Page 41 of Smile for the Camera

“Starting us off,” Jaya begins, checking her iPad, “we have Aaliyah Johnson.”

The first four presentations go well, which only makes my fingers tremble more. Of course, Sandra and Aaliyah’s presentations are perfect and brilliant. There’s a boy who pauses a little too long on a few parts but moves forward like he never paused at all. He, along with a Filipina girl named Mia Ramos, who was the fourth presenter, speak with the same confidence and brilliance as Aaliyah and Sandra.

“Up next,”—Jaya looks at her iPad—“is Emilyn Padilla!”

It feels like I’m glued to this seat, and the only part that moves are my fingers, which jitter with the photo and index card clutched between them. People look around, searching for this Emilyn who should be presenting next. Aaliyah and Sandra stare at me, and I can tell they’re wondering why I’m not walking to the stage yet.

“Emilyn?” Jaya repeats.

Michelle and Don look around for me. My chair scrapes across the floor as I head over to the stage. I step behind the projector, but not in the cool way that Jase taught me. Instead, I accidentally bump my foot against the projector’s leg, which rattles and vibrates.

“Sorry,” I say, but not into the microphone, which towers beside the projector. It’s so quiet I can hear people breathing. I just walked onto this stage, but I already want to walk off.

I place my photograph on the glass plate, the projector’s head stamping a square of light. Just as I lift my other hand, my index card slips and drops to the ground. I must have a sixth sense for dropping things when people are giving me their undivided attention.

“Sorry,” I repeat, once again not into the microphone.

There’s a giggle from the audience. Heat stings its way from my neck to my face. I pick up my index card and start speaking.

“In dictionaries,” I begin, my voice quivering, “They define—”

“Excuse me, Emilyn,” Michelle says, and for a second, I’m certain she’s kicking me off the stage. “Can you speak into the mic?”

I apologize again, still not into the microphone—we’re just not friends today—and try to adjust it to my height. No use. Don makes a face that debates whether or not he should help me. I’m already dragging out my pre-start time, so I begin presenting, stepping on my tiptoes so I can speak into the microphone.

“In dictionaries, they define friendship as the connection between two people who get along well,” I say, “But I think friendship is more than that. In my photo, my best friend is walking across the Star Lakes bridge. She’s angled her arms to show she’ll always be there for me whenever I need it. She’s smiling confidently because she’s happy to see me.”

After explaining why certain details are sharp, stumbling through every sentence, I point out the chipped paint. “That shows how sturdy the bridge is, and it’s held up so many people so they wouldn’t fall into the lake. Friendship is like a bridge. It keeps you up so you won’t drown in whatever lake is beneath you. It shows you other parts of the world and stays with you for years and years no matter how much you change. It’s about being there for each other when you both need it most, and knowing they’ll always come over whenever you’re feeling sad or alone. I took this photo during golden hour because that’s when the sunlight is soft and warm, much like friendship itself. Friendship brings you light no matter where you go.”

There’s a brief silence before everyone claps. Despite the applause, I walk off the stage reviewing everything I did wrong.

Chapter Fourteen

There’s nothing like a spicy tostada to get me through the rest of the weekend.

“It doesn’t sound that bad,” Nora says.

She’s taking a break from her shift at Jimenez’s, the only place where she doesn’t casually cosplay as a video game character. Instead, she’s sporting a black t-shirt displaying the restaurant’s name in vibrant colors, and her waves are tied in a high ponytail. Despite offering a tostada free of charge, I insisted that I pay and leave a tip. The food at Jimenez’s is delicious and deserves all the money it rakes in.

“Nora, I was a disaster!” I bite a chunk of my tostada, chewing on the beef, shredded lettuce, tomatoes, and tortilla wrap, a kick of spice striking against my taste buds. On our table, I can see my reflection, the cinnamon wood clean and glinted with the light stamped across the ceiling, watching myself pathetically eat out my feelings. “You wouldn’t know because you weren’t there.”

“So? I know you, you’re always hard on yourself. Stop overthinking, I’m sure you did awesome!”

I shrug, still looking at my reflection. My presentation was written in front of me, why was I still afraid to speak up?

“I could’ve done better.”

“Break’s over!” Marcos, Nora’s older brother, says as he passes us. He’s carrying a platter of taquitos, beef fajitas, and quesadillas to a family of five sitting in a booth.

“Give me time, we’re having a bestie emergency!” Nora calls.

Marcos heads back to our table and hugs me with one arm. “It’s been too long.”

Marcos and Nora share the same brown skin, amber eyes, and black waves, only Marcos’s hair is cut into a short tuft. His smile radiates kindness, the very feature that won him the attention of all his boyfriends.

“Way too long,” I say, hugging him back.

“My favorite brother!” Nora says a little too brightly.