Photography might have started as a hobby, but it was slowly shifting to a paying job. I didn’t make enough to live on my own, but I did make enough to contribute from time to time. After entering a few local photography competitions and winning, I’d branched out, submitting to a variety of more prominent nature and wildlife contests across the country. I sent my workto magazines, hoping to get my name out there. When I took home several prizes and had my work mentioned in articles and newspapers, one of the magazines I’d been in contact with asked to view my portfolio. They ended up paying for several of my pictures. It rolled from there.
Prestigious photography competitions around the world always felt out of reach, but Dad nudged me to submit my work anyhow, claiming the worst thing that could happen was that I didn’t qualify and was eliminated. I had yet to earn any notable prizes, but my name was slowly circulating. One afternoon nine months ago, I got a phone call.
Weather, a monthly magazine published by the Royal Meteorological Society, interviewed me for a potentially recurring spot in its publication, provided I could deliver something fresh and innovative. Seeing as they were an academic magazine and I had a degree in atmospheric science, they suggested I pen the articles for the attached photography as well. So far, I had done one feature piece. My second was due in the summer. If I could come up with another concept, I was hoping to pitch a third idea and submit it before the end of the year.
It was a dream come true.
The screen door opened, drawing our attention. Olivia poked her head out, one hand shielding her eyes against the sun. “They’re here,” she called.
I offered an acknowledging wave, and she returned inside.
Dad clasped my shoulder. “Be yourself, Gale. You can’t be anyone else, right?”
“Yeah.” No one knew that more than me.
“Chin up. You don’t give yourself enough credit. You have inner strength. You’re intelligent. You’re worth knowing. Don’t let anyone, especially your sister, walk all over you. You stand up for yourself. You hear me?”
“I hear you.” I fixed a smile on my face and glanced at Dad’s broken mower. “Call the shop.”
“Nah. I’ll give it another go. I can always pull out the push mower.”
“It’s too much grass, Dad.”
He chuckled. “Not for me. I have a healthy son who could do with some exercise.”
I groaned. “How aboutIcall the shop?”
Dad’s laughter followed me back to the house.
Olivia, Roe, Maggie, and Jazz stood among two strangers in the open farm-style kitchen. One was a man with auburn hair tied in a low knot at his nape and clothing that suggested he was into nineties grunge. The stranger fiddled with a camera while he and Jazz discussed Nirvana.
The other person was a woman, tall and sinewy. Her black hair contrasted with radiant blue eyes. She had sharp features, wore chic glasses, perfect makeup, and a spring dress that didn’t reach her knees. The outfit included a jean jacket and stylish cowboy boots. I suspected she was from the city, and the country-girl outfit was deliberately chosen to fit in with the Elk City crowd. If anything, it made her stand out more.
Roe seemed to approve of the outfit if his subtle glances in her direction said anything.
On my arrival, Olivia made introductions. “This is my brother, Gale. Our resident weather expert. Gale, this is Arty and Becca. They work for Charles.”
Arty tipped his head in a distracted greeting, and Becca offered a warm smile and delicate handshake. “Nice to meet you, Gale. We’re going to film outside. Better lighting. Since this whole show involves a connection to the weather, we figured a sunshiny day was a great contrast.
“Charles is looking for an introductory profile of each contestant. We’ll have a short, intimate conversation that willhelp viewers get to know who you are and what you’re all about. Clips of it will be shown during the first episode. I have a few easy questions. Nothing complicated. We’ll keep it stress-free and do retakes only if necessary. Charles would prefer we keep it unedited.”
“Great.” Only it wasn’t great. In fact, it was the furthest thing from great.
“I hear you’re a touch camera shy.” Becca reached out and brushed wrinkles from my shirt. I tensed at the contact and shot my sister a dirty look.
Olivia shrugged, unfazed. “You are.”
Becca continued. “Do you want to go first? That way it’s done and over with, and you can stop fretting.”
I didn’t want a turn at all, but since that was no longer an option, I agreed.
Becca and Arty guided me out the sliding door onto the back deck before descending into the yard. Arty scanned, then suggested I sit on the wooden fence. “Landscape and sky in the background. It’s perfect.”
So that was where we went. As we crossed the yard, I sensed Dad watching.
We locked gazes, and he offered a reassuring nod as though urging me to recall everything he’d said.
Arty clipped a microphone to my shirt collar and fussed with my hair, moving my legs this way and that, telling me how to sit and reminding me not to slouch. Wasn’t this supposed to be raw and natural? Why was he fussing?
