Jesse said it was his photography that kept him busy. While Celine obsessed over men, Jesse turned to his camera, taking photographs whenever he found a chance. He hoped to get a scholarship to an art school and needed to work on his portfolio. From the broken swings down at the neighborhood park to a stranger’s slow smile leaving the grocery, every shot was practice, worth it later in the viewing, and with each one he got better in his vision. Even now, his camera sat in the messenger bag hanging across his back. An Olympus panoramic camera he’d saved for months to buy. Also tucked inside was a list of future supplies.

Print easel

Darkroom enlarger

Filters

Safelight

Today they’d managed to come together. The school year was picking up and who knew what would happen after the year was over? They had today, and as Mira watched Celine and Jesse, she was grateful for the moment she knew would soon end.

“You want another freezer pop?” Mira asked Jesse after he’d finally slurped the rest down.

Jesse wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and dried it on his jean shorts. He fiddled with the plastic wrapping before throwing it on the grass. “Nah. Not right now, anyway.”

“Hey, don’t do that! Mom will yell if she sees any trash.”

Mira’s mother had both a flower and a vegetable garden where the rest of the houses in the neighborhood had neither. She paid a fortune for Zoysia grass, wanting the feel of a lush lawn. On weekends, her mother got up early to drag the mower out, pulling on the chain until the engine roared to life. Her house was an anomaly. Around them, houses stood in disrepair, their lawns full of patchy spots of dead grass or weeds. Mildew covered the sides of the homes where the sun wouldn’t go. Her neighbors’ houses had peeling paint and roofs with missing shingles, exposing the molding plywood underneath. Tenants hung blankets instead of curtains to cover the windows. Mira’s mother often said they should be ashamed of the way it looked. White people would notice and it would confirm all the worst thoughts about who they were. Her mother believed it mattered what they thought, and it mattered what they saw, and so she put as much effort and expense as she could into the appearance of her home, as if to say—See, I am not like the others around me, I am not what you think me to be.

“Your mother cares too much about making herself seem better than the rest of us,” Jesse said, not trying to hide his disdain.