He was just so good-looking. Sometimes in class I found myself not listening to him but just watching him going up and down in the classroom, sitting on a desk, standing up again, straightening his sleeves. Everything about the way he moved was attractive and, in a way, fascinating. When he put his hands into the pockets of these elegant suit's trousers and, god, that suit, just fitting him perfectly and giving him that kind of teacher-aura that made him even more exquisite. But not that I didn't enjoy listening to him as well. His voice was smooth and calm and beautiful and what he said, what he taught us, was pure wisdom of somebody who knew the biz. He was that kind of person you respected and admired at once. Not just for his looks or taste in fashion, but also for his art, his work, his success. He was the most passionate photographer I had ever met and the beauty of his work was just outstanding. Absolutely brilliant. He was a god with his camera in hands.
Sometimes in class I found myself daydreaming about him taking me to a restaurant, talking to me about his work and all the places he had gone yet. He would tell me stories of adventures he retained within his photos. Talk to me about himself, as a person, not as a teacher. Then he would tell me that I had a talent, that I would achieve my dreams if I worked hard and followed his lead and that I, one day, would be that successful photographer he was. I would laugh shyly and tell him that he was my idol, that I could never reach his work like I had done a thousand times before. But that one time I'd take his hand and catch his eyes and just show him who he was for me, what he'd done to me.
Sometimes in class I planned the words I'd say to him if I ever had the guts to. But truth was, I was a coward. I was not afraid about flirting with him just for the fun of it, making him uncomfortable, making him blush and scratch the back of his head. Not about touching him a tiny bit more than necessary, streaking the seam of his sleeve or even the knuckles of his hand. Not about making him fix the messed up settings of my camera just to stand right beside him, pretending to watch the display and just nodding to his indications, biting my lip and hoping deep inside me that he would notice my affection. I was great at flirting; I was the best even. But not the way I wished to be. Not the honest, adult way of flirting. That was the one thing I was very bad at: Honesty.
Today I'd hand him my photo for the Everyday Heroes Contest. The winner would not just represent Blackwell Academy in the DeYoung Museum of Art and gain a tiny bit of fame, but also fly to San Francisco with Mark Jefferson and stay there for a few days. Needless to say that I'd enjoy both. So I had worked my ass off to shoot the best picture possible because I just had to win this contest. I just had to! And I would. I knew that Mr Jefferson liked my style and this photo in particular was indeed one of the best I had ever taken. And honestly, when I thought about the work of my classmates... Some of the others didn't even deserve to study at Blackwell. Well, Kate's shots were indeed okay and, as much as it hurt to admit, also Max had quite an eye for aesthetic, but nobody of the others stood a real chance. Maybe Kate would win out of pity for her stupid video, to make her feel at least a bit better, but I knew I was Jefferson's secret favorite. He liked me and he liked my work. Chances were that he picked me. He had to. He just had to pick me. I'd make sure of that.
Today's topic was the balance of shadow and light, something I was pretty sure to balance well, so I let myself doze off into my dreaming state and just added a clever statement every now and then. Jefferson was wearing a black shirt and suit today and it looked so good on him I thought I might go crazy. I knew that most of the girls at Blackwell had a crush on him and sometimes I thought that he might push it on purpose. He seemed to enjoy when we listened, when we were attentive. I was sure he knew exactly what impact he had on me. Sometimes I saw that little grin in the corner of his mouth just when I turned my head away. Sometimes he seemed to mock me, waited for me at his desk after lesson to start our usual conversation, grinning that slight, little grin because he knew I would come.
And so I would today. The class was dismissed and I pretended to search for something in my bag until everyone else had left the classroom. Mark Jefferson stood beside his desk, leaning a bit against it, while he waited for me. He had his arms crossed and an expecting look on his face. His lips were curled in a sassy way when I shouldered my bag and approached him, the photo in my hands. "What is it today, Victoria?", he asked, but he did not mean it in an unfriendly way. He was never unfriendly. I doubted he had ever been in his entire life. I could just not imagine what his dark, calming voice would sound like if he yelled .
"I wanted to submit my photo, Mr Jefferson.", I said in my sweetest voice possible, handing him the shot and trying to catch his eyes, but he focused on the photo.
"Oh", it escaped from his mouth, "That's a really good shot." His eyes then found mine and my heart felt as if it had to burst. "Not that it would surprise me.", he added, and I tried so hard not to blush, but I guess I failed miserably. "Thank you.", I almost sang and somehow I was able to keep my facade upright. To show my fake self-consciousness.
"You're the first to submit a photo, by the way. Not surprised about that either." A short laughter escaped his lips and it made me smile a bit shyly.
"You know I'm always trying really hard, Mark."
For a moment, he was irritated. I had caught his eyes and would not let them go anymore. They could not escape me. And they didn't. What felt like minutes were actually a few seconds in which he seemed to struggle whether to reject my move towards a bit more intimacy between us or accept it. Finally, he smiled. Mischiefly. My heart literally skipped a beat.
"I know that." And somehow I was sure he did not mean my hard-working-bla-bla. "It's satisfying for a teacher to see a student work so hard to impress you."
"Well..." I could not do anything else but smile proudly at him. It felt so good to be appreciated for hard work.
"Have you tried modeling once, Victoria?", he suddenly asked. I had been totally unprepared for his words.
"What? Modeling? Like... in front of a camera?"
"Yes, like, in front of a camera.", he mimicked and his voice was suddenly stern, so serious. And it did not make any sense at all.
"A few times but it turned out I'm better behind the camera then in front of it." I managed to sound confident better than I had expected. "Why are you asking?"
"Because I would like to shoot you."