FOUR
Girl, let me get this straight—you took a picture of a ghost? Like, forreal?”
“Yes!” I say, trying to keep my voice down. “Check that broken window. You gotta, like, really zoom in.”
Once Daddy and I made it back and settled into the guesthouse, I sent the picture to my girls and we jumped on FaceTime with the quickness to debrief.
“Hmmmm. I guess there’s something there.” Kiki shivers, her bonnet wiggling. Kiki is short like me, with pretty dark skin and high cheekbones. “Oooh, I just got the chills.”
“Y’all trippin’,” Truth says, her phone propped up so she can sit on the floor and unbraid her hair. “Maybe it’s a car passing or something.” Truth is our tall brown string bean, all freckles and long legs she uses for track. Outraced every boy on our block.
“Nah,” I say. “Look how the lights stack on each other. The guide said there was a woman from like the 1800s who died right by that window. It’s probably her ghost!” I whisper.
Truth squints, her face closer to the camera. “Oh. Ohhhhhh.”
“Can you sell that picture to, like, CNN or something and get some coins?” Kiki asks with a grin.
I laugh. “I don’t think it works like that.”
“Yooooo, this is madddd creepy,” Truth says. “Get this off my phone, yo.”
I giggle and stretch across my twin bed. Although I would have preferred a hotel, after being spoiled on room service and anyone but me making my bed, I gotta say, the guesthouse is cute and cozy. I have my own room with a nice-sized window facing the rest of the backyard.
“How’s Savannah?” Truth asks. “Besides the ghosts.”
I yawn. “Well, we just got here, but it’s cool. Different. I feel like I’m walking around a movie set.”
“A horror movie set,” Kiki scoffs.
“Aight, so when you coming back home? You stay there too long, you gonna end up possessed,” Truth says.
“Before school starts, definitely,” I say. “Maybe earlier if I do that Studio Museum program.”
“You send in that application yet?” Kiki asks.
The Studio Museum in Harlem has this photography program for kids.
They meet once a week for eight months, give you a brand-new digital camera, teach you everything you need to know about photography, and there’s a thousand-dollar stipend at the end.
If I get in, not only will my photos be fire, I’ll have enough money to finally buy that fancy lens.
I sigh. “No. I don’t think my portfolio is perfect yet.” The application requires five photos for what they call a portfolio. I have four that I love—including a picture of Grandma we used in her funeral program. All I need is one more.
“What about this ghost photo you just took?” Kiki asks.
I mean, I could add this one from Calhoun Square, but … would the program think I was some weirdo, going around chasing after ghosts? What if they don’t believe the orbs are a ghost at all?
Still, it’s a good picture …
“Aight, wanna hear something crazy?” Kiki says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Aalyiah and Trenton broke up.”
Truth and Kiki been keeping me up with all the tea at school. But the more time I spend away, the more out of the loop I feel. Like they had a big water fight at the end of the year that I missed. Kiki and Truth talked about it for a whole week.
Kiki and Truth go on talking about some school gossip that’s carrying on over the summer, but I can’t stop thinking about my Studio application and that photo I took on the ghost tour. Maybe Kiki’s right: I should use this photo for my portfolio.
First thing tomorrow morning, I need to find a print shop.
The moment I wake up, all I can think about is my picture. I think about it while brushing my teeth, getting dressed, cleaning my glasses, eating breakfast, even while tying my kicks.
“Where are you taking me?”
Robby is acting like I’m kidnapping him, when he’s the one that saw me pack up my camera and head out the door, then yelled, “Wait for me!” from the porch.
“Real photographers print their work so they can really look at it,” I say. “They don’t leave it on memory cards or stored up in some phone.”
“What photo do you need to print?” he asks.
“The one I took last night of that house in Calhoun Square.”
Robby rolls his eyes. “Oh boy. For the hundredth time, it’s NOT a ghost!”
I pull up the photo again, pushing the camera in his face.
“Yo, you don’t see those lights with the strange blue tint?”
Robby peers at the screen again. “I see something. But it’s probably just some weird reflection.”
I suck my teeth. “Be so real right now.”
Robby shrugs his shoulders. “I’m being more real than you thinking you got a picture of a ghost.”
“Ugh! I don’t know why I’m bothering explaining myself. I’m gonna get this printed. And maybe with that window part blown up, we can really see it.”
Robby huffs. “And if we don’t?”
“I’ll have a creepy artistic picture. Like the ones you see in art museums.”
Robby laughs. “Fine. Since we’re out, can we stop at the bookstore after? Or maybe get some ice cream? Or take a bus down to the arcade. Or maybe—”
“Boy, you sound like you got a whole day planned. Don’t you ever leave the house?”
He shrinks a bit. “Not a lot. Not without Mama.”
“Ah, so I’m a babysitter now?”
“Pfft. No one would call you that. Especially since you’re seeing things like ghosts!”
I look down at the brick sidewalk and shudder, wondering what’s buried beneath us.
A bell rings as we enter the empty shop. Old-school printers line the walls, dust on almost everything.
“Uh, you couldn’t find a nicer spot?” Robby whispers.
When I googled “print shops,” this was the first one that came up. I thought it would be more up-to-date too, but we’re already here, no sense in turning back now.
Behind the counter, a girl about my age slumps on her high stool, clicking away at a computer.
She has short black braids and wears a vintage TLC T-shirt, her face slick and moisturized.
She’s really pretty, probably real popular at school too.
You can tell sometimes, in the way people carry themselves.
Like just breathing is a chore. She doesn’t even look up at us.
I open my mouth right as an older gentleman walks out of the back office.
“Hey, there. How can we help y’all?”
The girl yawns, eyes falling on us as if she just noticed we were standing in the middle of the store.
I smile at her but she doesn’t smile back.
“Hi! I need to print a picture.”
The man nods. “My baby girl here can help you out.” He pats the girl on her shoulder. “Right, Myah?”
Myah winces a smile up at her dad and straightens her shoulders.
“So,” she mumbles to me. “What we printing today?”
He smirks and tips his head. “You in good hands! Be right back.”
Myah frowns at him as he grabs a bunch of boxes, the bell ringing as he leaves.
Myah groans and raises an eyebrow at me, hand outstretched, waving her fingers as if to say “gimme.”
I’m a little nervous handing this girl my memory card. She clearly isn’t happy about being here. Does she even know how to open a file?
“Um, it’s number 0248, from yesterday,” I say with a gulp, giving her my life’s work. So silly. I should’ve made a copy of the card before leaving the house. Regular cameras don’t upload to the cloud like cell phones.
Myah snatches the card and pops it into a reader attached to a large PC computer. She taps a few keys on the dusty board and frowns.
“This picture?” She looks at me sideways. “Um, no offense, but why didn’t you go to Walgreens or something? You know how much this is gonna cost?”
I want to say, ’Cause the best photographers only have their pictures printed at real photo labs. Not some janky pharmacy. But that sounds a bit too nerdy.
“I need this on some good photo paper.”
The girl shrugs. “All right. It’s your money.”
“Cool. I actually need two copies. Can you print the full picture, and then zoom in on the bottom window to the left of the door and print that out too?”
Myah rolls her eyes and moves the mouse, clicking about.
“How long is this gonna take?” Robby asks, looking at his LEGO watch as if he has somewhere to be.
I nudge Robby with an elbow. “Yo, chill,” I grumble.
“What’d I do?”
“If you want to be home so bad, you should have stayed there in the first place instead of chasing after me. You bringing down the vibe.”
“Heh. Little brother problems?” Myah says without looking at us.
“I’m not her brother,” Robby says with a hand up. “And I’m not a problem.”
Myah snorts, a small smile creeping in, but then she stops, her eyes widening at the monitor.
My heart drops. Only one thing could have happened.
She’s screwed up and all my pictures are gone.
My body sways forward, stomach hitting the counter. I think I’m about to faint. Fall flat on my face like they do in the movies.
All those pictures, of Kiki and Truth, of Dad at his shows, of Grandma … all those memories … gone!
“What’s wrong?” Robby asks, and I realize he’s not talking to me. He’s asking Myah.
Myah has a trembling hand to her open mouth. She ignores the question for a silent few seconds before jumping off her stool. Behind us, a large yellowish printer whirs to life. Paper whines through the gears, light catching the glass as it slowly putters, the sound echoing through the store.
Myah races around the counter, tapping the machine impatiently.
“Come on, come on,” she mumbles, bouncing on her feet.
“What is happening?” Robby asks, frustrated, while I’m still too stunned to speak.
The machine slowly spits out an eleven-by-seventeen print of my picture, but zoomed in on the window. I rush to Myah’s side as she snatches it off the tray. Blown up this size, I can see clearly the orbs in the corner frame. Just as I thought—two white-gray circles with a bluish tint.
But behind them is the silhouette of a person, slightly blurred as if they had just moved when I snapped the shot.
Oh my gosh. I wasn’t imagining things. I caught a REAL ghost, just like the ones I’ve seen in all those pictures online and in books.
I’m going to be famous! Maybe the youngest photographer to ever catch a ghost. Maybe I’ll start doing my own tour.
Maybe they’ll put this photo in a book. I’ll be rich. I could buy all the camera gear I want!
“Holy smokes,” Robby gasps. I didn’t even see him standing on the other side of Myah, tipping up his glasses.
“Where … where did you take this picture?” Myah asks me, her eyes wide.
I gulp. “On a ghost tour.”
“Where? When?” she asks eagerly, like I wasn’t talking fast enough.
“Last night. In Calhoun Square.” Is she scared? She lives in Savannah. She should know all about ghosts. “You … know what that is in the picture, right?”
Myah swallows hard, gripping the picture with both hands.
“Yeah,” she utters in a hushed voice. “It’s a ghost. And I know exactly who it is.”
Robby blinks in surprise. “Who?”
She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. “Tim Truman.”