Chapter 7: The Lens

Since that family portrait at fifteen, I’d avoided photos. I’d play photographer for my college friends but never let them take my picture.

I waved Noah off. “I’m not good-looking. No point.”

But Noah grinned. “There’s no ugly model, only a lazy photographer. Come on, help me out.” He winked, like he’d just shared a secret only we would get.

And maybe it was his easy smile or Aubrey’s confidence rubbing off, but I gave in. I copied Aubrey’s pose and stood in the light. When Noah showed me the shot, I couldn’t believe it. I looked... cool. Not like my sister, but like myself, only better.

Aubrey beamed. “Your eyes are shy, but you’ve got presence.”

Her friend Rachel, who ran an online boutique, said, “You could model for us. You interested?”

I had nothing planned for the summer, so I said yes. None of us expected my first photo set would blow up Rachel’s sales, but it did—my photos sold three times better than the others. Rachel paid me $300 for a few days’ work—more money than I’d ever earned.

Then she recommended me to a friend. “It’s $120 a day, but she’s picky. You sure you want to try?”

I needed cash for driving lessons and didn’t want to ask my parents. I said yes. Modeling was supposed to be tough, but luck was on my side—I kept getting jobs, saving enough for lessons and next semester’s expenses.

But overconfidence is dangerous. I remind myself: never get cocky. When things went wrong, they went really wrong. Someone secretly snapped a photo of me changing, sent it to me with gross messages, demanding I “date” him or else. My first instinct was to call the police. I stood outside the station for half an hour, shaking, but couldn’t go in. Every time the door slid open, my feet stayed glued to the sidewalk.