There’s a sting to Wyatt’s words that I don’t think he realizes is there. But the fact of the matter is that I’m in this situation too. Not that I can do much about it; I can’t just deny who my family is, what they have. I’m a part of this problem. I’m the child of people who hoard their wealth instead of doing anything with it. Mother has employees who aren’t paid fair wages, who go without health insurance.

And all of that trickles down to me, to my school, which is so easily taken care of and taken for granted.

It’s hard to imagine what someone like Wyatt would see in a person like me.

Then again, I guess the inverse should be true.

But it isn’t.

Here I am, silently wishing that he would lean over and kiss me, that we’d fall back together on my bed, the photography session left behind.

“We should probably head back down, huh?” Wyatt breaks the silence.

“Yeah, probably.”

He stands up, and in the privacy of this moment, he offers me his hand. I shouldn’t take it; I shouldn’t punish myself further. Taking his hand feels like I’m agreeing to this contract that neither of us is truly aware of, and who knows what could happen if we both sign.

But I do.

I take his hand, and I let him lead me.

Well, I have to lead actually. Wyatt doesn’t know where he’s going. I take us out to the garden again, and it’s like we were never gone. Lindsay is the only person who noticed our absence. The smile she gives me makes me think she thinks that something happened upstairs.

“Oh, Wyatt.” Mother walks toward me as the photographer finishes up his final pictures of her, Michael, and Ashley together. “I had the most wonderful idea.”

I don’t reply. I just wait for her to finish her thought.

“We’ve got the photographer for another half hour; I want pictures of you and Wyatt together.”

“Seriously?”

She gives me this confused look. It’s not my fault that this is unexpected; she’s the one who’s never taken an interest in my life.

“I thought it would be nice to have, and besides, you both look so adorable right now.”

I give Wyatt a glance, and he squeezes my hand lightly.

“What kind of poses do we do?” I whisper to Wyatt as we walk to our spot in front of the photographer.

“Just follow my lead,” he tells me. “And act natural.”

I roll my eyes. If he wants to take charge on this one, let him have it. For the first picture, Wyatt stands behind me, his hands on my hips. I don’t know what else to do, so I just put my hands on top of his.