Chapter 1

August 2011

I can't believe I'm here right now, at my old high school of all places. This is not what I envisioned when I graduated two years ago.

Zeke is thrilled to be back. He walks quickly and excitedly through the hallways, until something new catches his attention and he has to devote five minutes to it. I wish I had his enthusiasm, his nostalgia. Instead, I feel disappointment creeping in to me.

"We should probably go back to the outdoor learning center," I say, reminding him of the reason we're here in the first place.

"The kids won't start coming in for another fifteen minutes," he protests.

"Stop calling them kids. They're only a couple years younger than us."

"Come on, Four. Don't you want to see what's different before we have to take a thousand pictures?"

"No," I deadpan.

"Fine." He adds a groan for good measure. "We can go finish setting up the cameras."

I do notice some differences while we travel the hallways towards the back of the school, but I don't mention them. I don't mind that Zeke thinks it's because I'm not observant because I know it's not the case. If I wasn't observant, I wouldn't be a photographer in the first place.

It's somewhat obvious that photography is not Zeke's desired field, but it's a small job until he can get a career in the field he wants. Zeke and I notice things differently; what I notice is often significantly less distinct than what his eyes register.

Our photography equipment is already set up in the learning center behind the school. It's a nice set-up. The lighting is beautiful. The woods are in the background, flowers growing wildly in the grass. The students will lean against the brick wall of the center to have their pictures taken. We've been sent by the company Kang Photography to take the senior pictures for the year.

Photography is practically the only thing I take interest in. Capturing the evanescent beauty of life in an otherwise desolate world appeals to me in ways I've never shared with anyone, but this job does not contribute to my passion in the least. I pictured myself working for a magazine by age 20, and here I am taking senior photos at my old high school, explaining stances and telling teenagers to smile, teenagers who are only two years younger than I am.

"All right, it looks like I've got A-M, and you have N-Z," Zeke notices as he scans through the stickers for each student.

"So I get Uriah?"

"Yeah." There's a smile on Zeke's face at the mention of his brother. "Don't let him get away with anything just because you've known him since he was in preschool."

"I'll pretend like I don't even know him."

"Good."

There are almost 700 seniors this year, separated by last name and directed to us twenty-five at a time. I begin to dread this assignment all over again after I photograph the second student.

Uriah is in the third group. He acknowledges me with a small wave, but other than that, his attention seems to be solely focused on the girl standing behind him.

She wears a blush-colored dress, and from where I stand, I can see that her fingernails are painted to match. Her straight, blonde hairs falls just a few inches below her shoulders and she throws her head back laughing at whatever Uriah has just said. A tall boy stands behind her and scolds her for laughing too loudly. She settles for smiling widely instead.

I can't really seem to take my eyes off the two of them – Uriah and the girl; my eyes are drawn more specifically to the girl.

"Uriah Pedrad," I say, since I have to confirm the name of every student before I take a photo. He holds both thumbs up in response. "Lean against the brick wall please."

"Did Zeke pay you to sabotage my picture?" he asks.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Good luck. I never take a bad picture."

I want to take a picture of him while he speaks, just to prove a point, but I've already photographed seventy students, not even a third of my total, and I feel my patience slipping away with every shot.

"Okay, you can go now, Uriah," I tell him.

But he doesn't move. He lingers by the set, and I realize he's waiting for the girl.

"Next!"

The girl strides over to the set and leans against the brick wall without my instruction. She smiles at me, practiced and professional, and I'm sure she's used to posing for pictures. She knows exactly how to stand, and someone's taught her how to smile well, unless she just has a great smile on her own.

"Beatrice Prior?"

She cringes when I say her name but nods a second later. I take the picture and examine the image. She really is a beautiful girl. My picture captured her well.

"You can go now."

She nods. "Have a good day!" she exclaims. I silently bid her the same and watch as she meets Uriah by the set.

I sigh when the two of them don't move. They must be waiting for the next boy. I look down at the next sticker for his name. Caleb Prior. He must be her brother. I quickly take his picture, and the three of them hurriedly leave me to my monotonous work.

"How'd Uriah's picture come out?" Zeke asks when we pack the tripods up.

"Fine." Without thinking, I add, "I met his girlfriend, too."

Zeke's face contorts in confusion. "Uri doesn't have a girlfriend."

"Blonde girl," I describe. "I think her last name was Prior."

Recognition crosses his face. "Tris Prior!" he confirms. "Yeah, they're not together. Just good friends. You know, she's only sixteen."

"Sixteen?" I ask. I had assumed she was just a bit of a late bloomer since her figure wasn't exactly as womanly as the other seventeen and eighteen-year-old girls I photographed today. Now I suppose she's just young. "How is she a senior at sixteen?"

"First off, she was born in June, so she started out younger than everyone. And then she skipped a grade. She'll turn seventeen after she graduates."

"That's pretty impressive."

"Her mom kinda pushed her into it. Tris is a stage kid."

"And her brother?"

"Bookworm."

I nod as a response and zip up my final bag, grateful that the day is done. Days like this make me want to resubmit my résumé to every interesting newspaper and magazine company in the country. I tell Zeke I'll see him at work tomorrow and pack everything up in my car. I don't listen to any music as I drive to my apartment, the silence soothing me on its own.

However, nothing starts my heart from racing when I see a poster on a bench by some sidewalk, encouraging people to reelect my father for congress. Even though time has passed, his picture is still enough to send chills down my spine and increase my breathing.

That's another reason why I want to get out of here soon. I found a certain freedom with photography; rebellion grew with every picture I took. But how am I free, if I'm still cowering from pictures of him on benches and campaigns on TV? I won't be truly free until I leave everything from my past behind, this city included. I thought I would have by now. I thought my opportunities would have opened up. I guess I'll have to see what the future holds when the future becomes the present.

Thanks for reading the first chapter! I will try my best to keep updating every Wednesday and Saturday. I'm sorry this chapter is so short. It's the introduction, so chapters in the future will be longer. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and continue to enjoy the story.