The Photo Effect.

Senior year, magnificent. Supposedly the best year because being a senior entitles us students to more freedom in that we get to ‘skip’ school due to the ever common disease Senioritis—though I’ve had it since the middle of my freshmen year—and we get to ‘forget’ homework assignments because we need to focus on our other classes and college essays. That all goes fine and dandy if you are going to an Ivy league school, but no, not I. I’m staying in boring ol’ Huntington Beach.

“Ri, you really need to clean your room. It’s all cluttered,” my sister, Julianne complains as she stops from her humming just to put her two cents into my life.

I groan. “On your merry way little princess,” I snicker and wave my hand dismissively, as she rolls her eyes playfully before picking up that annoyingly hypnotic tune again. Damn.

My room isn’t a mess. It’s just got piles of photo’s scattered all over the floor, and my bed and my desk. No biggie. Cluttered, that girl wouldn’t know cluttered even if it bit her in the ass. I smile to myself at the thought. Then I think about her room. Typically, it was bubble gum pink and cotton candy blue. A true fairy tale, and happy ending. How cliché, right? As for mine, it was a dark grey and purple. I’d call it soothing, Jules on the other hand says I need to add some light—and that’s why I am not as chipper as she is.

Speaking of which, she has been much more giddy these past few days. Well, technically this week she has been, and we’ve only been in school for about a month. A week in and normal kids have developed their grumbles and moans that they aren’t getting enough sleep and that school is boring and sucks, not Jules. Story of my life.

When I stand up to press my feet to my plush carpet, I can hear my bones crack everywhere. I stretch and make my way downstairs, dinner is ready because I can smell the delicious scent of lasagna. One of my favorites. As I tip toe down the stairs, my sister and I fight for the spot next to our dad. As always, I win because to be blatantly honest, Julianne is too prissy to mess up her nails or outfit. I roll my eyes when she begins to complain. Here it comes, the story of how she never gets to sit by dad because I’m a big bully.

“You’re older than I am,” I add in defensively as I take a sip of my juice.

All she does is stick her tongue out, and not pass me the rolls. So much for her being older, right? I wink and blow her a kiss. She hates when I do that, but I can’t help my sarcastic ways. She just provokes it out of me more and more. Our father gives me a warning glare, so I cower before mimicking Julianne when he looks away.

“So Mom, Dad, I’ve got some news,” Julie announces as she sets her utensils down, links her hands and sits up real straight.

They wait patiently. “You got a finally got that ‘C’ in Calculus?” I snort.

“No,” she snaps before proceeding to fill us in on her oh so eventful life. “I—I got a job.”

War. It’s when two or more parties have a disagreement about something so minor, yet make it into a bigger thing then it needs to be. Well, one just started in my house. Julianne having a job means that she won’t be home as much; like she is ever home to begin with because of her extracurricular activities, but now that she will have a part time job, not only will she be gone only to sleep but she is now able to shove yet another thing in my face. I sigh loudly, purposefully.

“You know Jules, you already do enough…” Mom tried to reason with her, but failed successfully because as much as my parents don’t want her exerting herself, they know somewhere in the back of their minds that a job is just what she needs. Hell, it might even tame her a bit. I smile, pleased that my sister might actually get a sense of what it feels like to know the true meaning of labor. She’s going to loathe it—yes!

Yet, she continues without hesitation. “It’s only on the weekends Mom. Dad, please? And aren’t you guys the ones who say that a job builds good characteristics?”

Oh, bingo. I scoff to myself. I’ll have to admit my sister does know how to play her cards right under certain circumstances. I’m starting to think that next time I think she isn’t paying attention, not to test my own luck. Just when I think she is doing a marvelous job herself, I am immediately proven wrong.

“Riley has a job, so why can’t I?” Her tone is laced with objection, as she folds her hands back to her chest ready for the next thing they are about to throw her way. Except I intervene.

“Don’t even pull me into this Julie. I have a job because I am mature enough to handle one.” Silence, and everyone has an eyebrow raised in my direction, so I huff. “I am mature alright.”

Mom smiles her smile, “it’s not that we don’t think you’re mature Jules. It’s just you have so much on your plate.”

“Fine,” Julianne fakes hurt, but I know there is something else coming. Why in the hell does she want this damn job so badly? I think to myself. “Can’t I at least give it a try. If it gets in the way of cheer, or school then I’ll quit.”

They should have just said no, but my parents will never admit they’re suckers. For example, they didn’t want Julianne to try out for cheer in case she didn’t make the team and she got her feelings hurt. Still, she convinced them to let her try and wham-o she was put on the team right after her try-out because she was that… perfect. Quite disgusting if you ask me; how she gets under their skin though is applaud worthy. She’s offered a few pointers but I wave her off. I’ve developed my own way; by taking picture of them until they succumb to me. Insert evil laugh.

However, even though my sister and I are on different extremities I feel something in the pit of my stomach. Why would she want to wield herself for a job? Our parents make a good amount of money to give her the things that she needs, and I sure as hell know that it just isn’t to compete with me or she’d of had one a long time ago. The feeling is etched into my skull, and I can’t seem to drop it, so when I pass by her bedroom on the way to the bathroom after dinner, I overhear her telling one of her friends that our parents agreed to let her have the job.

I crack open the door, and I can’t help the Grinch-like smirk that comes into play. It sounds like a guy on the phone, so naturally she is talking in her peppy, bitch voice. I mock her silently from her doorway, until she gets up to come and shut the door; instantly spotting my eavesdropping she freezes momentarily before shoving me out of her room and shutting the door.

“Sorry about that,” I hear her apologize for me. “Just my sister…” I’m flattered.

Once I got into the bathroom to brush my teeth, I feel movement behind me and look into the mirror to see Jules. She grabs her pink polka dot toothbrush, and layers it with toothpaste. We don’t say a word until I rinse my mouth. I ask her who she was talking to like she was a love struck mutt. All she does is point to her mouth. Like I know what that means, so I press on. “Oh c’mon. Was it Brian Henderson? He’s been eyeing you for like ever—“

“Ri!” She says sternly, which catches me off guard some. “It wasn’t Brian. You—you don’t know him. He goes to uh, Riverside.”

“Oh,” I say meekly and turn to head off to my room after carelessly dropping my toothbrush into the holder. I know Jules wasn’t intentionally trying to strike against me, but sometimes when I just wanted to know something about her, she never let me in. Yet, it surprises me how much I let her into my head, my life, my photos. I rather hate it; she can be like this but when I am, she jumps my ass because apparently I’m not worthy of knowing anything in her all too glamorous life.

Once back into my haven, I go back to organizing my pictures. I am so absorbed in what I am doing that I fail to notice my sister leaning against my door frame this time as I put my finished work underneath my bed. She has on her little fuzzy slippers, and pajamas that I bought her for Christmas. She knows that she is in the wrong, so she apologizes in the only way she knows how—by jumping on top of me and wrapping me inside of her ‘bear’ hugs. More like baby bear hugs, but nevertheless I forgive her. How can I not?

On my way to school, leaving much later than Julianne does, I tapped my thumbs against my steering wheel while an upbeat song blasted through my car. I began to shake my head from side to side, flailing my hair out in every direction. When I pulled into my usual spot in the senior parking lot, and killed the engine to my little Volkswagen Jetta, I instantaneously spotted Emily Hanson. My best friend, aside from Kael Taylors whom were both walking into the school’s boundaries—holding hands?

“Well well well,” I sauntered over to the new couple. “When did this happen?” I pointed to their hands, with a smug smile before maneuvering past them to get to my locker.

“Glad to see you too,” Kael retorted.

I turned to face him. “Still didn’t answer my question.”

“Two days ago,” said Emily, bashfully.

“Aw,” I pretended to gawk at the lovely couple, not trying to be a bitch but letting them know that I would have wanted to know when they had finalized their obsessions over one another. They didn’t seem to pay any mind to my lackluster attitude because their focus was now on getting to class on time. Let’s just say that I followed behind them, while I made a few comments. Already a month into school and they can’t keep from being with one another. I knew it was too good to last, especially with Emily being the weakling. I smirked when Kael gave Em a peck to her lips before Spanish.

Not even two seconds into class and my teacher Mr. Johnson tells me to come over to his desk. I start to panic. Did he find out about my and Emily’s little cheat sheet for the test last week? Did I not do my homework right or something? I gave Em a slant smile, her giving me thumbs up. At least I could count on her to always remain positive, I suppose.

“Yeah Mr. J?” I ask.

He slides a paper across his desk to me. I pick it up, and see that it is my schedule so he tells me to look at it again and I see that my history class has been changed to the auditorium. “What’s up with that?” I’ve known Mr. Johnson for two years now so I don’t hold back on being ‘me’ around him anymore.

“Mrs. Cameron’s husband is very ill and she is taking the rest of the year off. You’ve been moved,” he says with a smile, which quickly fades as he gets up to start the class.

Moved, aye? I think to myself as I head back to my desk, behind Emily. Sucks for Mrs. Cameron. She was a lot of fun, thus meaning I was actually looking forward to a boring ass subject to be thoroughly entertaining. Guess not. I whisper to Emily what Mr. Johnson needed and hand her the crisp white paper. She scans it for about a second before blurting out, “we have the same history class now!”

I chuckle nervously and look at my fellow peers, most are smiling at the outburst but there are a few who mumble how inconsiderate we are being. Mr. J already knows of course, so he points a finger in our direction. I salute that I understand to remain quiet the rest of the period. When Emily hands me my schedule back, I glance down at it. Baker, Zackary—Advanced Placement Civics. Great, now I don’t even know this teacher.

It’s time for my new History class, and despite my outer shell being solid, I can feel it folding in on me. I'm nervous. Softy. I grumble to myself as I follow Emily to the auditorium that nearly a hundred kids sit and wait. My eyes roam around the room. This is definitely a clique oriented class, isn’t it? I scowl when I see a group of my sisters friends huddled in the front row. They seem exceptionally chipper for this sort of class. So I follow Emily to the side of the room where she sits with some of our other friends. I wave enthusiastically.

Taking my seat, I hoist up a notebook and wait for “Mr. Baker” to make his appearance. I begin doodling on it, drawing a picture of a camera with things shooting out of the flash. I catch myself smiling, when I feel Em tap my arm.

“You’re going to die when you see Mr. Baker,” she informs me. “See those girls down there?”

I nod.

“They practically ogle over him during class, it’s gross. Though, can’t say I blame them.”

I laugh to myself before shaking my head at my friend. There is no way a person who teaches history can be that attractive. If so, I surely would have known about it from my sister. She flirts with students and teachers alike. No matter the age; it’s like her conscious switch temporarily turns to ‘off.’ Now that is gross. Some teachers here are like, thirty. I shudder.

Being too absorbed in my drawing, I miss out on the ‘awes’ that echo the room when Mr. High and Mighty enters the room. Of course, I can sense Em’s eyes on me as she nudges my side. But when I look in the direction that all the students are looking, I can feel my eyes become wide. He is definitely not what I had pictured, at all. He looks more hip, and those square geek glasses actually make him… hot. I press my pencil to my lips and watch as he walks to the overhead and puts up a little activity to do before the class starts, very much satisfied.

“Good afternoon class,” he speaks. Such a nice sound, too. “I’ll give you ten minutes to complete the activity, but will a—“ he looks down at a post-it note before finishing “—Riley Cass please see me after class.”

Surprised that my name is mentioned, I block out the snide remarks by the fake Barbie’s down below. One by one they look over at me—only knowing who I am because of my sister—and roll their eyes. Aw, poor them. I had to go and ruin their chances of one of them staying after school to spend time with a precious teacher. Who does that anyway? Then I begin to wonder, why is it only I am called? Aren’t any of my other classmates going to be in here? I’ll just have to ask.

I finish the activity within the first two minutes and wait for further instructions. Mr. Baker is now conversing with the over eager, too much leg showing, fake tanners down below. He sure seems to bask while they talk to him and turn away to giggle hysterically. They remind me of hyenas, to be honest. ‘Oh look at me as I flirt with someone that is probably twice my age, has tattoos so that makes him edgy, and is unreservedly gorgeous.’ It’s not intentional, my annoyance that is, but when it is aggravated I can’t help being so sour.

“Hey, want to come over after school?” I ask Emily as we gather our things as the bell rings. I already know the answer deep down, but something inside of me still asks anyways.

“Oh,” she tries to let me down easily. Oh Emily, when will you ever learn? “Kael and I are going out.”

I get up, throw my messenger bag over my shoulders, shrug and walk in the direction of Mr. Baker before yelling over my shoulder. “Have fun then, boo.”

He looks so different up close. He has clear lip rings in, as well as a clear septum one. He is talking to Brianne, another cheerleader when I come up to him. He doesn’t notice my presence, that is until I make him by clearing my throat. My hands are firmly across my chest. Not in a testing manner, no. But in a ‘can we hurry this up’ sort of fashion. He bids Brianne a farewell before facing me, thus causing me to mentally break down the process in which to breathe. Suck in air or blow it out? Which one gosh darn it? I panic. His eyes—those eyes. Now I can see why those snobs are so attracted to him. He is everything they are not. He’s got this undeniable sexiness to him. And much to my dismay, I now understand. He is fucking gorgeous.

“Ah, you must be Riley Cass. I’m Mr. Baker,” He holds out a hand, in which I look at, but being taught to be polite I shake it and resume my position. I will show no weakness under his intoxicating gaze. Nuh-uh, not I. “Say, you by any chance related to—“

“Julianne Cass? Guilty!” My tone is mock excitement. He waits for me to continue because like everyone else he must realize two things. One: we are in the same grade so either one of us has to have failed or something and two: we don’t really look alike. “Fraternal twins.” I nod with a tight smile think that he of course would know my sister.

Clearing up his curiosity, he nods also. “Nice. So, I did have a purpose to make you stay…” he rambles, in search of some papers as he lets out a laugh. And it sounds exactly like I imagined would assume. “Here it is.”

After explaining that I need to get one of his books from the library, he also hands a worksheet that I need to finish. I’m glad that it is only two pages. I’ll breeze through it in no time. That, or I’ll make Emily help me. We stand there and talk for a few more minutes, until I remember that I had to ask him something.

“Hmm,” he ponders whole heartedly. “I know that there are now only three teachers that teach Civics. Mr. Lombardo, Mrs. Ames and myself. I guess I’m just lucky.” He winks.

“Why are you lucky?”

He seems slightly taken aback by my comment but retaliates quite well, leaving me speechless. “Because now I get to have you in class.”

It was such a harmless comment, but every ounce of my being began to twitch on the inside. I hadn’t noticed the awkward silence between the two of us when another student—girl might I add—came in. She asked Mr. Baker if he was still going to help her with some homework she didn’t understand. Before he even says it, I hold my hand up and give him a quick ‘thanks’ for giving me my homework and the name of his book. On my way out, I stopped short—how does he know my sister? I’ll have to ask him that at some point, too.