Rita

Weird Rita Metcalf was well. . . weird. The entire graduating class of her Pasadena high school knew that.

Rita had always been different, even as a child. She hadn't wanted to play house or dolls with the other girls, instead she was always hanging back WATCHING everything. When she wasn't watching, she was drawing. She drew a lot, but she wasn't particularly good at it. Oh, she wasn't bad really, but she was no artist

The other kids had tried to make fun of Rita in grade school, but soon gave up. Rita just WATCHED her would-be-tormentors with wide blue eyes, and then went back to her crayons. Even Carl Wilcox, the class bully, couldn't get Rita to cry. Eventually, everyone gave up and left her alone.

Then, in 4th grade, all the students had to enter the science fair, and Rita had discovered how to make a simple camera with a cardboard box (she found the directions in an old book with experiments kids could do on their own). Rita made the camera and won a ribbon. Everyone had been impressed and cameras became Rita's thing.

At first, she just made more and more cardboard box cameras, then she started getting real cameras. [Back then, cameras were cameras, and phones were phones, and phones had wires and were attached to walls or sat on desks and no one ever thought cameras and phones would be the same thing.]

Rita turned out to be much better at taking pictures than she was at drawing pictures. She got better and better cameras and learned more and more about photography. She started entering her pictures in contests and winning.

Rita's father was a fireman, and her mother was a dispatcher. Rita was their only child, and she was born when they were older, so they indulged her a lot. They let her build a darkroom in the basement, and she became pretty good at developing her own pictures.

Everyone got used to Rita and her cameras. She was on the yearbook and newspaper staff (as a photographer, of course), and found her niche. The popular girls liked the flattering pictures Rita took, and the not-so-popular girls discovered that if you confessed that you had a crush on some cute boy, like Don Eppes, she would give you some pictures of him and not tease you. Even better, she NEVER told anyone else your secret either.

Everybody starting accepting Rita and then, in 9th grade, she took some pictures that assured her place in the class.

Rita's uncle was a Pasadena cop and Rita was forever begging him to let her ride along and take some pictures. Rita's parents, who dispite what they did for a living (or maybe, BECAUSE of what they did for a living), were not the protective sort. They were willing to let her ride along with her police officer uncle, so he finally agreed she could with him. The first few times, nothing much happened, and Rita took some pictures of minor accidents. But then she was with him when there was a really bad accident, people had died, and one man had been decapitated. Rita had coolly snapped pictures of the accident, including both the severed head and the rest of the body. Everyone had been impressed with how mature she had handled herself, and what good pictures she had taken.

However, Rita was still a 14-year-old. She couldn't resist bringing the gruesome pictures to school the next day and passing them around. The girls had squealed and peeked at the pictures through their fingers, and the boys had stared at them. It was a matter of pride for the boys. After all, if a girl had taken these pictures, they could at least LOOK at them.

But after that, all teasing of Rita had stopped. The kids who once teased, then ignored Rita, now embraced her. They were proud of Rita, and strangely, protective. When they saw Rita point her camera their way, the kids laughed and posed. Well, most of them did. Charles Edward Eppes was not so inclined.

Charlie had been having a tough day. Actually, he had been having a tough week. It was the start of his senior year, and Don was already in trouble, again. And serving detention, again. And grounded, again. And pissed off about it, again. And taking it out on Charlie, again. But this time (not again), it wasn't Charlie's fault that Don was in trouble. So it really wasn't fair for Don to treat Charlie so harshly.

This morning Charlie had managed to beat Don on their daily race to the bathroom, and a lot of good it had done him. Don had simply grabbed him, shoved him into the hall, and slammed the door on him, Charlie kicking and screaming all the way.

Then Mom had made pancakes for breakfast. Then in British Lit. he hadn't done well on the Beowulf quiz, while Don had aced it. Now, school was over, and he was sitting in the library waiting for Don to get out of detention.

While waiting, he was studying Beowulf, and he HATED it. First, the book was bizarre. One page was in old English, and the facing page was in modern English, but the old English didn't look like any laungage Charlie reconized. Second, the story was just stupid. There was no logic to it.

Charlie couldn't believe that Don loved this stuff. Don had not only finished reading Beowulf, but he had read another book that told the whole story from the monster's POV.

The teacher had gushed on and on how well Don understood the story, and it was one of the few times Charlie had to listen to his brother's praises being sung. It was a shock to realize how jealous it made him feel. Was that how Don felt about him?

It was while he was pondering all this when he looked up to see Weird Rita aiming her camera at him, like she had some kind of right to take his picture. Charlie scowled at her, and watched Rita hesitate, then bring her camera back down. Pleased, he went back to the hated Beowulf.

"Hi Charlie," said a soft voice. He looked up to see Rita indicating a chair next to him. "Is it okay if I sit down?"

Charlie shrugged, uncomfortable. "I guess."

"I guess I should ask permission before taking your picture, huh?" said Rita, sitting down.

Charlie suddenly felt ashamed and squirmed. "It's okay. I'm just. . . not in a good mood."

"Bad day?"

"Bad week. In fact," said Charlie thinking it over, "school's been bad, period."

Rita wrikled her brow. "You mean since the start of the year? But we've only been going a few weeks now."

"Yeah, this year's bad. Last year was bad. The year before that was bad. When has school been good?"

"But you're a genius! You get straight A's!"

"I like learning! Well, usually. I'm not that crazy about Beowulf. I love my special math tutoring. But high school pretty much sucks."

"Why?'

"I haven't got any friends and everyone makes fun of me."

"I haven't very many friends either, and everybody used to make fun of me."

Charlie knew from what Don had told him this was true. "But everyone accepts you now."

"Finally they do," agreed Rita. "But do you want to know what I used to do when I got teased? It helped me, maybe it would help you."

Charlie nodded.

"My mom explained to me that when kids teased me they were playing a game. The game was called 'Let's upset Rita.' I couldn't stop the kids from playing the game, but I could control who won the game. Everytime I let myself get upset they won. Everytime I refused to get upset, I won." Rita shrugged, "Like I said, it helped."

Charlie thought about that, then said ruefully, "Your mom is pretty smart."

"No," laughed Rita, "you're smart. Mom is wise. There's a difference you know."

"Thats what my mom says," admitted Charlie.

"Another wise woman! I'm not stupid, but I'll never be your kind of smart. But I hope to be wise some day."

"I think you already are," volunteered Charlie.

Rita flushed. "Thank-you."

Charlie studied Rita, and realized that while she wasn't exactly pretty, she was cute. She was small and thin, with wiry black hair and big blue eyes.

Rita was looking back at Charlie intently, and catching her breath, said "Charlie, I want to explain why I was taking your picture. You see, I've been realizing for some time that I'm actually going to school with. . . somebody like Albert Einstein.

"What an honor that is! You're going to change things! Because of you, our understanding of the world will be different.

"I think everyone in our whole class should be writing a journal of what it's like to be in school with you. What if we had journals like that of Newton's contemporaries? Anyway, my camera is the way I write my journal."

It was Charlie's turn to flush.

"So," continued Rita, "I would like to take pictures of you all year. I promise I won't use them to embarrass you. I'll even give you copies if you like. Is that alright?"

Charlie swallowed hard. "Uh, sure." Gathering himself together, he held his head up, "I would be honored to have you take my picture."

Rita smiled at him, "And I'd be honored to call you my friend."

In twelve years, Charlie had never once had anyone who wanted to be his friend. Genius or not, he was hungry for one.

He stammered, "Thank-you. I..I...I would love to be your friend."

Rita smiled again. "Thanks. I need to go now, but I'll give you copies of any pictures I take every few weeks, okay?"

"Okay."

For the rest of the school year Charlie regularly received packets of pictures from Rita. Not knowing what else to do with them, he gave them to his mother.

Margaret Eppes got a peek into her son's school life few parents get. Some pictures were in color, others were in black-n-white. They showed Charlie at his desk, at the blackboard, maneuvering his way through crowded halls, and climbing the rope in gym class.

Two pictures, especially, brought lumps to his mother's throat. One showed him in a ring of boys, all much larger than Charlie, with Don at his side, arm looped around Charlie's neck, glaring at the obvious ringleader. The second picture showed a solitary Charlie forlornly eating lunch by himself. The first picture earned Don a ribeye for supper, the second a lecture.

But all of the pictures Magaret carefully mounted in a photo album, and marked it 'Charles Edward Eppes, senior year in high school, all photos by Rita Metcalf'.