life behind a lens

chapter six

Well we've blown it. And we damn near beat the record (first made last year by the Smith twins). We're stupid. Yet brilliant. Yes, we almost beat the record for Most Idiotic Act of Stupidity—I think Fred and George Smith made that up.

Becky and I have become celebrities at this Photography Academy. Nearly every face in the entire building admires and worships us (which probably isn't a good thing). Even the Smith twins have made friends with us. Everywhere we go we are surrounded by adoring fans all over the Academy. From tiny nervous first years to amused third years, to annoyed snooty fifth years, who continue to try and stop people from getting our autographs and photos, yet with no success.

Best of all, we've been banned from lessons for a week (YES) because we "disrupt the calm peace of the classroom with our mischevious behaviour." According to the head anyway (surely this isn't a punishment). So we get to hang around with Fred and George Smith on the grounds, who always seem to find an excuse to miss class.

***

Snow glistens on the cold, dew covered grass. The first signs of winter. A loud clicking can be heard, echoing all over the grounds, betraying the crowds of students all desperate to photograph this first chance of excelling in the competition. A week has passed since the 'incident' and the students have mostly forgotten about our adventure.

As I stare down the six inch lens of my camera, melting snow trickles down my boots. The leaf in front of me is dusted with frost, like icing sugar sieved onto a Christmas cake. I concentrate. One small click of a button, and this competition could fall into my hands.

A twig snaps.

My attention is sharply changed, and I instinctively turn around.

Startled with my own annoyance at this interruption, I don't notice the delicate flakes of snow start to float down to the frozen ground, or the russet colour fur flash past. Then I see it.

There.

A red urban fox, scenting the air with its small black nose pointing towards the sky. I squint through the lens of my camera. The sight is breathtaking. For one moment, which seems like a decade, my mind is blank of everything but this beautiful animal. I instantly forget all about the leaf, and of the competition. The only thing that seems to matter to me now is the fox.

As I twist the lens towards the middle of the camera, the fox doesn't move a muscle. It sits, a frozen statue, as the light snow settles over its russet pelt.

The camera clicks. The fox tenses.

Its small head turns towards me. We stare at each other for a second, then the fox darts off in a flash. I watch it go, still reliving that precious moment in nature.

***

For the rest of the day I pore over the photography magazines that have been sent to me from home. I've never had a need for them before, but now, I need to look up all the information essential for editing and entering of the competition. The very first thing I did when I left the grounds was back up my photos, and duplicate them thousands of times, they are memories I never want to lose.

***

I stare at the gleaming silver. A trophy in the shape of a shield is fixed to a stand, overlooking many other awards. A name is engraved into the metal.

Amy Evans. Winner of the 2009 Photography Competition.

My older sister. When I showed my friend Rose the photo of the red fox, she couldn't believe it was actually real. She's one of the nerdy girls, a lot like me, but she studies different subjects; such as history of the school, and how it has been run before, and also previous headteachers. So naturally she had read about the last competitions, including the one my sister won.

For the first time I walked into the trophy room, and saw my sisters award. I can't help but feel jealous, yet proud for her. I feel anger that she never told me, and longing, for it to belong to me. I desperately want to win the competition. For Amy. For Becky. For Rose. And for, most importantly, the Photography Academy.