Photogenic

Mia continued around the class, letting each student pick and trade, if they wanted, I guess. Nate and I chuckled at some of the shocked expressions. She then went to the front of the room and smiled at all of her students.

"So now that you all have your model, why don't we get to know each other a bit," she paused. "To make it easier and much less chaotic, I'll call each model's name, and the photographer who has their name, will raise their hand, alright? Miranda Heather..."

She continued on with the names, commenting in between at how well some of the pairings would work out. I was glad that I didn't receive any of the first models called, because, to be bluntly honest, they were not going to be easy to work with, and not because of their looks. Most of the people that signed up were notorious around the other photography classes to be obscenely difficult to work with, and just because they were picky with the things they were willing to wear and do.

"Alex Regen," Mia called next.

Nate's face tinged pink as he raised his hand slowly. A brunette stepped out of the line; her heals clicking on the linoleum as she strutted to our table. She smiled at Nate, showing her perfect teeth in the process. She pulled up a stool, sitting down gracefully, crossing her legs at her thighs. I smiled at her, looking briefly from Nate to her before glancing back to Mia and listening again to the names being called. Five names latter and there were only two models left standing in front of the class. I closed my eyes and hoped that whoever I got would be relatively normal, on the fact of not being a stuck up I-want-my-coffee-now type.

"Bill..." Mia paused and my heart raced. I opened my eyes and began to raise my hand, assuming that she was having trouble with pronouncing his last name, like I had.

"Kaulitz," he provided.

My eyes got wide, my heart rate increasing as I took in his appearance. His hair was in an explosive mess atop his head, and the make up he wore could be classified as Emo, if he were in high school. His shoes silently carried him toward me, the corners of his lips upturning. He towered over me as he pulled up a stool, and even while sitting, he was noticeably tall.

"Hallo," he greeted his accent as thick as earlier. "We meet again."

"Yeah," I choked out, my stomach turning unpleasantly. My fingers felt like lead as they tapped my thighs rapidly, the nerves spreading all through myself. "We do..."

I looked down at the table, fidgeting in anger and nervousness on how well this project would go. Great, I thought, I'd have to work with him? This was going to be hell if he didn't cooperate with me.

Sitting at the table with Bill became less awkward as the class wore on. My thoughts about how much I'd fail this project disappeared and I became calmer as Mia explained our goal. I think it was because I had some sort of distraction from those thoughts. Bill listened intently, also, but was very distracting to me. He kept moving about in someway, either bouncing his knee, which shook the table in an annoying way, or taping his fingers on my book. The worst part was he never chose one way of fidgeting. He kept switching and I would loose concentration every time his nails hit the hardcover.

"…You can photograph in any technique we've covered and remember: experiment! Try something new and exciting, but remember," she paused to look at Kendal in the front row, "school appropriate". Don't photograph anything you wouldn't show to your Grandmother. Also, communicate! It's essential to be able to know how--"

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I looked down at the sudden noise. Black nails taped impatiently on my book. He did it again and I looked away from his hand, sighing inwardly. God, can't he sit still for one damn second? Bill must have noticed my annoyance because he stopped, placed his hand in his lap and smiled apologetically. I looked back up at Mia as she finished her pre-project speech.

I turned to Bill. "ADHD much?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "ADHD?"

I almost felt appalled, then I remembered hat he was foreign and probably would know that abbreviation. "Oh, Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder, where you can't sit still or pay attention to some thing for long periods of time."

He nodded and we fell into silence.

"Anyway," I began, wanting to get started on this project. "Why'd you want to become a model?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. It's just something I've always been good at."

"How do you do that?"

"What?" he was confused. "Do whatt?"

"Know that you've always been good at it, I mean. You're in school for it and all."

He shrugged again. "I'm psychic." He brought his hands up and wiggled his fingers, kind of like Jazz Hands or something.

I chuckled. "How does being psychic have anything to do with you becoming a model?"

"I know my future!" Bill seemed all sure of himself.

"So, you just saw that you'd be here, modeling and went with it?" He nodded, his hair moving oh-so-slightly. "So, if you psychic abilities told you, oh, I don't know," I ventured, "to jump off the bridge into Lake Michigan or commit mass murder, would you?"

He thought about this then slowly nodded. "If it was in my future, I guess. I wouldn't just go and kill someone just because I felt like it."

"But if your psyche told you?"

"Yah."

"You're so weird."

He shrugged, again, and accepted the comment. "Eh, not as weird as you."

"How so?"

"Hmmm," he put his hand on his chin, stroking slowly in thought, looking up at the ceiling. "I don't know, you tell me Madame 'I wear my beer, not drink it' and 'I come to school on Monday after a huge fight with a broken arm'."

Heat rose to my cheeks. I looked down at my arm in the sling. "It's not broke."

"Oh, my mistake," he chuckled.

I rolled my eyes and lightly slapped his arm.

Believe it or not, we did get some work done. We set up a time with Mia to use the schools studio next week Tuesday. We also decided that we could do both professional and documentary styles (but maybe more of the later, as Bill told me I would have fun with that more. I asked why and he said I'd just have to find out). We were to discuss what exactly we were going to capture on film tomorrow. I figure it was mostly going to be spur of the moment things.

After class, I bid goodbye to Alex and Bill, quickly heading to the apartment and grabbing a snack before work. There were messages on the machine, but I didn't have time to listen to them, so I left them for when Laci or I got back. A twenty minute drive to work in afternoon traffic was the perfect time for me to listen to my works radio station, 97.6 FM. Greg (Grand Mast G was his on air persona) was covering the weather and current music news, both big and small, internationally and local.

"Unlike yesterday," Greg's voice filled my car, "today will be partly cloudy with a high of fifty-two. Winds will be calm in the Windy City," a chuckle, "but expect tomorrow to have gusts up to two miles an hour."