The Boy Captured My Heart with a Single Photograph

“Well, where did you last have it?” Tasha asks for the umpteenth time.

“I told you! It fell when I faceplanted in front of Granger!” I exclaim for the umpteenth time, kicking the chartreuse school lockers in front of me. Pain stings my toe and I hop around for a while. “I think I forgot it on Mr. Wheezer’s floor…”

Tasha groans and flicks her platinum blonde hair over her shoulder. “Really, Leels? You picked the most disgusting teacher’s domicile to lose your sketchpad? And why do you always call Milo by his last name?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” I panic. “Stop talking! We need to think! We need to use logic, Natasha! Summon the armed forces! Assemble the arsenary!”

“Woah!” Tasha calls out. “Time out, Lela! There is no need for full names here! I’m calling a foul. You’ve been benched.”

Tasha has a serious bone to pick with her first name. It’s really Natasha, but she hates it. She insists on being called either ‘Tasha’ or ‘Tash’. Tasha is the kind of girl that is naturally gorgeous. She has pin-straight platinum blonde hair, glowing tan skin and bright azure eyes. She is model tall with legs that go on for miles. She could easily be the stereotypical quarterback’s head cheerleader girlfriend, but she has one flaw: she is as just weird as me. I welcomed her to the dark side in eighth grade and we’ve been besties since.

Now, me? I’m really strange. I have pale skin, long auburn locks and dark brown eyes. I’m an inch shorter than Tasha, who is 5’9”. So, we often joke about being secret Amazon women. I dress hipster, make strange art, and have an arid sense of humor. Oh, and one other thing: I sass everyone, and that makes me kind of a loner. Tasha is my only friend. Which is why I cannot even begin to fathom why Milo Granger would ever want to talk to me in the first place.

“Woah, sorry, Tiger,” I say with my hands up defensively, fingers splayed. “No need to go all King Henry on my sorry arse. Tasha, Tasha, Tasha. There, my curse is undone.”

“Yeah, you’d better apologize. I’ll go all ninja on your sorry soul!” Tasha kicks me with one of her gorgeous long legs and soon we are having a ninja war right there in the middle of the hallway.

“Taste my feet of fury!” I exclaim as I repeatedly kick her knee.

“I can’t taste with my patella!” Tasha bellows as I corner her against some of the hideous chartreuse lockers. “I can only taste with… my FISTS!”

We start to duke it out when I trip (I am quite infamous for my clumsiness) and fall onto something hard. The mystery person and I are thrown off balance and are soon enough sprawled on the filthy hallway tile.

“Ouuuchh…” I groan as I untangle my lanky limbs from the stranger’s. My eyes meet dark blue ones. I groan again.

“Gotta go!” Tasha beams and shouts over her shoulder. “See you later, Leels!” Traitor. Of course she would strand me with him.

It’s just me and Milo now. “Granger,” I say as I pull myself into a seated position. “We meet again.”

He sits up also and nods at me. “Nice ninja battle,” he comments.

“Indeed,” I reply coolly. “Nice snaps,” I compliment while gesturing to his camera that is dutifully strapped around his neck. Milo stares at me from under his lashes and slowly lifts the camera to his eye. A bright white flash blinds me momentarily.

I guffaw. “Did you just… snap a picture of me?!”

Milo smiles and my heart flops in my chest. When he smiles, the most precious dimple dents his cheek. “That depends. Were you staring at my left eyebrow earlier today?”

Before I can stop it, I feel a rush of heat color my alabaster flesh. Is Milo flirting with yours truly? “Oh,” I fuss while trying to act nonchalant. “Who cares about eyebrow placement anyway? Left eyebrow, right eyebrow, it’s all the same to me!” I mentally facepalm myself. Could I possibly be any more dweebish?

“Well,” Milo announces while clearing his throat. His adam apple bobs and I have the strangest urge to kiss it. Come on, Lela Willows! Pull it together! “I happen to care about eyebrow placement,” Milo says, dead serious.

“Oh?” I find myself asking. “What other strange things do you care about?”

I swear, I think Milo’s cheeks flush pink. I shake my head. It must be a trick of the crappy school florescent lighting. “How is it that you always end up on the floor?” he laughs nervously.

“Good sir,” I exclaim while standing up heroically. “The floor is the absolute best place to be! I ensure you; there is a reason behind my madness. You just have to look for it.”

“I’d like to,” I hear him whisper. Before a blush can form on my face, Milo asks in a louder voice, “So what are you up to?”

“My quest thus far,” I say in a medieval English accent, “leads to the treacherous lair of the Wheezer, member of the School Staff.”

To my enthrallment, Milo plays along. In the same cheesy medieval accent he drawls, “My fair damsel, that excursion is far too dangerous for the likes of a lady! I, Sir Granger, Knight of the Photography Club, should perchance accompany you to the Lair or the Dreaded Wheezer?” On one knee, he grasps my hand and brandishes his camera like a sword. His calloused hand feels so nice against mine; a heat crawls up from my belly to the tips of my ears. I laugh and don’t even care as Milo snaps another picture of me, still holding my hand as I laugh.

“Then let us quest, Sir Granger!” I smile as I pull his hand so that he is standing. I look up at him and wonder if he was always this tall. He returns the smile, dimpling again. I curse his boyish charm.

Letting go of his hand, we begin to walk to Mr. Windsor’s classroom, fighting off imaginary dragons and goblins along the way.