Rule 9: Be yourself! He will like you for the real you!
Sydney crossed her legs, hoping to stop her fidgeting. A moment later, her foot tapped impatiently on the carpet, making her knee bob up and down. Her trip to the fish store had calmed her down, but then Drew had talked her into adopting a dog, a big dog at that, and…
She let out a breath. Right now, she needed to focus on the photo contest awards ceremony.
Drew sat on one side of her, Raven on the other. Alexia, Ben, Kelly, and Todd were all there, too. Sydney hadn’t expected them to come, but Kelly surprised her by telling their friends. They’d all been waiting for Sydney in the front lobby of Children’s Hospital at the start of the ceremony.
To be honest, Sydney was glad they were here. Sure, losing in front of them would be disappointing, but she liked having their support for something she felt so awkward with. Photography was new to her. Not to mention, some people might think it a waste of time. But her friends didn’t and that made Sydney grateful.
Within the ten minutes the group had been seated, the room filled up. They were in the conference room on the first floor of Children’s Hospital surrounded by at least a hundred red chairs. The panel of judges, two men and two women, sat quietly in their chairs on a dais at the front of the room.
Sydney’s knee bobbed faster.
“It’s all right,” Drew whispered, setting his hand on her leg. “No matter what, at least you entered, right?”
She nodded.
At five minutes after four, the room quieted as a man took the podium on the dais. He was older, mid-forties, with thinning gray hair and black-framed glasses. “Good afternoon,” he said. “I’m Eddison Gerald, director of public relations. I’m glad you all could be here. Welcome to the fifth annual Children’s Hospital photo contest. For those of you who are new, every year we take photo entries from amateur photographers. Those photos are hung in our art hall for the children to view, to give them something beautiful to look at as they go through difficult treatments, working toward better health.
“And, to encourage submissions, we award first, second, and third prizes every year. Now let me introduce you to our panel of judges.”
He stepped back, pointing to the man seated on the far left. “We have Roy Harrison, a critic at the Yale School of Art. Katie Taylor, a professor at the New York Institute of Photography. Jamie Munson, director of photography at Shutter magazine, and leading photographer Cook Porter whose photos have been in magazines such as National Geographic. Please welcome them.”
The room applauded. Sydney clapped quietly, her fingers trembling. She didn’t recognize the names of the judges, but if their credentials were any indication, they were prominent figures in the industry. Who was she to enter her photo? They’d probably seen her entry and laughed, picking it apart.
“Can we go?” she whispered to Drew.
“What, now?” He frowned. “It just started. I don’t want to stand up in the middle of it.”
“You okay?” Raven asked. “You look pale.”
“This was a bad idea,” Sydney said as the clapping quieted down. “Those judges are serious about this, and I’m just an amateur!”
“It’s an amateur contest,” Kelly pointed out.
“Now,” Mr. Gerald said, stepping up to the microphone, “along with a free two-year subscription to Shutter magazine, our winners will receive some other valuable prizes. Third place will receive a hundred dollar prize. Second place will receive a two hundred dollar prize and first place will receive a five hundred dollar prize.”
The room applauded again, the sound seeming in rhythm with Sydney’s rapidly beating heart. She wasn’t going to win, but she really, really wanted to place somewhere in the top three. Did she actually have talent? Should she continue to explore photography?
This moment seemed like a declaration of her future path. She pictured herself going away to art school, becoming a photographer, traveling the world, taking photos that meant something.
But if she lost today, maybe she’d continue down the path she already had planned. School at Yale, a degree in something serious like science or business.
Suddenly that didn’t sound so exciting.
Mr. Gerald raised his hand and people quieted.
“Third place goes to…”
A woman entered the room through a side door. In her hands she held a picture frame covered with a white cloth. She stepped up on the dais, standing next to Mr. Gerald. He grabbed a corner of the cloth and pulled it off quickly, exposing a photograph of a pink flower and a bee sitting in the middle.
“Macy Bernard.”
A girl near the front of the room stood and made her way up to the dais. She shook Mr. Gerald’s hand and accepted a framed award certificate with her name on it.
“Second place goes to…”
Another woman entered the room and went up onstage carrying a picture. Mr. Gerald pulled off the cloth to show a picture of a large maple tree, bare of leaves, standing tall against a storm-darkened sky.
“Michael Shallen.”
An older man went onstage, took his award certificate, and stood off to the side with Macy.
“Now,” Mr. Gerald said, “for our grand prize winner.”
The last picture came out, covered in a white cloth. The woman holding it smiled wide, her feet soundless as she went up the two steps to the dais. She stopped at Mr. Gerald’s side and looked out as if trying to spot the winner in the crowd.
Sydney squeezed her eyes shut, tried to slow her beating heart. She felt light-headed, her fingers trembling, her breath coming too quickly.
I can’t be the winner, it’s not me…
“Oh my god,” Kelly said.
“Is that…” Raven trailed off.
Sydney opened her eyes. There was her picture, framed in a beautiful mahogany frame, held up for the entire room to see.
“Sydney Howard!” Mr. Gerald said.
The room clapped. Sydney’s friends stood up, whistled.
“Go up there!” Kelly said. “Go on!”
Sydney stood on shaky legs. She’d won? That was her picture, but maybe there’d been a mistake.
She made her way to the dais, went up the steps to Mr. Gerald’s side. He shook her hand, congratulated her. She thanked him and took her award certificate, her name written big and bold in elegant cursive writing.
She’d won and, in her heart, she was now Sydney Howard, amateur photographer. It was an official title, she thought, a title that reflected who she was on the inside. She wanted to shed the old Sydney, the prim, perfect, proper Sydney. The one who took all the AP classes and had Yale, Harvard, and Stanford on her to-apply college list.
It was time to do what she wanted to do. It was time to be herself.