Twelve
It’s sweet, it’s salty
It’s kind of bitter
It leaves a taste in your mouth
That you’ll always remember
Oh baby, that’s revenge for ya
‘Taste’ from The Brink of Teenage Freedom
Know thy enemy,’ I say, pointing at the whiteboard in my room. I’m hosting this important meeting after school, and everyone is tired after a long day.
‘Are you quoting the Bible?’ says Faye.
‘I don’t think that’s the Bible,’ says Kira.
‘Oh you’re right,’ says Faye, looking at her phone. ‘It’s some Chinese military guy. Sun Tzu. The Art of War.’ She looks at me. ‘Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?’
‘Focus,’ I say, pointing at the whiteboard. ‘We need to think of the things we know about Ty.’
‘He’s hot?’ says Kira.
‘Apart from that,’ I snap. ‘And he’s not hot hot. He just has a nice face. Not a nice soul.’
Faye shakes her head at Kira. ‘Definitely a bit dramatic.’
‘Once again, people, focus.’ I walk up to the whiteboard and write ‘Ty’ in the middle. I start drawing out arrows from it. ‘We know he’s American.’ I say, writing it down and underlining it. ‘He is cocky. He doesn’t like Croydon. He photographs his garden.’
‘Seems like a good place to start,’ says Kira.
‘The cockiness?’
‘No, the photographer bit. Can’t you . . . wreck his camera or something?’
‘I want to piss him off, not wreck his property,’ I say, thinking how expensive the camera looked. ‘Isn’t that a crime?’
‘Okay, maybe not the best idea,’ says Kira.
‘How about wrecking the photos?’ says Faye.
And with that, I have an idea.
My delivery arrives the next day. Ty always takes photos at the same time every day, when the light is the best. So as soon as I see him in the garden on Saturday afternoon, I head outside.
He’s focused on what he’s doing, which is taking pictures of the pond again.
The light is glittering on the surface, creating an ethereal glow around the water.
I start putting up the privacy screen. The screen is a pop up, meant to block sunlight or nosy neighbours.
It’s opaque, so I can’t see him after I put it up. But I can hear him.
‘Writer!’ says Ty, his voice raised. Looks like the nickname is sticking, but I don’t feel mad about it. ‘What are you doing?’
I pop my head from around the side of the shield. He looks mad.
Excellent.
‘How did you know it was me?’ I say. ‘It could be my mum putting this up.’
‘I can see your hands. I don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to work this one out,’ he says. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Just putting up this privacy screen,’ I say. ‘You know, on my side of the fence, so I can.’
‘But why?’ he says.
‘For privacy, duh,’ I say. Bet he doesn’t like being made to feel stupid.
‘You need privacy?’ he says, eyebrows up. ‘From us?’
‘Well, I wanted to stop having conversations with annoying neighbours,’ I say sweetly. ‘This feels like a good solution.’
As soon as I say this, I catch the screen on the fence at an awkward angle, causing me to stumble and drop it. This is a mistake because now the golden hour light has hit Ty’s face, lighting him up like an angel.
An angel with a devil’s heart, I have to remember. He made me feel so bad yesterday.
‘Really?’ he says. ‘You want to stop talking to me?’ He leans forwards. ‘I must have made quite an impression.’ His eyes flicker over me. ‘Are you sure this isn’t to do with me taking photographs?’ He gestures at his camera.
‘You take photos?’ I say, feigning ignorance. ‘I hadn’t noticed at all.’
Within seconds he is over the short fence, and straight up in my space. I feel my throat get dry with his proximity. But I can tell my aim has been accomplished, he looks irate.
‘Stop this stupid act,’ he says.
‘You were the one calling me stupid,’ I say.
He frowns, those green-brown eyes narrowing.
‘No,’ he says slowly, ‘you’re the one who accused me of calling you stupid. I never said that.’
I think back to our conversation. It’s true he never said it, but he made me feel it.
He shakes his head. Lifts up his camera.
‘Do you know why I like photography?’ he says.
Now it’s my turn to shake my head.
‘May I?’ he says.
I nod, mostly out of curiosity of where this is going. He takes a couple of steps backwards, lifts up the camera, twists and taps on the settings. Then he looks through the viewfinder and takes a photo of me.
He looks at the screen on the back, nods, and then comes over to show me the photo.
It’s me, but not as I know. It’s my dark wavy hair, loose around my shoulders, lit up by the sun. My brown eyes, glinting in the light, and even though I’m frowning, there’s no doubt, I look good.
I look up at him. ‘So what?’ I say.
‘I like photography because it captures things as they are. Not just beauty, but what’s inside. It’s a way of cementing what’s real. And you don’t look stupid, Selena, not at all. Those are the eyes of a smart person.’
He closes down the camera sharply. ‘Which is why I know you’re fucking with me.
You may not be stupid, but you sure are annoying.
’ He walks back over to the fence and hops across it.
‘The sun has now gone, so thanks for wasting my time. Mission accomplished.’ He crosses his arms and stares at me belligerently.
I meet his eyes. Smile. ‘I would say “take a picture, it’ll last longer”. But oh wait, you’ve already done that.’
And feeling pleased with the burning fury in his eyes, I turn around and head back into the house, exhilaration shooting through me.