How I Fly (26 page)

“And the last one.” Professor Perry clicks to a shot of an old woman—a very old woman—asleep in a rocking chair on her porch in the sun. She’s hunched over in a way where I immediately get that it’s not sleep that has hunched her. It’s just old age. She probably hasn’t sat up straight in years and years. It’s been lit and photo-edited so each and every wrinkle on her face looks deep and carved in stone. I feel like we’re staring at a map instead of a woman’s face. The photo is unapologetic, raw, and so very real that I feel like I want to touch it—so I can touch the future and the past at the same time. It’s beautiful.

When the lights come back up, we all applaud—except for Harrison, that is.

“Wonderful. Wonderful,” says Professor Perry as the lights come back up. “Our last finalist is also wonderful. Unlike Cam Campbell and Sydney Stiles, who turned in more work that focused on related topics like people, or the beach at night, this student has wowed me with the sheer range of the photographs turned in to me. They zoom in, they zoom out, and each one makes me think.”

Glancing over at Laura and Patrick, who are both staring at me, I smile at them, but I’m sure it can’t hide how nervous I am. Then I reach out and grab the hand Cam offers up as the lights fade back down.

“I’m very interested in how our final student seems to enjoy photographing just about everything. Specialization is how to get noticed, but diversity in topics shows me this student has a love of life—our world—which is made up of things both man-made and nature-made. The images submitted stirred in me a curiosity and gave me personally a new desire to turn the world upside down and look at things in ways I never considered.”

He flashes a shot on the screen. I immediately recognize a shot I took while doing shots with Harrison. I had to lie flat on my back to get this one just right. It’s an upshot of my favorite thing. The sun, filtering through tree branches. I remember taking it clearly, because this shot was epic. There was a nest, full of tiny, squawking baby birds in that tree, and I’d captured the mom trying to hover-feed her babies. But what was cool about the shot is that the mother bird was staring at me the whole time. Glaring at me, actually, so the photograph is not some study in nature or tree branches—it feels more like an invasion of privacy, a conversation.

That’s when I stop breathing.

Because I didn’t turn in this shot as my work. It’s one of the shots Harrison had told me hadn’t come through—like they hadn’t saved or that they’d sucked. And I believed him.

I’m trying to understand what’s going on when Professor Perry says, “Our last finalist is Harrison Shaw, from right here in Ontario!” As the room erupts into applause, I almost vomit. I’m trying to catch his gaze, but he’s just turned away from me. He’s smiling and nodding at Professor Perry and grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

The cat that ate me.

Professor Perry flips to the next shot, and the room erupts into applause. I gasp like I’ve been punched because, again, it’s
my
shot. This one’s of the lake shimmering in the background with the heat coming off the sand in waves, so the entire thing looks like a painting, not a photograph. I took at least fifty of these, but like the ones of the nesting birds, they never made it to the jump drive Harrison handed to me.

Finally, as Professor Perry goes on about how this shot was like staring at impressionist art and how Harrison had turned in a whole series of these shots that simply blew him away, Harrison glances at me. Instead of looking guilty or worried that I’m going to call him out, he leans to the side and flicks his gaze at my hand still in Cam’s and whispers, “No congratulations? They’re amazing shots, aren’t they? Try not to cause a scene. No one will believe you, and you have no proof.”

Hardly able to breathe, I jerk away from him, and start shaking. Major shaking—and it becomes me and my CP and a full-on paralysis attack of my entire left side.

*Screams inside my head: Wait. Wait. WAIT. WHAT DO I DO?*

“Is that ass gloating already?” Cam leans in to my ear, misunderstanding my anguish, and says, “Don’t worry, Ellen. We’ll figure something out. There are so many more scholarships, so many other schools. Don’t worry.”

The screen flips to
Harrison’s
third shot, and I feel like I’ve been punched all over again. It’s my shot again. One I’d forgotten about. This time, Cam gets what’s going on, because Harrison, the ass, has had the boldness, the absolute audacity, to turn in the one photograph—the only one I took of Cam at Grand Bend. It was sort of a stalker-shot. I took it using the telephoto lens so I could capture Cam’s eyes very close up. Cam was never supposed to see this shot. Heck, neither was Harrison—because I’d meant to delete it while I was downloading the shots off his camera.

But Harrison never let me touch his camera again after that day.

But this shot…this shot of Cam, staring off pensively toward the lake with the millions of colors in his eyes that I love, is mirroring the gray colors of the lake along with the white-hot light of the midday sky.

This shot…is better than good. It’s—breathtaking.

Laura gasps, because she knows how I love to photograph Cam’s eyes—Patrick, too. I used to have hundreds and hundreds of photographs that look just like this one taped up over my room. Cam looks at me then, because he suddenly gets it—really gets why I’m almost doubled over. “These all are your shots. Aren’t they?”

When I nod, Harrison starts slowly scooting away, as if he was waiting for this reaction from Cam and Patrick. I almost wonder if he was hoping for this. Cam starts moving, like he’s going to follow the guy and beat the crap out of him in front of everyone.

Patrick’s got his hands already fisted, like he’s going to punch Harrison just as soon as Cam is finished with him. I can’t let my friends cause a scene. I can’t let Cam get in trouble for me, not after he’s just won his own shot at the scholarship.

And from the evil grin on Harrison’s face right now, I think Patrick and Cam losing it right here in front of everyone is exactly what Harrison wants because then he will somehow have
won
.

*Why? Why? Why would he do this? Why does he care?*

“Don’t. Don’t move or say anything.” I grab Cam’s arm, and then I freeze him with words I know he won’t be able to resist: “I need your help. I can’t move. Please stay with me. Please. Don’t leave my side. Please, and I think it’s what Harrison wants you to do, and I-I’m begging you please—” I stop mid-sentence because the applause grows quiet.

“And there you have them. The WOA scholarship senior class finalists!”

Professor Perry, unaware that a few of his students are going insane right now, turns off the overhead screen, and the lights come back on for the final time. “While we’re passing out the ballots for voting, would the three finalists please stand so we can all see who you are?”

The professor points at Harrison. “Harrison Shaw, everyone.” The room erupts again into applause. Harrison stands, which is the perfect excuse for him to get some distance away from us, and he crosses to the far side of the room, almost positioning himself by the door as if he means to run should we come after him. The coward.

The professor then beams at Sydney as she stands next. “Sydney Stiles, everyone! Camden Campbell, where are you?” He points at Cam, who stands reluctantly. Just in case, I keep my hand locked in his.

When Patrick scoots over as though he might follow Harrison, I latch on to him also. No way will I let him pass by. “Patrick. Help me. My leg’s cramped up. My hip won’t work and you two have to help me get through this without allowing me to cry in front of everyone like a psycho. Can you do that? Please. Just help me. I need to think and figure out what to do and—just wait before you do anything crazy. Okay? Please. We all have to wait,” I grit out. “Promise you won’t leave my side. Both of you.”

Patrick nods, and Cam follows suit, but they haven’t taken their eyes off their intended prey once, because I sense that neither of them means it. As everyone seems to be shifting and talking and standing up to leave, I actually feel the two of them moving toward Harrison.

“Guys. Please. Look at me!”

But in the noise and the crazy, and all while trying to protect the overprotective guys in my life, I’d forgotten—
Ireland.

Cam

I didn’t even see her cross the room.

I saw only people applauding and Professor Perry’s proud smile as everyone moved to hand in the ballots so they could stand up to leave. I was just about to reach down to help Ellen get to her feet, all while trying to keep my eyes on that ass, Harrison so he didn’t snake his way out of the room. I was also formulating a plan and sending Patrick secret signals to that effect right when the screaming tornado that was Laura London flew past all of us.

In retrospect, it was just like the day we met Laura way back when she first arrived in Canada. No one saw her coming at all.

She silenced the room while screaming a jumble of words that went something like, “Ye bloody rotter! You’ll never get away with it. Professor Perry! He’s a fake! A liar. A sham! You’ve got some cheeky -bloody-nerve, Harrison Shaw. Did ya-think we wouldn’t tell on you? Well¸ I’m telling!”

Professor Perry raised his brows. “Harrison? Laura? What’s all this?”

To Harrison’s credit, he did hold his ground as the room silenced and all eyes turned on him. “I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

Laura threw her arms wide. “His photos—the ones you just showed everyone—they’re not his. Ellen Foster took those!”

I remember Ellen’s grip on my arm doubling as she whispered, “Please, Cam. Please stay out of this. Whatever I do or say, please stay out of it.” Then to Patrick: “That also goes for you. Stay out of it.”

Everyone in the room froze to listen to the conversation, while the administrators gathered around all of us. “Laura London, these are huge allegations. Harrison, if you have anything to say, say it now.”

Harrison again shook his head. “Like I said, I have no idea what she’s talking about. She’s just trying to get me in trouble. Everyone knows Ellen just dumped me, and now, just because I kissed one of the French exchange students, Ellen’s all jealous. These three have been bullying me. Those are
my
shots, and they came off of
my
camera, and they’re mine!”

“Ellen Foster, what do you have to say? Are those shots yours?”

All eyes turned on Ellen. She was shaking and leaning on me pretty hard, but she held her head high and answered, “Yes. They’re mine.”

The entire room erupted into whispers as Harrison called out over the noise, “It’s a lie. Her word against mine! I’ve got all of the sub-shots to prove it. Ellen’s been taking advantage of me since she got here. She’s been using my work, and my tips and tricks to make her shots better, wasting my study and photography time while goofing off with her pack of friends.”

Professor Perry positively glared at Ellen. “Can you prove that they are yours?”

“No, sir,” Ellen answered, and slumped against me. “I can’t.”

“But they
are
hers. And Harrison Shaw can’t prove they are his,” Patrick called out. “Isn’t there a way to track…someone’s style—or to do a reshoot or anything?”

“Professor Perry. Please, don’t listen to any of them.” Harrison added, “I don’t know why they’re doing this here and now, except to humiliate me. Those shots—they’re mine. This is so like Ellen Foster to cause unnecessary drama. She thinks because she’s all skinny and tiny and disabled that people will let her do anything. Even if she pulls a stunt like this, she always gets what she wants. I know for a fact that she wants this scholarship more than anything. She even said those words to me herself!”

When he turned to Ellen, I could hardly recognize the guy, because I was starting to see spots from trying to control myself. Harrison went on: “Well, no more, Ellen Foster. You just have to stop taking advantage of people and grow up. This is so embarrassing for all of us, and mostly for you.” He shook his head. “Please. Stop. You didn’t win, and I did. You’ll have to get over it.”

That was when our little Laura London, all the way from Limerick, Ireland, went ape and knocked him flat with her tiny, glittery might.

At least, that was what everyone else saw.

But from our point of view, it was obvious Harrison was acting. The way he dropped so quickly and rolled all around, howling from Laura’s slight push, was perfectly orchestrated to get sympathy from the crowd.

It didn’t help that Laura was shouting at the top of her lungs and making things look worse in her special way. I can’t remember her exact words, but she launched into a new tirade that went something like, “Can’t you all see that he’s a mental case? Completely off his rocker! What do you want to bet he’s the reason Ellen turned in her first assignment late way back when we started? What do you want to bet he was dating Ellen to simply mess with her head? And what do you want to bet that the cast Harrison was wearing at the beginning of this program was as fake as the fake smiles he’s been planting on all of us? Lord, but I hope it’s true that he’s mental—because
crazy
is the only excusable reason for why he shouldn’t be drawn and quartered or thrown into a place colder than the Tower of London where he can rot and shrivel up and
die
!”

Only…after that statement, everyone thought Laura might need the lock-up, especially with Harrison screaming, “Keep her away from me. She’s obviously the crazy one, not me!”

And everyone believed Harrison. Besides the four of us, that is. But it didn’t matter, because things went from bad to worse, so for the rest of the afternoon, we hardly thought about Harrison or the photographs he stole from Ellen at all.

It was all about Laura London.

And how they were sending her away.