Britney Vaughn was coming up behind me, her and another girl. The two of them stopped a few feet away.
“Hello, Britney,” said Antoinette.
“Hello, Antoinette,” said Britney. But her attention soon shifted to me. She looked me up and down. “You’re the guy who took my picture.”
“I am,” I said.
She was going to say something mean but then thought better of it. I knew why. It was because she had posted my picture of her on Facebook, the one where she was giving us the finger. It had 280 likes. It was so popular she was now using it as her profile picture.
“My name’s Gavin,” I said.
Britney didn’t answer.
“You’re welcome for the picture,” I said. “People seem to like it.”
“I’m going to delete you,” said Britney. “Now that I see what you look like.”
I didn’t respond, but I understood what she meant. By Agenda standards, I looked like the most boring suburban prep imaginable.
“Everyone is still pissed at you,” she said to Antoinette.
“What for?”
“Flirting with Ryan,” said Britney.
“Kai flirted with Ryan. Not me.”
“Bad things happen when you flirt with other people’s boyfriends,” threatened Britney.
“Oh yeah?” said Antoinette, taking a long, bored drag of her cigarette. “Like what?”
Britney Vaughn had to think about that for a while. Then, watching Antoinette, she said, “You got another cigarette?”
Without answering, Antoinette felt in her pocket. She found her cigarettes and threw the pack to Britney.
I watched all this. My camera was right behind me in the car, but I didn’t dare reach for it. Britney, who had a plain, lumpy face, opened the pack. She flicked it a certain way and a couple of the cigarettes stuck out of it.
“Can I have two?” she asked Antoinette.
“No, Britney, you can have one.”
Britney then gestured to her friend. “Can she have one?”
“Yes,” said Antoinette, looking away. Britney handed the other girl a cigarette, then stuck the one she was holding behind her ear, then took a third cigarette out of the pack. She lit it. The other girl lit hers.
Antoinette said: “You guys do know that Ryan was hitting on every girl he saw that night, right?”
“He was drunk,” said Britney.
Britney didn’t answer. She stared at Antoinette’s car. “This your car?”
“Yes,” said Antoinette.
“I always knew you were rich.”
“I’m not rich, Britney. It’s a Toyota.”
Britney, with her lumpy face, took a while to digest this information. She did not give the impression of great intelligence. Then she stared at me again. “Why are you hanging out with this guy?” she asked Antoinette. “Is he your personal photographer?”
“He goes to my school,” said Antoinette.
“Oh,” said Britney, looking at me again.
“As a matter of fact,” said Antoinette, “Gavin was just telling me he likes you. He wants to ask you out.”
I turned and gave Antoinette a glare I didn’t know I possessed.
“Him?” said Britney, looking me up and down. “But he’s so white bread. He is sorta cute though. Hey, could you guys lend me twenty bucks?”
“No, we can’t lend you twenty bucks,” said Antoinette.
“Ten?”
“Britney, you came over here to threaten me. You were going to beat me up last week. You can’t ask me for money.”
Britney smoked her cigarette. Antoinette smoked hers. Britney became bored and turned to her friend. They made some sort of nonverbal decision.
“We have to go,” Britney said to Antoinette.
“You sure you don’t want to go out with Gavin here?” Antoinette said.
Britney turned and looked at me one last time. “No thanks,” she said.
• • •
We left Agenda and drove around for a while. I got my Canon out. It felt good to hold it in my hands again. I tried to take a close-up picture of the dashboard in the dark car interior. Then I took some pictures of Antoinette while she drove. She didn’t do the usual things people do, like act shy or put up her hand. She just drove. After a while I started pointing the camera at things outside: signs, buildings, people walking on the sidewalk.
When she dropped me back at my parents’, I wanted to say something, thank her for taking me around. But I thought that might sound stupid. Better to say nothing.
Upstairs, in my room, I downloaded my pictures onto my big computer. I knew they were going to be too dark and they were. Still, the ones of Antoinette driving her car were interesting. I’d caught something, some hidden part of her. It was there in the murky image. I could feel it, even if I couldn’t actually make it out.
Unfortunately, in photography, if you can’t see it, you failed. Seeing it is kind of the whole point.