⋆ c a n d i d p h o t o s & r u d e b e g i n n i n g s ⋆
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aesthete (adj.) someone with deep sensitivity to the beauty of art or nature
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I WEAVE MY WAY through the usual crowds in the hall, life buzzing from every corner. The vibrant hums of laughter and voices seep into the air around me, various words splashing around like colors of paint. Camera dangling around my neck, I nimbly skirt around the clusters of standing people with practiced precision as I dart to my photography class. The pictures I just captured are adding invisible weight to my camera, as I can't wait for Mr. Conway to see them. I run into his classroom, and come to a halt at my seat, sitting down to catch my breath.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down Ms. Vega!," Mr. Conway smiles, running a hand through his black waves, "I take it the session went well?". I nod. While I love taking photos of anything and everything, I specialize in taking candids of people when they are in an emotional moment, whether it's shock, laughter, sadness, or anger. I am usually the one the newspaper selects to photograph their special events. Today's was the outdoor volleyball game to qualify us for state. Since we won, these pictures are going to have to be edited quickly to get them ready for tomorrow's newspaper.
Unlike most schools, the Lindon High School Lineup is an extremely big thing at our school. The online newspaper is not only for coverage of events and announcements, but also serves as the school's gossip center, as there is a forum where students can publish their own works. Since hardly any teachers read the section and the approval is done by a senior, pretty much anything worth hearing is accepted. If there is something you want to know about or want people to know about, you can find it on the Lineup.
I flick through the pictures, checking over the ones I kept one more time before handing the camera over to Mr. Conway. He hums his approval as he sees them.
"As usual, your pictures are outstanding. You truly have a gift, Andromeda." I smile, even though I wince inwardly at his use of my full name. I prefer Andy, but he's one of those adults who refuses to let us "children mess up the beautiful names our parents gave us with love and affection". I am lost in my own thoughts after the class, where we learned stuff about light editing that I already knew, that I don't watch where I'm going when I walk out the door.
"OOF!"
I run straight into the hard chest of a guy, who's resounding grunt resonates through his body. I step back so quickly I almost fall, and find myself staring into a pair of the greenest eyes I've ever seen.
"I'm so sorry, are you okay?", I ask, trying not to get distracted by his sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and soft black curls. He has one of the most handsome faces I have ever seen, but he gives me a glare that could freeze fire.
"Watch where you're going, bitch!," he yells and then storms off. I find myself watching his broad back muscles flex as he does so. It takes me a moment to register what he said, and a small wave of anger runs through me.
Relax, Andy, you never know. He could be having a shitty day, and you could just be the cherry on top.
I know because I've had plenty of days where everything seems to be going wrong, and then when someone says or does a tiny thing to annoy me, I snap. So, I just shrug and walk away.
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"How was your day, hon?", my mom shouts from the kitchen as I close the door. I yell back that it was fine before following the delicious scent of freshly baked cookies to her. She sweeps me up into a hug, a lock of her thick, cinnamon-colored hair brushing my face. She smells like her usual lavender perfume and baby oil. I glance around the kitchen and it looks like a storm has ran through it. Cassiopeia Vega is like that. She creates wonderful final products at whatever she's trying to accomplish, but is completely messy and clumsy while doing it. She can be a bit hasty and disorganized, but I wouldn't trade her for the world.
Her big blue eyes search mine to make sure I am telling the truth before turning to take the cookies out of the oven. I reach for one, but she smacks my hand with her oven mitt, the light dusting of freckles across her nose wrinkling in a cute habit she has when she gets irritated.
"Andromeda, you know better. Those cookies'll burn your mouth, missy," she says, and picks up the tray, placing it on a shelf to cool, "and if you want some, help me clean up this mess." We fall into a comfortable silence as we tidy up together, with me wiping down the counters with a wet paper towel while she puts all the ingredients back where they belong. Finally, I grab one of the warm, slightly gooey cookies from the tray and place it in my mouth, letting the perfect combination of chocolate and dough melt on my tongue. My mom just chuckles and wipes a crumb off the corner of my mouth.
"When do you go back to the lab?", I ask, since her schedule changes every night depending on the night sky. Not only do my parents always go to the astrology lab to study at night, but my dad also works most of the day as an accountant. He tries to be home before dinner to give me enough time to see him, but it is still never enough. And while I am grateful for everything he does to pay the bills, it feels like the close relationship we used to have is breaking off.
"Um around 7, I think," she shrugs and resumes making her famous tomato lasagna. I retreat to the dining room table with a plate of cookies and start my homework. When the familiar jingle of keys and shutting of the garage door echoes through the house after minutes of silence, I am out of my seat in an instant.
"Papa!", I squeal, throwing my arms around him. He hugs me back with equal ferocity, like that of a bear. Andreas Vega has never been one to shy away from affection, always planting surprises kisses on my mother and lifting me into random hugs. He is a tall, strong man of forty-two, with a shock of always messy, brown curls atop his head, hinted with flecks of grey. When he truly smiles, the corner of his eyes crinkle along the well worn lines from years of laughter and joy. His blue eyes light up at the sight of my mother behind me, and he picks her up to twirl her in the air before kissing her too. She just laughs and shoves him off.
It always warms my heart to see my parents act so playful and loving with each other. It reminds me that there is hope for the world, that true love exists. I smile to myself as I climb the steps into my room.
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