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“I’m done at four,” I relent.
Cutter holds up his phone, his lips curving up on one side as he squints under the glare of the sun.
“Well now I’ve got your number. Call me as soon as you’re done, and I’ll come pick you up. I have some ideas.”
That twist in my gut is still there, but I agree anyway. We shake on it, and even though his hand is hot against mine, and itreminds me of how it felt on the rest of my body, I force myself to imagine that my palm is numb and unaffected. I pretend that nothing’s weird. Even though literally everything is now.
10/
cutter
Easy for me tocriticize Laney for taking off this morning when I watched her go and didn’t say a damn word.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve done the mutual hook-up thing and been absolutely fine the next day. Hell, Addison Cage, the Tiff student body president, and I had a pretty hot moment after she won the election last year, and she still called me last week and asked if I’d be a personal reference for the internship she’s applying for. And when I got the call, I gave her a glowing recommendation, professional of course, never once feeling anything weird even though the last time we’d hooked up we inadvertently made shadow-puppet sex on the backyard wall at the Omega house thanks to a fire pit.
But Laney and I basically hump each other like sixteen-year-olds, with our clothes on, and I feel this knot in my stomach over it. It almost feels like guilt. Like I crossed some line my conscience knows I shouldn’t have. I spent the morning on the ice dissecting it, and I decided to rule out regret when I asked myself if presented with the opportunity again if I’d take it. I would. In a blink.
That’s when I started plotting how to make it happen again. And when Pete told me I’d just missed her after I picked up mynew helmet from him, I took it as a sign. One that was confirmed when I spotted her long legs trekking across the main lawn toward the athletics offices.
I went home at lunch and grabbed my gear out of the storage bin that’s been living under my half of our bed. I haven’t used my kit in a while, so I cleaned things up and spent the afternoon taking some practice shots of the crazy cross-country runners who I swear never get tired. Some of the shots I got of them are pretty sweet, so I might send them in to the coach and see if she wants to use them for anything.
This session with Laney has to be special, though. And I need it to be different. Which is theonlydamn reason I called Matt in to help. I’m rethinking how badly I thought I needed help now that he’s here with about a dozen tripods, light stands and whatever the hell else he’s pulling out of that rolling case he’s dragged into the gymnasium.
“Where do you want to set up?” He’s wearing sunglasses again. I mean, they’re barely tinted, but still. He’s ridiculous.
“I’m not sure we’re going to do all the shots here, man. Why did you haul all that in?” I scowl at his setup and take a deep breath.
“Oh, this isn’t for you. I’m gonna get some shots too, maybe go live with some of this.” He surveys his pile of phone adaptors as he scratches his head.
“I’m not sure Laney’s on board with that, man. Just stand over here and take these chalk blocks.” He jogs over to me and does as I ask, thank God, and I position him out of the frame of the shot I’ve lined up so I can take a few test shots with the spotlight on. I borrowed the light from my teacher, who I now realize I should have asked to help instead of Matt.
I take a few practice shots as Matt claps the blocks together to give me the foggy effect I need to pull this off, and I’m justfinishing up sweeping the thin layer of dust we left on the floor out of the way when Laney cracks open the door.
“I got done early,” she says.
“It’s fine. I’m about ready,” I say, my pulse suddenly racing. I think I’m nervous. I want her to trust me to do this, but more than that, I think I want her to like it.
Laney walks toward my setup near the net, dragging her feet and scanning the scene—I think a little put-off by all of Matt’s extra shit.
“Ignore that,” I say, waving at Matt’s setup.
“Hey, Laney. Cool if I get some socials on this? I’ll tag you!” Matt interjects.
I grit my teeth and smile through my irritation while Laney looks back at his gear.
“Yeah, uh. Sure, fine. Tag me. I should get better at that stuff.” She shakes her head, I think maybe a little overwhelmed, as Matt snags his phone-tripod combo and starts to talk over a live stream he’s started.
Laney’s panicked gaze meets mine and once Matt’s gotten the camera out of our faces, I whisper to her, “You can say no to him.”
“I know, but he’s good at that stuff. And I need to up my brand,” she mumbles.
“Okay,” I say, shaking my head. I guess having Matt around hockey all the time has gotten me used to all things social buzz, and I’ve seen enough of the negatives to not really care about getting the attention as much as I used to.
“Can I tell you what I’m thinking?”
Laney nods as she sits down and begins to pull out her jerseys and her court shoes.
“I want to make it look like you’re sort of frozen in motion. I saw this hack where we use chalk dust to make it really smokey, and I think it could create a pretty cool mood. Mightget a lot of dust on the dark blue though, so maybe let’s start in white?” I point to the last jersey she’s pulled out and she nods in agreement. She glances over her shoulder at me with an uncertain look as she heads into the equipment room to change. I’m going to need to prove my skills with her on this first set of shots.
