Autofocus Read online

  To pass the time, I flip through the photos I’ve taken so far, and decide to update my blog—first with the photo from a few minutes ago, which I label “Here,” then with the photo of the Unconquered statue, with the caption “Will not be stopped.” I flip through a few comments I got on my last photo, and then put my phone down.

  I still don’t know what to do for my project, I’m nowhere closer, so I decide, instead, to follow Ms. Webber’s advice and keep taking pictures for fun. I take out my camera and change the shutter speed to hold it open longer. I place the camera on my lap and press the button, getting a long-exposure shot, blurring the people passing by, but focusing in on the static things, like the tree across from me, the ground below me, and the lamppost a few people tap as they pass. It should be a cool shot. But waiting for it to properly expose is making me even more anxious.

  “Maude?”

  I jerk up and see Bennett standing next to me. “Oh, hey,” I say, capping my camera again and putting it back into my bag. The shutter closed just in time for me not to mess up the photo. “Just getting back from class?”

  “Yeah, drawing.”

  “Oh! Are you an art major?” I ask.

  “Computer animation. I’ve admired Pixar, like, my whole life.”

  “I love those movies! I babysat a kid who’d watch Cars over and over again.”

  “My kind of kid,” he says, sitting on the bench, then pointing to my lap. “Cool camera.”

  “Thanks, it was a present.”

  “So you’re an artist, too?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know if I’d call myself an artist, but it’s what I like to do. It’s what I hope to go to school for.”

  “You’re like a real live Peter Parker.”

  “I’m Spider-Man?” I ask, amused.

  “Totally. Photography. Unknown parents. Quest to find them.”

  “So you’re saying I’m a web-slinging superhero with a mysterious past and a fun hobby.”

  “Exactly,” he says with a deadpan expression, and I laugh.

  “I’ll take that.”

  “What were you taking a picture of?” he asks.

  “Just the activity of the sidewalk,” I say, my leg tapping repeatedly.

  “Cool,” he says. “Is that why you’re out here?”

  “No,” I sigh. “I’m waiting for Treena. She said she’d be home to let me in, but she’s not answering her phone.”

  “What time is it? Hold on.” He takes out his phone. “Oh, it’s three. That’s when we used to study, which turned into when she and Trey hang out. They’re probably spending some time together. . . .”

  “Oh! Wait, Treena? She said she’d meet me after her classes.”

  “Come on, I’ll let you in,” he says, gesturing toward the door. Could Treena be in there and not taking my calls? She wouldn’t do that. Would she?

  “Thanks, but I’d rather not interrupt them if that’s the case,” I say, even though I’m not convinced.

  “You can hang in my room until they’re . . . done,” he says with a smirk, turning to walk, and then turns back and says, completely seriously, “That’s not a pickup line. I’m being an utmost gentleman in offering my assistance, and not, you know, trying to get in your pants or anything, as I was told that was very much off-limits.”

  I remember the joke from last night and laugh, breaking my curiosity. “I see,” I say. I stare at him waiting for me, and then get up and follow him into the building.

  “Let me check her room first, you know, just in case,” I say when we’re in the elevator. That’ll prove to him that she’s not in there.

  “Suit yourself,” he says. “Maybe keep your eyes closed?”

  I shake my head in response. I get off at her floor and run down the hall. Her door is closed, and I hear music coming from inside, and muffled voices. My heart sinks as I realize Bennett was right—she’s in there. With Trey. And not answering my calls. When I turn around Bennett is behind me.

  “I wanted to see if I was right.” He grins. “I kind of feel bad that I am.”

  I smile and try to look okay, but really I’m hurt. This was supposed to be our time together. But instead of sulking, I shake my head and follow him up one more flight of stairs to his room.

  We get to his door and it’s decorated, like the others, but his has pictures of Buzz Lightyear on one side, and bikini-clad models on the other.

  “My room,” he says, getting his key out and fumbling with the lock, as if he’s nervous for some reason. Inside, the room is much like the door—one side pretty neat with a picture of WALL-E, and on the other more girls in bikinis staring at me.

  “My side,” he says, gesturing to the fully clothed side. “My roommate’s rarely here; he has a girlfriend in another dorm. He stops by to get clothes sometimes.” He points to the piles of clothes strewn around the floor. “He’s really considerate.”

  “I can tell,” I say. I realize how funny it is that I’m here, in a guy’s dorm room. Instinctively I want to tell Treena, but then realize I can’t. And it hurts again, so I bite my lip as I walk around, reminding myself to act normal.

  “So how’d today go?” he asks as he throws his bag onto his bed.

  I sit on his desk chair and instead of moping, I open my mouth and find myself explaining everything that happened. I’d been so intent on telling Treena that it all kind of comes out. He listens, offering me a soda in the middle of the story, then sits on his bed.

  “That’s crazy,” he says. “You actually met someone who knew your mom.”

  “I know, but she didn’t remember her,” I say.

  “True, but she knew her at one time. And that’s something.”

  “I guess you’re right. But I’m still kind of disappointed.”

  “So what’s next? Are you going to the high schools?”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “There’s nothing else here. FSU is now a dead end, so I’m going to head to them tomorrow. I figure I’ll start with the one she mentioned that’s closest, Osceola, and go from there.”

  “You know, I volunteered at Osceola earlier this year for one of my classes. Helped them set up their new computer lab. I don’t have any classes tomorrow, so I can take you, if you’d like,” he offers, and though it’s a nice offer, I’m not sure if it’s what I want. What I’m doing is so personal, so just me. I don’t want to say all of that, so instead I respond, “Maybe,” and leave it at that.

  He shrugs, leaning back on his bed.

  “So . . .” I start, noticing his WALL-E background and matching toy. “You really are into Pixar.”

  “Ah, yeah. The pictures are inspiration and stuff, but this,” he says, pointing to the figure, and then getting out a matching cup, “is my mom being overeager about my interests.”

  “At least she supports you,” I say, thinking about how my mom got me my camera.

  “She does, a little too much. I made her return the Toy Story sheets because having them wouldn’t be embarrassing or anything.”

  “I loved Toy Story. But it kind of made me a hoarder. I never got rid of my toys because I didn’t want to hurt their feelings.”

  “Yeah, that movie does make you feel crazy guilty, doesn’t it?” He looks down, then asks, “Want to watch it? I have to watch an animated feature for class, so you’d actually be helping me do my homework.”

  “That’s your homework?” I ask.

  “College is cool,” he says easily. “So . . . ? Movie until you hear from Treena?”

  I shrug. “Sounds good to me.” I take a sip of my drink and put it down on his desk. He reaches over me and grabs his laptop from his desk, then rifles through a pile of DVDs on his nightstand.

  “I’m not very organized,” he says.

  “Film guy down the hall would be very upset with you,” I say.

  “Ha,” he says, putting in Toy Story. I realize that I can either stretch over and watch the movie from my chair, or join him on the bed, which is a little awkward. But he realizes the same
and puts the computer back on his desk, so we can both see from where we’re sitting, and I smile, hiding my face from him.

  “Just FYI,” he loudly whispers. “I’ll try to be manly, but this movie totally makes me tear up.”

  I laugh, looking back at him, grinning.

  “Me too,” I whisper back.

  Not long into the movie, voices outside bring us out of Buzz and Woody’s world. A bang on the wall makes me jump.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Not sure,” Bennett says, reaching over to pause the movie. “But the guys down the hall are always doing something stupid. Last week they made lances out of paper towel rolls and ran at each other. I mean, they even had tinfoil knight helmets.”

  “Seriously?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

  “Seriously,” he says, getting up. “Let’s go look. Maybe they’ll be luchadores this time.”

  I follow him to the door. Outside, a few people are standing around, cheering. In front of us, a girl is sitting on a skateboard. I look to the right and see a bunch of bottles set up like bowling pins, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to skate over to knock them down.

  “Seriously?” I ask Bennett again, because this is more like a movie than an actual Monday afternoon, right?

  “Let’s try,” he says with a glint in his eyes.

  “No way, I’ll totally fall,” I laugh, watching as the girl is pushed down the hall into the bottles. She knocks them down, then throws her hands in the air and cheers.

  “You’re sitting down, you can just put your feet down if you feel unsteady,” he says. “Come on, take a leap.” He grabs my arm and pulls me out of the room. I breathe in at the touch, and look up at him.

  I’ve taken a jump so far; I’ve come here to find out more about my mother. This won’t help, but it’s not a bad thing, right? I’m taking leaps, so why not roll with it? Literally.

  “Okay,” I say, nodding my head and smiling. “Let’s go.”

  “Yesssss,” he cheers. “You first, I’ll push.” He walks over and high-fives a guy who’s holding another skateboard. They put it on the floor and I sit on it, pulling my legs up so they’re balanced on the front, and holding on to the sides so I don’t fall in either direction, just like the girl before me did. It’s not comfortable, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to topple over to one side, but I look back at Bennett and he’s already crouched over, looking at me. I’m feeling unsteady, but it’s not because of the skateboard.

  “Okay, ready?” he asks behind me and I nod, unable to speak. His hands go to my waist, holding on tight, and he pulls me back slightly before pushing off.

  The skateboard zooms forward and a laugh escapes me as I race toward the pins. I hear Bennett yelling, “Left, left,” so I try to lean to the left, but get scared and straighten back up. And before I know it, I’m crashing into the bottles and throwing my feet down to stop. There’s applause behind me, and I laugh, standing up to take a bow.

  I run back down and hand Bennett the skateboard.

  “Nicely done,” he says, and I grin in response.

  I catch sight of dark hair and look behind him to see Treena standing at the end of the hall with a frown on her face. My smile drops and I walk over toward her.

  “Hey, I’ve been waiting for you,” she says, a tone of annoyance and sadness coating her voice.

  “No,” I say, confused. “I’ve been up here waiting for you.”

  “If you’ve been waiting for me, why didn’t you just come to my room? I’ve been waiting for you,” she says, frustration crossing her face.

  “I thought you were busy,” I exclaim. “Bennett says you usually hang out with Trey at this time, so—”

  “Oh, Bennett,” she says, shaking her head. “If you want to hang out with him, go ahead. I get it. I just thought you were coming up to see me and stuff.”

  “No,” I say solidly. “I want to hang out with you. I came here to see you. I thought you were busy because you weren’t answering your phone.”

  “You didn’t call me,” she says, shaking her head, and I eye her.

  Where is this coming from? Why the sudden distrust in me? In us? “Yes, I did.” I nod. “A lot.”

  She stares, purses her lips, then nods, and I follow her back to her room. I turn around and see Bennett watching. I shrug like I have no idea what’s going on, and he waves good-bye. We head down the stairs and get back to her room, where she picks up her phone and sighs. “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” I say, crossing my arms.

  “I must have forgot to turn the ringer back on . . .” she says, putting the phone back down and looking at her desk. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Tree, I came here to hang out with you . . . I’m not going to leave you for a guy,” I say purposefully, hoping she gets what I mean. She nods her head, then looks up.

  “You just looked like you were having fun out there. And, like, last night you didn’t even want to stay around during the party. I kept losing you . . . so I thought . . .”

  “I kept losing you!” I say, stepping closer to her. “I just wanted to catch up with you, not go to a party. And when I finally found you, you were with Trey.” I drift off, so she knows what I’m saying.

  She opens her mouth, then closes it. “Ugh, sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “Sorry. This whole thing is new. I mean, him, me, you being here. I promise I’ll be better.”

  “Were you with him?” I ask, because I want to know if Bennett was right.

  “Yeah,” she says, cheeks reddening. “He came by and, um . . . I kind of lost track of time.” She looks down and grabs her elbow self-consciously. “I did stay late after class, then came back to wait for you. I guess I missed your call at that point because, I swear, my phone was still on silent. Then he came over and I thought he’d leave quickly, and . . . ugh, I’m awful.”

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  “No, seriously, I’m sorry. This is our time together. I shouldn’t be so obsessed with him and all that.”

  “Tree, it’s fine, seriously,” I say, smiling at her, because it is. Okay, I was upset, but it’s still Treena. “It’s not a big deal. But now I totally require details about your rendezvous. I mean, not detailed details. You know.”

  She laughs and sits on her bed. I climb next to her. “First, tell me about today. What happened? Did you find out anything?”

  “Kind of. I talked to the registrar and know she went here. I saw her schedule and I met one of her teachers.”

  “YOU DIDN’T!”

  “I did, but she didn’t remember her. It was so long ago. So, I don’t know.”

  “But did she tell you anything? About the class? Anything?”

  “Not really, but she said my mother probably went to one of a few nearby high schools. So I think I’m going to go over to some of them tomorrow . . . if you’re free to come . . .”

  “Yes! Yes. I will be there,” she says. “Organic chem isn’t until later, so I can totally go in the morning. Did I tell you how much I’m hating that class?”

  “That bad?” I ask, leaning back and thumbing through a book on her bedside table. It’s a textbook for the same class she’s talking about, and it looks terrible.

  “The worst. I know some of the stuff from high school, but it’s just . . . boring. And the teacher takes everything so seriously. And the people in the class are . . . I don’t know, I just . . .” She trails off.

  “At least you only have to take it this semester,” I say. “Then you’re done.”

  “I have a long line of similar classes if I want to get into medical school.”

  “Do you want to get into medical school?” I ask. She’s always said that was her plan, but it never really seemed like her. More like something she felt she should do.

  “I don’t know,” she says, biting her lip. “Between us, I’m kind of second-guessing. I mean, I want to, and I know I’m okay at it, but it just doesn’t make me happy, you know?”

  “Tree, you’re in c
ollege. You should take what makes you happy, not what you think you should take.”

  “Easy for you to say. Your parents are cool with you majoring in photography.”

  “Yeah . . . but Tree, your parents love you. They’ll be happy with whatever you major in.” I pause, then joke, “As long as it means you’ll have a good career and a good husband.”

  She laughs and rolls her eyes. “I know, you’re right. They were just so proud of me when I said I wanted to be a surgeon. . . .”

  “What do you want to be?” I ask, not sure of the answer. I’ve never seen her want to do anything else. This is new, and kind of exciting to hear.

  “Honestly? I’m really loving my English class. We’re reading all of this beatnik literature and, to counter it, feminist literature, and it’s all so good.”

  “Not surprising. You’re always reading,” I say, pointing to a small pile on her floor, near the bed.

  “So, yeah, we’ll see.”

  “I love it.” I smile. “Though it might take away your study time with Trey.”

  “Ahhhh,” she says, rolling her eyes. “We don’t need studying as an excuse to get together anymore.” She giggles.

  “So I saw today!”

  “I’m sorry!”

  “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” I say.

  She looks at me. “It’s just, you know, I’m not used to this stuff. Guys didn’t like me in high school. And he does, and it’s just . . .”

  “It’s awesome, Tree.”

  “But he’s so out of my league. I mean, why does he like me?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, and then I realize that her question makes sense. It explains her attachment to him, her nervousness around him, even her newer feel. She’s acting different because she’s trying to be different. We were never that in high school, and now she’s here and wants to be someone new. “Don’t think that way. You’re so much better than him.”

  “Maude, I love you, but he’s got girls hanging all over him. And, like, hot girls. The kind of girls who used to make fun of us.”

  “I don’t think those feminist books you’re reading will agree with your thinking right now.”