[11]

Camera Shy

"I think you stole my followers," Skipper announced in an accusative tone, pulling the door shut with a slam. "It's like anything without you is trash."

   He glanced up from whatever it was he was reading. "Makes sense; I'm more photogenic than you. You'll let me take over when you die, right? So I can keep your account going?"

   Without wasting a single motion, she tore off one of her crocs and beat him with it, too upset to speak. He was laughing, doing his best to block each blow she delivered, which only served to twist the proverbial knife. Eventually she began cursing at him in Japanese and he went limp from laughter, holding his stomach with one hand while holding the other out for defense. He managed to catch the shoe and tore it from her grasp. 

   "Enough," he sputtered.

   "No." And she proceeded to beat him with her other shoe until he gained possession of it, then she began searching her seat for anything else she was willing to assault him with. How dare he suggest they learn to get along, and then pull a stunt like this?

   "Chubs, c'mon. It was a joke. I'm sorry I stole your followers." With all the caution of a mother bird, he placed her crocs in her hands. "Does it really matter how many you have, though? I mean, since...ah, shoot." Rubbing the back of his neck where brown hair poked from beneath his beanie, he bit back yet another insensitive remark about her dying. Really, though, why worry about followers when none of them were going to follow her into the dark? They'd mourn the cessation of her posts. Maybe some would mourn her. That's all there was to it. That was the reality of her situation: literally nobody cared.

   Would her relatives care? Did they even know her? She didn't talk about them, when she did talk about family stuff rather than scream at him for being in the wrong lane or playing the wrong music at the wrong volume.

   He found it funny how, brave as she was, she seemed to have a bone to pick with the universe simply because she'd been fated to make an earlier exit than most. But did she really want to spend her final days being upset? Would he be the same way if he were in her shoes?

   His logic said that if he was in her shoes he'd be committing treason because crocs are an abomination. 

   That sort of logic was the kind of stuff that got people cancelled, so he remained silent while bearing an amused expression. She continued to glare at him, no doubt wondering what was occupying that twisted mind of his. 

   "How's the ocean?" He broke the tension with a relatively harmless question.

   "Salty," Skipper shrugged haughtily, lips pressed into a thin line. 

   "I was talking about the ocean, not you."

   "Shut up. You think you're so smooth."

   "I never said that, now did I?" Raising a bemused eyebrow, he allowed a grin to break across his face. "Do you think I'm smooth?"

   "Eww. No." With an expression of utter disgust consuming her features, she turned away from him and leaned out the open window. Wade had rolled them down to let the fresh air in, and the screeching of gulls had provided a chaotic soundtrack to the travelers' squabbling. Skipper watched them circle over the ferry, some bold enough to land and mooch food from some unlucky passengers. The more she watched, the more she relaxed, and soon she was snapping pictures and putting them through various filters, editing them so the greedy avians had little glowing horns on their heads.

   Caught up in what she was doing, she didn't notice that Wade was leaning over in his seat, staring at her screen from over her left shoulder. "That's so lame," he teased. "Give them halos."

   "COULD YOU NOT?!" She squawked, jumping slightly and bearing a very startled expression. Wade snatched her phone and smirked, a small chuckle escaping him. For the heck of it, he took selfies while making the most ridiculous poses he could manage in the space allotted to him.

   "If you're mocking me, I don't make faces or pose like that."

   "Ya' sure? Don't forget, I've watched you pose before."

   "You're sick. Give my phone back."

   "Only if you let me take your picture."

   "But..." she suddenly became flustered. "I already have plenty of pictures of myself."

   "So? What's another? Oh, and you have to smile."

   "Don't put a stupid filter on me," she pleaded, looking flushed and uncomfortable. 

   "Maybe I'll give you horns like the seagulls. Then you can match. You're a bit demonic sometimes, you know." Winking, Wade squared up for the shot. "Maybe, like...lean on the window and look out toward the ocean or something. Be aesthetic." Motioning the air quotes at that last word, he chose a nice natural setting and waited for her to get comfortable. She had gone from this angry, confident selfie-taker to a timid, camera-shy schoolgirl. 

   Interesting.

   "Look, just give me my phone back. I don't need another picture of myself. After all, what'll I do with them when I'm dead? They'll be useless."

   "Hey, I'm the only one who's allowed to make insensitive death jokes!" Wade protested, and a saucy smirk spread across Skipper's face. Unbeknownst to her, he snapped a photo. "Fine, take your phone back but I've got a polaroid." Reaching past her, he tugged open the glove compartment and removed his polaroid camera, peering through the viewfinder after checking everything over. "Now pose for me, aesthetic travel guru."

   "It...isn't necessary..." she stammered, flushing even more.

  "Yes it is! Take off your bucket hat or whatever the heck that is. Show me your space buns!"

   At his prompting she reluctantly did so, and moved to fix her hair but he told her not to do a thing. "Just pose," he shrugged. "Get lost staring at the stupid seagulls again. Contemplate what the sea cucumbers are doing so deep beneath us right now. Whatever will help you feel more natural, I don't care."

   Taking a deep breath, she tried to do as he could. But it was so different being on the other side of the camera in this way. Sure, other people had held the camera for her. But she hadn't really been photographed by anyone unless it was her mother. She didn't know how to feel about this.

   Resisting to turn her head at the click of the shutter, she waited there until he leaned close and held the polaroid between his fingertips for her to observe. 

   Somehow, he'd managed to capture her very essence into that one photograph. She was almost jealous. Thinking she'd just put it in the travel journal, she tried to take the photo from him. He whisked it away and tucked it above the rear view mirror.

   "Take it down," she begged. 

   "Nope. You're staying up there. That way no matter what happens, you'll make it all around the world and back again." With that, he pushed his door open and hopped out, camera hanging from his neck. "Let's show Charles the ocean. He needs to stretch."