his hand and sliding it into his pocket.
Mike smiled, before turning back to me. "Please call me," he said, before turning on his heel, and disappearing into the crowd.
The moment he was gone, Harry turned to me.
"What was that about?" he asked, eyeing me from over the rim of his glass.
I shook my head, my eyes flickering back to the card in my hand. I was quiet for a moment, my brain too jumbled to process what had just happened in the last few moments.
"Lane," Harry repeated, his voice raising.
"He is an editor for National Geographic," I said softly, my eyes still on the sleek business card in my hands. "He wants me to call and set up a meeting to discuss an opportunity,"
My eyes finally rose to Harry, his face stretching into a broad smile.
"Babe, that's amazing!" he laughed, reaching down and hugging me tightly despite the drinks in both our hands. He kissed the side of my head, before stepping back. "I told you," he said with a grin. "I told you that your work was amazing. Granted, your subject is a wank, and is getting a little tired of being hit on by old women tonight, but your images are amazing. I told you you would get amazing offers. See, your life would be so much easier if you just listened to me more,"
I laughed, rolling my eyes at his ramble. "Would you stop," I scolded, sliding the business card into my purse.
"Just let me enjoy this moment," he teased.
"Shouldn't it be me enjoying this moment?"
"It is. But I need to also enjoy the moment I was right twice in one night. Men don't get moments like this often, so don't steal my thunder, babe." He laughed, taking a sip of his drink. "So what is the opportunity?"
I felt myself smiling nervously as I relayed the information. "He said they have a team going to Somalia soon. To document the genocide and work with the local relief groups. It's not a job they usually give to someone like me, but he wants me to come in and at least discuss it."
"Somalia?" Harry said, his brow furrowing. "As in, civil war torn, kidnappings, and gun fire?"
My smile wavered, my stomach tensing under his words. I nodded in response.
His face hardened quickly, his teeth grinding together before he set his glass on a nearby table with a bang.
"Absolutely fucking not!"