oh, anna [-hs]

something

5.

The day goes by quickly, we stop by Emma's work to grab lunch again, and before I know it, I'm putting the camera away and pulling my bag out of my locker. Harry leans back against the wall, his ankles crossed. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Townes walking over here again.

My heart freaks out for a second, and I shake my head at whatever feeling just leapt up inside of me. Jealousy? Fear? I try to catch a glimpse of Harry's expression without him noticing. He sees her, and lightly shakes his head. My eyes shoot back to her. She nods, smiles, and walks away. And then I realize I've been holding my breath. I slam my locker door closed.

"Quinn," he starts. I glance up at him. "This has been fun and all, but I don't feel like I've got a full grasp of what you do."

"What do you mean?" I smile, throwing the bag over my shoulder. He shakes his head, his hair flopping back and forth.

"You're just...filming for coverage. You're covering the event. I want to see what you do with that." He points to Cherry. I give him a disapproving look.

"She has a name you know."

"I want to see how you work with Cherry," he smirks. I pat the camera lovingly. Contemplating his request.

"Alright," I decide. His eyes brighten.

"Yeah?"

"Sure." I pull my jacket over one of my arms, juggling the bag and camera in my hands as I shake the rest of the coat onto my body. "Let's head outside."

He follows me, giddy. I can tell because his hands fan out like he's a little second grade girl in her favorite dress. But he's a 23-year-old man. It's still cute. It's him. It's interesting.

We are met by the chilled air of late September, and he stuffs his hands into his coat, pulling his sunglasses out running them up into his hair like a headband. I pull Cherry off of my shoulder, holding her in my hand.

"Alright, so how does this work?" He grins, soaking in my movements. I look around.

"I wait for inspiration I suppose, let the camera do the work for me." My eyes wander over the storefronts, sidewalks, street, and high rises. Around us, people shuffle past, unconcerned with our faces. I figure Harry must like that, just how focussed and unbothered people are here. I squat down, staring at the sidewalk, and then my eyes move towards his feet. In my mind, they are glowing. "Here we go," I smile.

I flip open the camera, clicking record. He stands absolutely still, terrified by my actions. My camera is trained steady on his shoes. "Don't be shy," I urge him.

"What do you want me to do?" He is frozen, paralyzed by the camera lens.

"Whatever you feel like doing. What is your gut telling you to do?" I offer. He ponders this. And then suddenly, breaks out into a little dance. His heeled boots tap the pavement carelessly, and from above I hear him faintly humming along to whatever music just started playing in his mind. I smile, he's uncomfortable, it's a coping mechanism, music.

I end the recording. "There, just like that, that's what I do," I conclude, folding the camera up and hanging it back on my shoulder.

The wrinkle reappears between his eyebrows. "I don't understand."

"You're not the first. But just because you don't understand something doesn't mean you can't appreciate it."

"Yep," he chuckles, shaking his head. "That's you in a nutshell."

I don't like his words, I feel a strange sensation in my gut. I don't like how he so easily categorizes me, writes me off in a way. I blink. "Come on, let's do some more."