Read Online Still a Work in Progress by Jo Knowles - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jo Knowles
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weird toward me all morning.
I nudge Sam. “
Do
I?”
He squints at me for a minute and pushes his glasses up his nose. “No. Don’t change it.”
I don’t know why I trust Sam, whose hair is still wet and combed flat on the top of his head just as strangely as Jem’s. But at least he put some effort into making sure all is well.
I lean against the wall and sigh. Why don’t parents want their kids to look like they normally do in pictures? Why do they want them to look like some scary miniature businessmen instead?
Molly stands behind Sam in line. They’re holding hands. I think Ryan sees at the same time I do. He makes this huffy breathing noise, like holding hands is the most obnoxious thing two people could do. Ever. For someone who was so relieved to escape Molly, he looks kind of dejected. Personally, I think he did the right thing. Molly is definitely not his type. I wonder if there is a girl version of emo. Ryan needs an emo-ette.
As we inch closer, we can see the photographer and his assistant make each person stand on this taped square on a pad in front of the photographer. When it’s Jem’s turn, he hesitates.
“Are you taking off your sweatshirt, hon?” the hair lady asks.
He takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says. He looks out at the rest of us kind of apologetically, as if what we’re about to see is going to be horrifying. Then he slowly pulls off his sweatshirt. The shirt underneath is white with black cuffs at the wrist. The collar is also black but has gold on the tips. Everyone cranes their necks to look more closely.
“I heard his parents make him wear crazy stuff for Picture Day, and man, they weren’t exaggerating,” Ryan whispers.
“Can you hurry, please?” Jem asks the woman. She fidgets with his collar and makes a disapproving face. Jem cringes. I’ve never seen anyone look so miserable. Not even Ryan.
“Just trying to straighten you out a little, hon,” she says. She fidgets with his shoulders, which also have some sort of extra black material. “I didn’t know they still made shirts with epaulets.”
“What are epaulets?” I ask.
“They don’t need to be straight,” Jem says. “Please. Just take the picture.”
“Epaulets are those funny things on his shoulders,” Sam whispers loudly. “Usually they’re on military uniforms. With tassels.”
“Tassels?” Ryan asks. “Wow, I was thinking it couldn’t possibly get worse, but I guess it could. Jem lucked out.”
The woman fidgets with one of the black stripes on Jem’s shoulder, then shrugs and steps back. “Suit yourself, but you know if your parents don’t like how these come out, you’ll have to do this all over again when we come back on Makeup Day.”
Jem groans and shifts his shoulders a little. As soon as the photographer takes a photo, he puts his sweatshirt back on and rushes past all of us.
Someone mumbles, “Ahoy there, sailor!” and a bunch of people crack up, but not really in a mean way. Jem just keeps on walking.
“Next!” the photographer yells.
We inch closer until it’s my turn. The woman takes my form and then shows me where to stand.
“Put your hands in your pockets,” she tells me.
“Huh?”
“You’re getting a waist-up photo, so you need to have a different pose.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“That’s what’s checked off on the form,” she says. “Half-body, rainbow background.”
Ryan snorts.
I roll my eyes. “My sister must have filled that out as a joke,” I say.
“What’s so funny?” the lady asks, all offended.
“Nuh-nothing,” I say. “I’m just sure my parents would want the normal one.”
“Well, it says here they don’t, and I have to go by what’s on the form.”
I put my hands in my pockets.
“Not like that,” she says. “Take your thumb out, like this.” She models for me.
Ryan snickers.
“Shoulders back. Tilt your head. No, the other way.”
I try to move the way she says but feel like an idiot.
“Smile!
I nudge Sam. “
Do
I?”
He squints at me for a minute and pushes his glasses up his nose. “No. Don’t change it.”
I don’t know why I trust Sam, whose hair is still wet and combed flat on the top of his head just as strangely as Jem’s. But at least he put some effort into making sure all is well.
I lean against the wall and sigh. Why don’t parents want their kids to look like they normally do in pictures? Why do they want them to look like some scary miniature businessmen instead?
Molly stands behind Sam in line. They’re holding hands. I think Ryan sees at the same time I do. He makes this huffy breathing noise, like holding hands is the most obnoxious thing two people could do. Ever. For someone who was so relieved to escape Molly, he looks kind of dejected. Personally, I think he did the right thing. Molly is definitely not his type. I wonder if there is a girl version of emo. Ryan needs an emo-ette.
As we inch closer, we can see the photographer and his assistant make each person stand on this taped square on a pad in front of the photographer. When it’s Jem’s turn, he hesitates.
“Are you taking off your sweatshirt, hon?” the hair lady asks.
He takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says. He looks out at the rest of us kind of apologetically, as if what we’re about to see is going to be horrifying. Then he slowly pulls off his sweatshirt. The shirt underneath is white with black cuffs at the wrist. The collar is also black but has gold on the tips. Everyone cranes their necks to look more closely.
“I heard his parents make him wear crazy stuff for Picture Day, and man, they weren’t exaggerating,” Ryan whispers.
“Can you hurry, please?” Jem asks the woman. She fidgets with his collar and makes a disapproving face. Jem cringes. I’ve never seen anyone look so miserable. Not even Ryan.
“Just trying to straighten you out a little, hon,” she says. She fidgets with his shoulders, which also have some sort of extra black material. “I didn’t know they still made shirts with epaulets.”
“What are epaulets?” I ask.
“They don’t need to be straight,” Jem says. “Please. Just take the picture.”
“Epaulets are those funny things on his shoulders,” Sam whispers loudly. “Usually they’re on military uniforms. With tassels.”
“Tassels?” Ryan asks. “Wow, I was thinking it couldn’t possibly get worse, but I guess it could. Jem lucked out.”
The woman fidgets with one of the black stripes on Jem’s shoulder, then shrugs and steps back. “Suit yourself, but you know if your parents don’t like how these come out, you’ll have to do this all over again when we come back on Makeup Day.”
Jem groans and shifts his shoulders a little. As soon as the photographer takes a photo, he puts his sweatshirt back on and rushes past all of us.
Someone mumbles, “Ahoy there, sailor!” and a bunch of people crack up, but not really in a mean way. Jem just keeps on walking.
“Next!” the photographer yells.
We inch closer until it’s my turn. The woman takes my form and then shows me where to stand.
“Put your hands in your pockets,” she tells me.
“Huh?”
“You’re getting a waist-up photo, so you need to have a different pose.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“That’s what’s checked off on the form,” she says. “Half-body, rainbow background.”
Ryan snorts.
I roll my eyes. “My sister must have filled that out as a joke,” I say.
“What’s so funny?” the lady asks, all offended.
“Nuh-nothing,” I say. “I’m just sure my parents would want the normal one.”
“Well, it says here they don’t, and I have to go by what’s on the form.”
I put my hands in my pockets.
“Not like that,” she says. “Take your thumb out, like this.” She models for me.
Ryan snickers.
“Shoulders back. Tilt your head. No, the other way.”
I try to move the way she says but feel like an idiot.
“Smile!
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