As expected, my parents weren’t home when Matteo dropped me off. My sister was playing video games in the living room.
“Hey, Samaya,” I said, dropping my bags on the floor.
Samaya was a year younger than me but looked nothing like me. She was kind of tiny, with eyes that were borderline too big for her face. She usually kept her hair no longer than chin length, which gave her a vague Dora the Explorer innocence, even though her attitude was saltier than poutine. Most people were surprised I had a sister so close to my age. They were even more surprised when they met her.
Samaya’s already ridiculously wide eyes went wider, and she spoke into her headset. “Gotta go, crew. A living ghost just walked in.”
She took off her headset and stared at me.
“Nice to see you, too, sis,” I said sarcastically, plopping on the couch next to her.
She was still staring at me. “I guess I forgot what you look like,” she said. “Or sound like.”
“What? We’ve FaceTimed this summer,” I said.
“Yeah, you’ve answered maybe every third time I’ve called you.”
“I’ve been busy!”
“Why are you home? I thought you had another week over there in...where was it? Bakingville?”
“Bakewell.”
She shrugged. “Geography isn’t my thing.”
“I told Mom and Dad yesterday that I’d be home for a few days...they didn’t tell you?”
“That assumes I saw them yesterday. Mom only texted me when she left on that business trip. I’m pretty sure they’re avoiding me. Mom’s got it in her head that I should be applying for this Oxford bursary or something. I am so done with their inane pressure, so I’ve been exclusively speaking to them with a British accent so they know what to expect if they ship me off to the UK.” She demonstrated:“Pip, pip, cheerio!”
I chuckled. Samaya had the driest humor for a math nerd. Self-proclaimed math nerd, by the way. She actually had several shirts identifying herself as such. I wondered if she bought them at the same ironic-shirt store Rowan shopped at.
“So why are you here, anyway?” she asked.
I leaned back on the couch. “I have a photo shoot. I’m here until Sunday. How’s math camp?”
“You know. Math-y. I’m also taking grade-twelve algebra online so I can switch to college level when I’m in grade twelve. Oh, and Devin and the crew and I started playing this new online role-playing game.”
“That sounds cool. How are Devin and your friends?”
Samaya shrugged. She’d been seeing Devin, her boyfriend, since grade nine. He was just like her—obsessed with math and science. All her friends were academically inclined. Honestly, sometimes I was low-key jealous of Samaya’s little crew. They were such a tight group. I was sure none of them would ever use one of their friends for their influence, or for anything else.
She indicated her game. “Were you, like, looking to have a Hallmark sisters’ moment or something? Because I can tell them all tohold tight until later so you and me can have our bonding. You usually don’t have time to talk to anyone but your model and influencer-y friends, but I’m game.”
I cringed. “Am I that bad?”
She laughed. “Eh, you can be. But it’s not like I’ve been around much, either. No worries. You do you, and I do me. You mind if I get back to my game? You’re welcome to watch. Or I could set you up with a character. There’s a weaver class that would suit you.”
I stood and brushed Samaya’s hair off her face. “Nah, maybe another time. It’s good to see you, though. Let’s try and squeeze in time for coffee or something while we’re here. Seriously. Without Mom and Dad.”
“Yes, please,” she said, putting her headset back on. “The British accent is getting tedious to keep up, honestly.”
I grabbed my stuff and went upstairs. I loved my room—but it seemed strange to me now. Yes, Ruby my dress form and my sewing machine weren’t here, but other than that, it looked just the same. The simple modern furniture. The black accent wall, which had been a royal pain to paint. One wall covered with the best sketches I’d done last year. Big plastic bins of fabric and sewing supplies lining another wall. My low platform bed. My closet still full of clothes, even though I’d taken so much with me to Bakewell. It was like everything here had been stuck in time, while I hadn’t.
I dropped the bags on my bed and pulled my hair into a bun. The most important photo shoot of my life was tomorrow morning, and I didn’t have the time to mope, be sullen, or cry. It was already past four—I only had a few hours tonight to prepare. I pulled pieces out of my closet and my bags. I’d come this far. I’d left Bakewell and the Bloom. I needed to make this photo shoot worth my while.
25
THE MEGA PHOTO SHOOT
