Marcie

“My turn,” I blurt. There’s something way too earnest in his blue eyes. It crawls over my skin, icy and strange.

Ben blinks. “Oh. Uh, yeah. You want to use your camera or mine?”

“Mine.” I yank the rest of the leaves from my jacket, then shed it entirely. It’s way too hot for a jacket anyway. I stuff it back in my bag then pull out my camera.

Compared to Ben’s, it’s dinky.

But he’s a professional photographer. There’s no point in comparing. I just need to get a good enough shot to convince myself I’m making things up.

“Uh, go sit,” I say. “No, you did that....