1 Spirit Day Photos In a perfect world I would''ve digitally removed the booger from Derby Esposito''s nose days ago. Because if you didn''t zoom in close and look for the booger, it was arguably the best picture anybody on Yearbook staff at Rocky Mountain Middle School had taken on Spirit Day. It totally captured the mood and the moment. I''d framed Derby perfectly beneath our school banner, and caught him jumping off the stairs near the trophy case in midflight, his smile in perfect focus as his noodle-hair wig and full-body cape swirled around him. I mean, it told a story: Nerdy caped boy with noodle hair enthusiastically loves his school. "Nobody will see it. And it might not be a booger," Venice said, leaning forward to inspect the computer screen. "I think it looks like cupcake frosting.
Maybe other people will think so too." Venice was sweet like that. She always assumed the best about everybody. Nobody was going to think that was frosting. "All these rules really hold me back artistically," I said. "Without them, I could be delivering much better work." Venice gave me a hug. She felt the same way.
But there really wasn''t anything I could do. Seriously. Removing that booger would have meant automatic detention. I mean, even though we were the yearbook''s junior photographers, Venice and I didn''t have much power. We weren''t allowed to change any of the photos without getting written permission from three people: Anya, our yearbook photography edit∨ Ms. Kenny, our yearbook faculty advis∨ and the person whose image we wanted to alter. I thought getting written permission from three people to remove a single booger felt lame. But Yearbook had a firm image-editing policy.
Last year some of the junior photographers had gone rogue and used high-quality image-editing software to adjust a few seventh graders'' facial expressions. Also, somebody added a tiger to three basketball game photos. It wasn''t like they made the tiger a jersey and turned it into a player. The tiger just sat in the stands, holding a soda and waving a foam finger. But the edited photos hadn''t gone over well. Fingers were pointed. People got blamed. And that was why my best Spirit Day photo had to include Derby Esposito''s booger.
It''s amazing how a couple of people who came before us and behaved crazily could make it so we had to follow terrible rules. "You need to stop stressing out about every little detail," Venice said, clicking on a photo I''d taken of Drea Quan. "Look at how amazing her hair looks upside down," Venice said. I''d caught Drea mid-cartwheel at last week''s pep rally. She played the flute in the band. I was really surprised and impressed she could hold her instrument and do gymnastics. "Your work is magical," Venice said. "It belongs in magazines.
" I leaned my head against Venice''s shoulder. She was the most awesome best friend ever. Seriously. I couldn''t imagine sixth grade without her. "Don''t forget to fill out your performance evaluations," a voice said. "Ms. Kenny will collect them right after the bell." But I didn''t even respond to that statement.
Because I was really focused on looking at a photo that Venice had taken of a bunch of eighth-grade boys trying to climb the flagpole. "Thanks, Leo," Venice said. I rolled my eyes when I heard that. I didn''t need Leo Banks to remind me of anything. Venice and I were both excellent students. We weren''t going to blow off turning in our first self-evaluations. I looked up and watched him wander off to join his friends at the business table. Why couldn''t Leo be more like them? Javier, Eli, and Luke never bugged us.
I think it was because they were normal seventh graders who looked cute and worked hard on their advertising and financial assignments. Unlike Leo, who, for some reason, was a seventh grader who didn''t look cute and tried to offer annoying input almost every class. "I bet Anya takes a bunch of these," Venice said, clicking through the last photos in the folder. "I hope so," I said. So far she''d been a superharsh judge of our work. She had found something wrong with every single photo Venice and I submitted. Weird shadows. Improper centering.
Low-flying birds. Her reaction surprised me a ton. Because Anya, along with Ms. Kenny, had been responsible for picking us to be on Yearbook in the first place. When Anya whooshed into the room, you could totally feel the energy change. Instead of taking her assignment folder and hanging out with Sailor and Sabrina like she usually did, she walked right over to where we were sitting and bent down to look at our computer. When I say that Anya whooshed, I mean that she actually went whoosh. Every time she arrived somewhere she let out a dramatic breath.
"Hi, Anya," Venice said, adjusting the brightness on her flagpole photo, trying to lighten the sky. "Okay," Anya said, leaning in a little bit closer. "Please don''t freak out, but we need to talk about something that''s not very pleasant." I immediately thought about Derby and his booger. I looked at Venice. Why had she let me include that photo? "Is it about our photos?" Venice asked. Venice was bold like that. She always wanted to get straight to the point.
"Venice," Anya said, frowning a little at the flagpole photo on the screen. "Perry," she said, looking down at me with a serious face. "I want to help you guys get to the next level. And do you know what I see when I look at the photos you submitted this week?" All I could think about was Derby and his unfortunate nose contents. "What?" Venice asked. "Room to improve," Anya said. Ring. Those were pretty crushing words.
Maybe it was a sixth grader/eighth grader thing. Or maybe it was because she acted like my disappointed boss. But Anya O''Shea made me really nervous. Even her clothes made me feel that way. Once a week she liked to wear a bright white double-wrap crocodile-skin belt. Usually she wore it with jeans. But today she was wearing it with an electric-pink skirt. I''m not saying it looked bad.
Or that she wore it too much. It''s just, I never would have considered buying an accessory that had once been a white crocodile. Venice and I dropped our evals into the wire basket on Ms. Kenny''s cluttered desk and then hunkered down at the back table. We had given ourselves fairly positive reviews. We were great at labeling and stickering all our materials. We turned everything in on time. We consistently worked extra hours after school and on weekends.
Plus, our first signature unit was 80 percent complete. Venice reached out and looped her pinky around mine. Looking down and seeing our matching fingernails felt pretty reassuring. We''d taken turns painting each other''s nails two days ago, following some very detailed instructions I''d found online. So our fingertips looked really stylish, and also like caterpillar heads, except for our right pinkies, which were emblazoned with a cool squiggly triangle called an Akoben that Venice said was an African symbol for strength. Anya sat down across from us and glanced at our nails but didn''t give us a compliment. Her nails were plain. So I figured she was the kind of person who didn''t know how to fully embrace nail art.
She tucked a piece of her ridiculously shiny blond bob behind her ear and set two folders down in front of us. One was labeled Venice and the other was labeled Perry. "You know I''m a fan of your work," she said. "That''s why you guys are here." Things felt really formal all of a sudden. Usually Anya sat next to us. Did she really need to sit across from us and present us with labeled folders? I mean, did we really need to pretend we were in a business meeting? "Let''s pretend we''re in a business meeting," Anya said. I felt Venice reach out and gently touch my leg with her right pinky.
I knew what she was doing. She was sending me secret squiggly strength. Venice was so good at sending me tiny messages. Seriously. She was the most awesome friend ever. Plus, she always smelled like cinnamon. "Okay. Some people show up to Yearbook thinking that it''s an arts-and-crafts free-for-all.
" Anya picked up a black marker and wrote the word fun on a piece of paper. Then she crumpled it into a ball and tossed it onto the big rectangular desk next to us. Venice and I both watched as Anya picked up a stapler and dramatically pounded the paper ball a few times. I thought Ms. Kenny would come over and say something. I mean, it''s very intimidating when an eighth grader starts slamming around office products. But Ms. Kenny didn''t interrupt anything.
She actually gave Anya a thumbs-up and said, "Check back in with me when you''re finished." "Absolutely," Anya said. She picked up the flattened fun paper and threw it on the floor. Then she crushed it under the heel of her ankle boot. "This isn''t playtime anymore." "Crap," Venice said. This really surprised me. Venice hardly ever used that word.
She was classy. "You shouldn''t say crap in a business meeting," Anya said, reaching for the folder labeled Venice. "But I think I just sat in gum," Venice said.