“This,” Professor Lutkiss says at the front of the room, holding up a picture of a couple holding hands. “Who can tell me what is wrong with THIS?”

Hands shoot up around the room. For some reason, the class is eager to offer their opinions on what is wrong with the work of their classmates.

“The lighting.”

“The angle.”

“It’s out of focus.”

“You’re all wrong,” the professor says. “This photo is technically perfect.”

The class looks confused.

“But,” the professor says, “being technically perfect doesn’t always make a picture successful.”

Oh, great. So basically we can do everything right and end up failing, anyway. Lovely. I say a silent thanks that I didn’t tell my mom this morning that I wanted to be a photography major. No use getting her all worked up for nothing, especially with her already on edge about this whole Drew thing.

“The subject is boring,” Professor Lutkiss says. “We’ve seen picture after picture of couples holding hands. What makes this one special? What makes this one any different from the others? Nothing.”

I look nervously at Kelly. She’s doodling in her notebook and looks bored.

“Hey,” she whispers to me. “You want to go to a party this weekend?”

“A party?” I repeat, still trying not to throw up.

“Yeah. At DK,” she says.

“DK?”

She giggles. “It’s a frat.”

“I’m not sure,” I say, watching Professor Lutkiss as he shuffles through the manila folders he’s holding, looking for his next victim.

“Come on,” Kelly says. “It’ll be fun. You haven’t been to one frat party since you’ve been here. That’s insane.”

“Um, hello? Do they let huge, middle-aged men holding cameras into frat parties?”

“Sure. Why not? James goes out all the time, and he’s in the same situation you are.”

“I guess,” I say reluctantly. I’m having trouble focusing because Professor Lutkiss has opened the manila folder holding my pictures. I can tell it’s mine because I wrote my name on the side in purple pen, and I can see the purple ink from where I’m sitting.