The Almost Summer

Chapter 10: Define me♥

I love looking through the lens of a camera: something about it makes everything seem more...artistic. I can't draw for toffee, yet I still love artsy things such as craft shops and galleries. But what I really love is the way cameras can capture a moment and you'll always have it. The pictures people take nowadays are always either awkward selfies or overly posed. It's great when a rare photo crops up of me looking acceptable, and happy in a way you can't fake. Key word being rare.

 I wish we had cameras for other things, like feelings or conversations. Charlie told me there are: they're called diaries and voice recorders. But that's not what I mean. Unless your good at writing, a diary can't truly capture an emotion and voice recorder won't give you the warmth a real conversation can.

 It's like this: a single look or phrase from that boy you like and you're agonising for hours, analysing every hidden meaning in that brief moment. But within a few months it would be forgotten, lost in the recess of your mind. In a few years you won't even remember the boy's name.

 I wish I could remember. I wish I could remember everything. Because it's things about myself I'm forgetting, and if I'm continuously forgetting in 20 years time will I even be remotely the same person as I am now?

 I know, I know. It's called growing up. But I think I've got Peter Pan syndrome.

 Anyway, the reason for all this is just as small and seemingly insignificant: a nonsensical conversation about chocolate raisons. But it's replaying over and over in my mind, along with the minutes after it.

 For a few short seconds he had looked at me, so crazily intently that I'd felt the sudden urge to duck away. I'd busied my hands with nothing in particular, tipping the raisons into a different bowl "because this one's chipped". When I'd next glanced up he was giving me a look that some might describe as searching. I don't think he found what he was looking for.

 He left shortly after that, saying something about being needed at work. I think he realised his lie as he said it: we do work the same shifts after all. But I let it slide, not calling him on it. If he wanted out, he wanted out.

 By this time the rest of the guys had homed in on the chocolate, probably smelling it out from the treehouse. My dad has a theory that all teenagers come with a food detector (Charlie said: "yeah, they're called the five senses"). Then again, my dad thinks cows are aliens ("why else would they stare at us so much? They're gathering intelligence to send back to the mother ship"), so he's not exactly a reliable source.

 The rest of the day was uneventful; I was tricked into watching Saw by Charlie -"There's not actually that much violence"- and then Charlie got tricked into watching Mean Girls by me -"There's actually a lot of violence"- and the rest of the guys dispersed home until finally it's just me and Charlie as the credits rolled.

 "Another film?" He asks, yawning. I shake my head.

 "Two is enough. What time is it?" I yawn in reply. It is contagious after all. Besides, the heat and the films have made me feel sleepy, like my mind is some kind of sludge.

 "Not sure. Maybe seven? Hey, where'd Jake go? He seemed to disappear...after you guys went to get food." Charlie asks, voice casual, poker face. I'm immediately suspicious.

 Me and Charlie are twins. Not identical, but we're pretty good at reading each other. In fact, we know each other's expressions almost as well as we know our own. But you don't need to be his twin to know Charlie's the best at poker faces.

 He can keep a straight face through anything: he's like one of the guards outside Buckingham palace. In fact when I was younger he used to pretend to be one, just because it annoyed me when he wouldn't acknowledge me. But he frequently uses it when he doesn't want anyone to know how he feels. But "the face" - as my mum christened it - gives away more than any expression could. When he has "the face", you know he's up to something.