Don says, “You’re smiling” and it sounds like a bad thing. He brought clip-on bangs with his camera equipment that he took out and clipped on me.
He’s got a flash he holds in one hand that flickers like a strobe. He says I can look anywhere, so I look at the sky. When my eyes get tired, they fall down.
“Look anywhere but at me,” he says.
I want to laugh when he gives me the antlers, but he says no teeth. I hate my nose, I tell him, but he ignores me.
Me and Kayla met Don at the school play rehearsals because he takes pics for the school website. And because I was Cinderella, and she was the Fairy Godmother, he took us each alone in front of the lime green block walls but posted them in black and white.
Last year, when I first moved here, before I met Kayla or tried out for the play, I would walk in the nature conservancy and takes pictures of my own. All trees, mostly. I don’t know where those pictures are now.
This year has been crazy that way. I hardly remember how I felt last week. Right now I feel tired, and the antlers are heavy.
“Why don’t you just squat down?” Don says as if he can tell what I am feeling.
My knees feel good to bend, and take the weight from the back to the front of my heels. I find a small twig that looks like an insect, then a lampshade, then a twig again.
“Look the other way,” Don says, and that’s fine, it’s just as easy. I am happy to, but I don’t smile.