Flicker by Melanie Hooyenga Page A

not deleting the bad ones before downloading
them, but I'm too lazy. How else am I supposed to complain that I
have so many pictures wasting space on my hard drive?
    The soccer game replays on my screen.
Trace's goal looks even cooler now that I can see it. When I'm
taking pictures it's like my subconscious is aware of the scene and
lays out the composition for me, but I don't fully grasp what I've
captured until it's full-size on my computer.
    The computer scrolls to the final image and
I gasp. It's the man from the game. He's staring right at me. My
hand flutters to my chest and I force a deep breath. I forgot I'd
taken his photo.
    I save the album, then head downstairs in
search of leftovers and find my parents side by side on the couch
watching the news. The kidnapping is the lead story.
    "Did they find anything new?" I know the
answer since Cameron just told me, but I'm curious if my parents
will choose to spin it.
    Dad twists his neck to see me. "Hey,
sweetie. No they still don't have any clues."
    I think of Cameron and try to imagine his
house right now. He's probably sitting with his parents, comforting
them, the TV silent in the background. To my family this kidnapping
takes five minutes of our day, but to his it's a reminder of how
terribly wrong your entire world can go in those five minutes.
     
    *****
     
    Thursday after class I linger by my locker
before heading back to the soccer field. The cross country team
runs a course that loops around the school and ends on the track,
right where I interviewed Trace. Amelia promised she'd meet me
there.
    Cameron rounds the corner—books in one hand,
camera bag slung over his other shoulder—and my heart lifts. He's
the same Cameron I've always known, but it's like a layer's been
scraped away. Things I hadn't noticed before are suddenly all I
see: the way his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt, the
tilt of his head when someone else is speaking, the curve of his
lower lip when he's concentrating. Right now his mouth is decidedly
frowning.
    I fall into step beside him. "Everything
okay?"
    He waits a beat before answering. "It's just
been a long day." He slips on his jacket, then slides his arm
through mine as we walk down the hall. He releases me to open the
side door.
    A blast of cold air welcomes us and I'm
grateful Mom insisted I bring my gloves. I zip my coat as we head
for the track and flex my fingers. "This should make taking
pictures interesting."
    "You need a pair of these." He holds up a
pair of gloves with the fingers cut off. Loose threads dangle from
where the scissors hacked through the yarn.
    Apparently I'm not the only one. Every
single person from our class is sitting on the bleachers, and every
one of them is either blowing on their hands or sitting on them.
"You better hang on to those. Could start a riot."
    Several heads turn our way as we find an
empty spot on the bleachers, but they keep to themselves.
    Cameron leans close. "So what's our game
plan? I want to get close to the runners. My guess is most people
are gonna stay here, so unless we want the same shots as them,
we'll need to move. Plus—"
    "The sunlight." I interrupt, and he smiles.
I point to the western corner where I camped out for the soccer
game. "That's where I took all my shots the other day. The lighting
is kick-ass."
    He stands. "Then let's go over there."
    We pick our way back down the bleachers just
as the teams walk out to the track. I lift my camera and snap a
couple candids—teammates talking to each other, the coach consoling
one girl who looks like she might throw up—then follow Cameron to
the corner.
    He sets his bag in the grass and sits
next to it. I start to lower myself to the ground but he grabs me
around the waist and pulls me into his lap. "I've missed you," he
whispers in my ear. His strong arms wrap around me. My stomach
flips, which makes my heart go all crazy, and I'm embarrassed to
find myself completely breathless. I squeeze his bare fingertips
and