Page 17 of Trust Again

“I need a model for my photography class. Are you game?”

And so I found myself sitting on a park bench in the middle of campus, while Sawyer held her huge SLR camera to her face and repeatedly asked me to look angry. Apparently the assignment was to shoot a collection of portraits showing various emotions. So she ordered me around for more than an hour.

“You look like you have a grasshopper in your mouth.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Yuck.”

She snapped another picture.

“Of course: yuck. But you shouldn’t look like you just ate something nasty, but like you’re really upset.”

She let the camera dangle for a moment and gave the perfect demonstration of an angry frown with narrowed eyes.

“See what I mean?” It was clearly a look she had mastered.

I really tried; I wanted to frown, but only managed to make my hairline move up and down.

Sawyer sighed. “All right, let’s skip that one. Now look erotic and dreamy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “This is part of my job? To look erotic and dreamy?”

“Emotions are my project. It was my choice,” Sawyer answered and took a few photos of me staring at her with open mouth. Those would be flattering.

She knelt and adjusted one of the countless dials on her camera. “Close your mouth a bit more. Now think about—I don’t know—your favorite actor leaping naked through a meadow or something.”

“Like Harry Styles?” I asked hopefully, trying to picture my favorite boy-band star.

“Wonderful, Dawn. Perfect,” Sawyer said. She looked at me contentedly and took a few steps back. “Think about that slimeball in tight pants.”

My cheeks got hot. “Did you just call Harry Styles a slimeball? In my presence?”

I jumped up and stretched out my hand toward the lens as Sawyer backed away onto a section of grass. She snapped some pictures and didn’t care to look where she was going.

“Oh, that’s good, Dawn! You look funky and angry at the same time. Wow! And now give me that grasshopper look again.” She grinned at me.

I surged forward, while Sawyer toppled backward. She tripped on her own feet and landed on her back. Unfortunately, I was moving so fast that I almost landed on top her. Just in time, I was able to angle myself to the side—and landed face first on the soft, wet grass.

Sawyer lost it—I think it was the first time I’d ever heard her laugh. She grabbed her stomach with both hands.

“I haven’t laughed like this in ages.”

“Glad you’re so amused to see me with a mouth full of grass,” I picked out another piece of the green stuff.

We lay there grinning for a while, staring at the sky. Who would’ve thought Sawyer could be so easy-going. From the corner of my eye, I saw her hand move up to touch the locket resting on her chest. Her fingers closed around it.

“Thanks, Dawn,” she murmured, still staring straight up at the sky.

“You’re welcome.”

My story about Jasper and Chelsea was nearly done. They’d just had an awful fight, and it was time to figure out how they’d make up.

Normally, I love writing the closing scenes. All the different threads come together and I can let the characters carry on by themselves. Even though happy endings are rare in real life, in fiction, they seem to work.

Except this time.

Something wasn’t quite right. I would type and type, only to erase it all and start again. This had never happened before, and it was making me increasingly uneasy. But just giving up wasn’t an option. D. Lily fans were expecting a sequel, and I wanted to deliver.

I tugged at my hair, rested my chin on my hands, and stared at the blinking cursor.