Part 24 (2/2)

I got slides made of Ingrid's photographs and used my savings to buy a small generator. Dylan rigged everything so that a single image covered the entire movie screen. It was incredible, how sharp and bright and vast they looked. Dylan sat above in the projection room while I worked downstairs with my tripod and camera. I had to expose each picture for a long time because, apart from the screen, the room was dark.

”These are . . .” Ms. Delani says, and doesn't finish.

”At first I didn't know if it would work,” I say. ”You know, photographing a photograph.”

”But you've done so much more than that,” Ms. Delani says.

”Just by the act of enlarging the images, you've given her photographs heightened significance. They demand to be seen.”

”Thanks,” I say. ”And the theater is important, too. It was her favorite place to go, but she never got to see the inside of it. I thought this would be a way of letting her in.”

She nods. ”Yes,” she says. ”When standing back and looking at them as a group, I see the lighted images first.” She looks from photograph to photograph, saying, ”The record player. The bedroom. The rain-spattered window. Bare feet. But then the details of the theater emerge and I see that there is much more going on here. The rows of empty seats are telling; they imply that though the images are enormous and commanding, they are going unseen. There is a secret here. Something private being exchanged between photographer and image.”

”And there are the curtains, too,” I say. ”See this one?” I point to Ingrid's self-portrait with her camera. I pulled the heavy velvet curtains in a little on both sides so they cut the image off, narrowed the screen. ”I was trying to make it seem like she was being hidden.”

”Yes.” Ms. Delani nods. ”The light is still cast on the drapery, but the folds in the fabric obscure the image. As if the film is ending before it's finished.”

”Like it might be able to tell me more if it weren't being forced away.”

We study my photographs in silence for a little longer.

”Have you t.i.tled it?”

”Yes,” I say. ”It's called Ghosts Ghosts.”

”Caitlin,” she says. ”This is stunning work.”

I feel so good it aches-not just because she's said it, but because I know it's true.

”Hold on.” She disappears into her back office, and I remember the entry I brought for her in my backpack, the one where Ingrid talks about how much Ms. Delani inspired her. I had been planning on giving it to her today, but now I don't really want to. Maybe it's selfish, but I want this afternoon to be about me. So I grab the entry out of my bag and turn it facedown.

When Ms. Delani comes back into the room with a jar of push-pins in her hand, I say, ”This is for you, but for later, so I'm just gonna drop it on your desk.”

She nods, then she gathers my photographs and drags a chair to the front of the cla.s.sroom. She hangs them there, one next to another, until they line the center wall.

The first pictures for the new year.

2.

I'm perched on the edge of Henry's diving board, arms straight in the air.

”Dive!” Dylan shouts.

”Or stay,” Taylor calls after her. ”You look good up there. Look at your arms!”

”She is is a carpenter,” Dylan says. a carpenter,” Dylan says.

”A what?”

”You didn't know that?”

I jump. The pool is so warm I barely feel the transition from air to water, but in a moment I'm immersed. I open my eyes to clear blue. Several pairs of board shorts and boys' legs, bikini bottoms, and red toenails. Turquoise tiled walls. I surface. Hear Henry ask, ”So, your girlfriend. Is she hot?” Dylan answer, ”She's gorgeous.”

Finals have ended. This is the last-day-of-school party I always wanted to attend but never had the courage to. ”Remember,” Dylan said when we got to Henry's door an hour ago. ”Drink beer, talk about who's hot, and spend some alone time with Taylor in the parents' bedroom.”

”Are you serious?” I asked.

She shrugged. ”Or, you know, you could just swim.”

I swim. Slowly, deep enough to run my hands along the smooth white floor. Someone grazes my back. Taylor. We kiss underwater. When we surface, drops cling to the tips of his eyelashes.

”Hold still,” I say. He closes his eyes and I lick them off. I taste chlorine, summer.

”You're a carpenter?”

”Yes.”

”Dylan just told me. And a photographer?”

”Yes.”

I think, And a daughter, and a friend. And a daughter, and a friend. I shut my eyes and try to picture myself as all of these things. I can almost see it. I open my eyes to him, beaming. I shut my eyes and try to picture myself as all of these things. I can almost see it. I open my eyes to him, beaming.

”You're beautiful,” he says.

”You're beautiful.” beautiful.”

We swim together to the other side. I wish I had an underwater camera so I could capture the way his hair fans around his ears. The movement of his ankles as he kicks through the pool.

Hours pa.s.s. Taylor and Jayson are outside on the lawn chairs, having a silly conversation about superpowers. ”You already already run crazy fast,” I hear Taylor say. ”You should, like, shoot from here to the city in a millisecond.” run crazy fast,” I hear Taylor say. ”You should, like, shoot from here to the city in a millisecond.”

”Zeptoseconds are faster,” Dylan informs me. We're across the backyard, sprawled out on the gra.s.s.

”What's it like when you make out with Maddy?” I ask.

<script>