Chapter 2

Megan didn’t see Derrick again until after school at Photography Club. And then he seemed perfectly normal—normal for Derrick. He didn’t seem to have any kind of energy surrounding him at all, but was slumped in a chair ignoring everyone.

“Do you want to stand up, Megan, or sit at the table with the slide projector?”

Robert Brody was helping Megan set up. Each week a different member would present photographs for entertainment and criticism. Megan was giving her slide show from her trip to India with her parents.

“I’ll sit and do very little talking. I’m trying to learn to let my pictures speak for themselves.” Megan smiled at Robert.

“I refuse to comment on your ability to refrain from talking,” Robert said, smiling back.

“Okay, okay, I know I like to talk.” Megan took the teasing well. “But just you wait and see.”

“Ready, Megan?” asked Mrs. Kloverstrom, the Photo Club’s sponsor.

Megan nodded, and Robert killed the lights. She clicked on her first slide. It was a close-up of a cobra rising sensuously from a basket—everyone’s clichéd image of India. Then she moved to a close-up of the old snake charmer’s face before throwing on her title slide, “India, Old and New.”

Soon she was halfway through her show, keeping quiet, as was her resolution. She had arranged the slides so a modern scene was followed by one that could have been centuries old.

“This is one of my best photos.” Megan flashed a group of gypsy women on the screen. They were clad in red cotton saris and carried brass water jugs on their heads.

Suddenly she shivered, despite her resolution to forget. The face of one of the gypsy women reminded her. She could still feel the woman’s grip on her hand, see the look in her eyes.

“I tell your fortune,” the woman had said, holding out her hand for money.

Megan hadn’t wanted her fortune told, but the group had urged her to do so. When she had handed over her dollar, though, the gypsy woman had backed away. There had been fear in her eyes. Megan had seen the fear and felt the woman’s reluctance to tell her fortune. She’d always wonder if the gypsy had seen the accident that was played out later. She shook her head to keep the awful memory of the plane crash from returning now.

“Megan, are you all right?” Robert was sitting beside her. His hand was on her arm.

“Oh, sure. Sorry.” She flicked to the next slide, close-ups of the women adorned with earrings, nose rings, and necklaces. “At first the women said we couldn’t take their pictures. They were afraid the camera would rob them of their souls.”

“How funny,” Candy Gilford said. “How did you convince them differently?”

“Our guide asked if money would help.” Megan laughed. “They decided it would.”

“So they were willing to sell their souls for a shilling?” Robert quipped. “Not a very strong belief, if you ask me.”

“A number of cultures do feel strongly about cameras,” said Mrs. Kloverstrom. “I almost had my camera taken in Morocco. And in a Masai village in Kenya, we were requested to take no photographs. Some people do think the image the camera makes steals from their souls.”

“I’ll bet a lot just want to get paid.” Robert helped Megan change carousels.

“I never charge for photos.” Bunny Browne giggled, posing seductively. “Maybe I should start saying, ‘Three dollars for a piece of my soul.’”

“Wow, Bunny, you left yourself wide open with that remark.” Robert laughed.

Megan took a deep breath and focused on where she was. She was safe. The accident the gypsy had seen in Megan’s future was over. Think about Bunny, she told herself as she flicked more pictures on the screen. Dumb Bunny had lived up to her name again. But Megan really wanted to go home. Maybe she was getting the flu.

“Slow down, Megan,” said Mrs. Kloverstrom. “Especially if you want us to help you choose photos for the competition.”

Megan slowed deliberately but said nothing else until the show was over and three of her photos were selected as best.

“Good show, Megan.” Robert boxed up Megan’s slides. “I envy your getting to travel so much.”

“Your pictures of Colorado are outstanding, Robert. A photographer doesn’t have to go far from home.”

“Thanks, Megan. I keep reminding myself of that, but I do want to travel someday. Maybe be a correspondent for some newspaper or magazine. Want a ride?” Robert offered as they left the empty school building and headed for the parking lot.

“No. Derrick said he’d drop me off. Thanks.” The strange feeling Megan had about Derrick at lunch was gone. She knew she must have picked up on Cynthia’s dislike for Derrick.

Derrick walked on the other side of Megan. He hadn’t said a word the whole meeting or during refreshment time, except for the offer of a ride. He didn’t have to say much, though, as far as Megan was concerned. His photos spoke for him. While Megan considered herself and Robert good photographers, Derrick was exceptional. His work was already professional quality. Often when Megan got an excellent picture, she knew it was an accident. She figured from what she had seen so far Derrick did nothing by accident.

Each year Boulder High’s Photography Club kicked off the year with a contest. Arriving on the scene in September, Derrick had walked away with first place. Megan came in second, but when she’d seen Derrick’s entries, she couldn’t complain. One was of an incredibly attractive girl—from his last school, he’d said. His art had enhanced her beauty. Two were ordinary neighborhood scenes made extraordinary by Derrick’s eye and camera angle. The fourth was a color photo of clouds. Megan had felt she could reach out and touch their softened texture.

“Do you two want to go to Denver some Saturday soon?” Robert asked, closing the passenger door on Derrick’s van and leaning on the open window. “We can photograph some industrial sights for the black-and-white category. I’ll drive.”

“Good idea,” Megan answered for herself and Derrick. She hoped that if she hung around Derrick, she could learn from him. And he’d already mentioned he wanted some new photos for the art museum’s upcoming contest. Robert stepped back, smiled, and waved when Megan answered.

Pulling out of the school parking lot, Derrick swerved his old Ford van to miss a pothole. He was draped over the steering wheel like a question mark, surveying the road and manhandling the van. Megan hadn’t driven it, but she guessed it took the skill and manpower of its owner to nurse it along, not to mention his mechanical genius to keep it running.

When Derrick had relaxed a bit and headed for their subdivision, Megan teased him. “Wow, you’re really talkative today, Derrick. Asking me if I wanted a ride home took three words.”

Derrick grinned in his funny way, raising the corners of his lips about an eighth of an inch. “Good show.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll enlarge that picture of us on elephants crossing the river in Tiger Tops. The fog makes the picture mysterious.” Megan thought out loud, knowing Derrick probably wouldn’t answer. Being with Derrick wasn’t like being with Cynthia, or even Robert; she and Derrick weren’t surrounded by a comfortable silence. So she chattered, a habit she disliked in others. She wanted to ask him about Cynthia, but she didn’t have the nerve.

He seemed terribly absentminded, in the fashion of real genius. Like now. Even with her talking, it was obvious his mind was a million miles away. He was probably thinking about a photo he wanted to take. Sometimes Megan thought the word obsessed would be a good tag for Derrick. It had taken very little time around him to realize that his work obsessed him. He had his own darkroom and said he spent a lot of time there.

“Isn’t Bunny Browne the dumbest blond you ever knew?” Megan attempted to lure Derrick into a frivolous conversation. She’d tried it before, just to see if she could. “She’s that cliché personified.”

No luck. The funny smile again. No comment.

“Makes me glad I got brains instead of beauty.” Megan wasn’t fishing for a compliment. She knew she wasn’t beautiful. Only her dark red hair saved her from being a real disaster. Her figure was what some would call pleasingly plump, and she didn’t care. She had no desire to become prom queen or win a beauty contest. She had developed her artistic talents instead. She also knew that Derrick wouldn’t lie and tell her she was attractive to make her feel better. She knew him that well. She sighed. Maybe he picked up on her feelings.

“I like you, Megan.” Derrick stopped the van at her house.

“Wow! The famous photographer Derrick Ames likes me! Wow!” Megan laughed as she lifted the two boxes of slides and climbed off the high seat onto the sidewalk. “Thanks for the ride, Derrick.”

“Thanks for being such an inspiration,” Derrick said in response.

“I’ve inspired you?” Megan asked. “To do what?”

“You’ve reminded me of how talented I really am.” Derrick grinned and pulled away from the curb.

Megan watched him leave, feeling again the magnetic pull Derrick had on her. He was talented, and his pointing it out, even in teasing, didn’t bother her at all. She grinned and shook her head. Derrick was something else. She had mixed emotions about him sometimes, but she was glad he had come to Boulder High. He was a fascinating person.

Megan turned the front doorknob. Locked. Even though she was late getting home, neither her mom nor her dad was there. She could get some homework done. Quickly she fished her key from her purse and let herself in. As soon as she stepped inside, however, she felt a dizziness and a fatigue overtake her. Maybe she’d been more nervous about showing her slides than she’d realized. Or her restless nights were catching up with her. She decided to take a quick nap and do homework after dinner.

Her legs turned to jelly halfway up the stairs. It was all she could do to reach her bed. What was the matter with her? She felt as if she had no control of her body at all. Losing sleep shouldn’t make her feel this awful. If she could just sleep without dreaming for a night or two, even an hour or two, she knew she’d feel better.

Collapsing on her peach-flowered spread, she hugged her stuffed killer whale, the worn toy she’d had since a childhood visit to Sea World. Almost immediately she was asleep.

She smelled the smoke then. But she couldn’t move. The fire surged toward her. She tugged and pulled, but she couldn’t get away. There was no escaping it. Clouds of smoke surrounded her. Hungry flames snapped and crackled. She twisted her wrists until they were filled with pain. She screamed and screamed, “I must get out. I must!”