Page 17 of I'm Gonna Get You Back
“It’s all right. In fact, it’s ideal.”
I frown.
“Turns out I’m in need of a videographer this weekend for a ‘hype’ video. The board has decided to rebrand and refresh all of our content for Legacy’s twentieth anniversary, including replacing the video we play at the annual banquet.”
I get why.
They’ve played the same stale video since I was a kid. A bland highlight reel that’s basically a Woodhurst High brochure in video form, complete with early 2000s fashion and soundtrack. Watching it at the banquet every year is as much of a traditional Legacy event as Kenji’s ragers or the Shakespeare show or doing the Fun Run.
He continues. “Unfortunately, what the videographer sent was not what the board had in mind, and I’m in a bit of a bind. I thought of you immediately.”
My frown deepens, but he keeps going.
“We have several new donors and potential benefactors coming into town this weekend, and this video needs to feature everything our program does best. We were hoping for interviews and footage from this batch of Legacies especially. I recall you having quite a bit of that based on that documentary sample you submitted last year. And even better,you could get updated footage this weekend from current Legacies and alumni alike to really make it shine. I’m sure you’re the person to do it.”
A disbelieving snort escapes me, and I cross my arms. “Me? The person with ‘questionable moral character’?”
My voice wavers, but my eye contact doesn’t. I’m proud of myself for that.
West clears his throat and looks around before lowering his voice. “I believe it would serve all of us to put that particular unpleasantness behind us.”
All of us or his precious program? My blood is boiling that he would even ask this of me.
“That ‘unpleasantness’ is the reason I’m here serving you coffee instead of at film school like I should be. I’m not interested.”
“I would suggest you reconsider if you want to keep the equipment.”
“You can have it,” I spit out.
Seething, I hoof it out to the back of the restaurant. I grip my hands tight across the wooden railing and take in a deep breath. But it doesn’t help.
It probably wouldn’t matter to someone else. Someone who hadn’t devoted the past four years to becoming a Legacy. Who wasn’t stalled waiting for the rest of their life to start.
But it matters to me.
All last year especially, I made decisions based solely on whether it would improve my chances of being chosen. And it worked. Iwasnamed a Legacy. For a brief moment, I saw a glimpse of who I could be. Someone who achieved what her own mom had deserved, who followed in her father’s footsteps.
Who was good enough for someone like Reid.
In the next breath it was all stripped away by whoever sabotagedme—a person who hated me enough to humiliate me in front of the entire town. Now I’m scrambling to pick up the pieces of my life that shattered the day the committee decided I’m not important enough to protect.
No matter what Mitchell said about me taking this opportunity with everyone back home to figure out what happened at the assembly last year, I can’t imagine immersing myself in Legacy events, or following people like Josh and Nicole around with a camera like some sort of fawning fangirl.
The clouds shift over the water, casting a lavender glow across the surface. It’s too breathtaking to ignore, and I pull my phone out to capture the gentle hush that it creates, wishing I had the DSLR to really do the shot justice. A pang of regret hits me knowing I’ll have to give it and the laptop back now that I’ve turned down West’s offer.
But even with this inferior camera, for a moment I’m suspended. Transported somewhere else entirely, my breathing slows, my pulse quiets. The right light is magic like that. It can turn the ordinary into something wondrous.
Like with the poetry I’ve been reading all year, I wish I could send this photo to Reid. To let him know I’m thinking of him. That I’malwaysthinking of him. If I wasn’t so sure he hated me, I would. I tap my thumb against the side of my phone.
I can at least send it to the group.
Before I talk myself out of it, I attach the photo to the group chat. I don’t know if it’s an olive branch, a question, or an answer, but I hitSENDand hope he knows it’s for him.
I’m about to carry on with work and put West’s order in with a different server when my phone buzzes. My pulse explodes in a furious rhythm as I sneak a quick look at the screen.
Reid hearted the photo I sent.
I stare so long at the pink icon, the screen goes dark. It’s our first direct interaction in six long months. It’s small and fragile, but that heart is enough to feel the trail of his fingers across my skin; hear his voice in my mind again.
