It was game day and I was once again the photographer for the yearbook. It really wasn't so bad, but I was beginning to wonder if they had any photographers of their own. Or if they wanted photos of anything other than football. But that was asking a bit much in a town like Dillon.

I came early for some pre-game photos. Tailgaters were everywhere and the Panthers were mingling around the school parking lot with the fans. It was sweet that the team did that before games. It showed Dillon that their football team really cared about the people who supported them. I was going through so much film trying to capture it all.

"Hey, Barton."

I jumped and punched Tim who caught my fist easily. "Don't do that, Riggins."

He laughed and let my hand go.

Tim was in his uniform already, a large blue 33 on the front and back to let everyone know who he was. He looked as happy as a clam to be there. It made me smile.

"Shouldn't you be with your adorin' fans? There's not much goin' on over here with the photographer."

"A little nothin' sounds good right now."

I glanced around us, watching some parents chat with beers in hand. A few kids were running around the lot.

I squinted up at Tim because of the sun. "Wanna learn how to take a photo the right way?"

The corner of Tim's lips pulled up and he shrugged. "I've got time."

I took the camera off my neck and handed it to him. "Look through the viewfinder there and push the button about half way." He did. "Do you see those numbers off to the side? Where's the needle sittin'?"

"Uh, a little above the zero."

"Okay, so that means there's too much light coming through the lens. To fix that," I pulled the camera down to show him the shutter speed dial, "you want to move this to these fractions here. That's one five-hundredth of a second. I won't get into the nitty gritty of it all to spare you.

"Now, when the needle is under the middle line, there's not enough light, so you turn the knob the other direction where the whole numbers are. If I turn it to the two, it means the shutter will stay open for two seconds. But the smaller you go, the more you risk camera shake. Since it's sunny, there no need to worry about that end of the spectrum.

"If you've got that sorta down, then I want you to take a photo."

"Of what?"

I shrugged. "Anything."

Tim held the camera back up and looked around. He clumsily figured out what to do – where his fingers needed to be – and then he turned to me.

"Not me, Riggins." I tried to take the camera from him, but he held it over his head. "I don't like to be in front of the camera. Take a picture of something else."

"Humor me this one time, Barton."

I frowned. "Please not me, Tim. You probably won't even get me in focus."

"I can do that much."

We stared each other down, Tim's smirk forming into a smile. I was ashamed to admit that I caved and smiled, too.

"Fine. But no one is going to see it except me. If I like it, you might get to look at it."

I was at a loss on what to do when I took a step back. I figured I'd just pose and smile, but it was hard to relax while Tim looked through the viewfinder and messed with the lens. I brushed my hair behind my ear, glancing down at my clothes to make sure they were in order when I heard the click. I looked up, my eyes meeting the lens, and there was a second click. I was surprised he knew how to advance the film to the next frame.

Tim grinned from ear to ear. "I expect a copy of that one," he said, passing my camera back to me.

"That's not gonna happen. I should open up the back just to ruin it so it'll be lost forever."

Someone called out for Tim, making us both look that way. He responded in turn and looked back at me.

"Too bad I already saw it when it happened," he said.

"And you won't see it again." He was called again. "You better get goin'."

"See ya later, Barton." He jogged away.

Suddenly, Lyla came up beside me, making me jump for the second time that day. "You sure there isn't something going on with you and Tim?" she said with a smile.

I shook my head. "We're friends, I guess."

She laughed lightly. "Be careful with 'friends.'"

"Oh, I know."

I was so happy my face was under the cover of the darkroom lights. Although a fan would have been nice.

Tim had some sort of photographic ability and I was floored. I didn't recognize myself. The girl in the photo was looking right at the camera, her dark eyes curious. Her hand was tucked behind her ear and a chunk of her bangs fell over one eye that barely showed through her brown hair. One corner of her mouth was barely turned up in amusement. How the hell did Riggins do it?

Just as I had the thought, my doorbell rang. I cleaned up and rushed up to the front door. Number 33 stood on my doorstep with a big smile.

"What brings you to my neck of the woods, Riggins?"

He leaned against the column on the porch. The damn swagger he had was more irritating than it should have been all because I was riled up by the photo. "What're you doin' tonight?"

"Well, I was going to work on homework after I finished hanging some photos to dry."

He stood up straight. "How'd mine come out?"

It sucked that I blushed and looked away from him.

"That good, huh?"

"Shut up and come see for yourself."

He followed me into the darkroom where I pointed at the photo hanging up. Tim chuckled. "I did a really good job."

"It was a lucky shot, all right?"

"You're gettin' me a copy."

"Why? You havin' my photo is gonna look suspicious even though we're friends."

"Relax, Barton. I wanna show off I can do somethin' other than play football."

I sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "Just don't put it in your wallet, okay? I'll get you a copy tomorrow."

"Sounds good. Now you're gonna come with me to a party tonight." He took my hand and pulled me behind him. "You're gonna hang out with my crowd."

"That's a horrible idea, Tim. Your crowd likes to get into some trouble and I... I don't."

"Nothin' wrong with a little trouble." He opened the passenger side of his truck, bowing a little. "Your carriage awaits."

My body slumped over when I frowned. "Ugh, fine. But I'm not drinkin'. Someone has to take your sorry ass home."

"My sorry ass looks forward to it."

Tim drank himself stupid. He was a mess to deal with when I tried to get him home. He assumed every girl there had a thing for him. Well, most did. The problem came when he thought I was one of them and he would not quit flirting with me. The good part was it was easy to get him to agree to leave with me. I had to remind him I was only bringing him home and not sleeping with him. It was a relief when he fell asleep against the window.

Getting him inside the house was another ordeal. He got sick when I first woke him up and again before I got him inside his house. We fell against the wall and he took me down with him when I forced him to sit down on his bed. He chuckled while I struggled to get back onto my feet. I smacked his arm when he made a joke about undressing him for the night.

I was so close to getting away when he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, squeezing me tight. He smelled strongly of liquor.

"Thanks, Barton," he muttered. His fingers tangled in my hair and then his body relaxed. His hold on me loosened, allowing me to get free.

Before I left, I got a glass of water for him and a bucket just in case he got sick again. I looked back at him before I shut the door.

"Sleep well, Tim Riggins."

I didn't realize I was so nervous to start posting this on here until I got a review. It was kind and helpful (honestly!), I just didn't expect one. This site has been such an important part of my growing up and FNL is such a smaller fandom compared to what I'm used to. I'm going to keep posting anyway, but every time I do, I panic a little. Do you feel that way when you post? ~S. M. Graham