(Quinn)

Despite the art's teacher insisting that I have talent with a brush in hand, I chose the photography project in art class. I had a good camera and all the will in the world to point my equipment and abuse the shutter button. When I was eight years old, my father gave me what I still consider to be one of the best gifts ever: he paid for an analogue photography class for children. It was a two-day activity with nothing in depth, but seeing the image appear on paper dipped in chemicals was one of the most incredible things I've witnessed. Since that day, I became passionate about photography. Last year, my dad gave me a semi-pro camera that replaced an old Barbie camera that I used until it broke.

I still get confused when I think about what made my father give me something like that: he insisted on seeing me surrounded by dolls, stuffed animals, skirts and dresses, in addition to house toys: things that young girls needed to have. Mom always supported him. My grandfather used to say that you don't look at the teeth on a given horse. Whatever the reason he gave me the well-equipped machine instead of something girly, I can only thank him. Photography was a passion I didn't share with schoolmates. I think that's why the teacher was surprised when I chose a project other than making an oil painting, as she expected. The truth is that I only like to draw as a hobby: photography was my passion.

"I'm going to photograph the annual charity party." Kelly was one of the few girls who would talk to me. I didn't think she liked me. She only spoke to me because our mothers were part of the organizing committee of events at the church where my grandfather was a pastor. So, she had to talk to me. "Isn't that a great idea?"

"I think so." I was obliged to agree. Woe to me if I found anything that was done on behalf of our Christian community boring. I could be punished with the paddle.

"And you?"

"I still don't know."

Of course I knew. I wanted to photograph people at the carnival, but I wouldn't tell her that. She could give up on photography the charity party just to steal my idea.

"I'm still surprised you didn't pick the drawing project. The teacher always praises your work."

"I don't draw that well."

"You're modest, Quinn. And weird."

People didn't used to call me weird. Maybe just Kelly. But her opinion didn't matter to me. Kelly was a silly girl.

"Have you been asked to prom yet?" She asked.

"Not yet."

"Brad asked me to be his date, and I accepted." She said with dreamy eyes. I felt like rolling mine. "But don't worry." She touched my arm as if she was comforting me. "I'm sure someone will ask you soon." I smile politely. What I really wanted was to end that silly conversation and go to my corner.

It looked like an epidemic. All of a sudden, all my classmates were talking about boys. I didn't have anything to say about it, so I just listened to their conversations, as if I were an extra in the little circles. I'd rather not be in them, but I also didn't want it to get back to my parents that I was a lonely, unpopular freak at school. Not when I was raised to be the opposite of that. So it was better to hang out with the popular girls at my church.

The truth is, I liked my camera more than boys or people in general. Speaking of the boys, apart from Sean, I didn't care for any of them. They were all loud, nagging, and smelly. Sean was the only passable one: he liked the Beatles, the Godfather movies, and did funny imitations of other schoolmates and teachers. But from there to thinking of him as my prom date or even as a boyfriend was another story.

Besides, balls looked dreadful. I liked to dance. Unlike my sister Frannie, I didn't mind having to go to ballet classes when I was seven. The problem was dancing to slow music with a boy in a crowded room. I would die of shame. What if he wanted to kiss me? Should I allow it? Would I like it? I had never kissed on the lips.

Anyway, by the end of the school day, not one boy had asked me to prom, and Sean was interested in asking Kate Bristol. He ended up talking to her on the school bus on the way home and the response was positive.

I got home hanging my coat in the hall closet and screamed for my mother, even though the only person I was sure was home was Carmem, the maid. Why would you say hi to her? It wasn't Fabray's style to befriend employees, especially those of Latino background.

"Quinnie!" Mom appeared in the living room as she was halfway up the stairs. "It's good that you're here, so I'll have company to get a manicure."

"Mom, it's not that I wouldn't like it... it's just that I'm swamped with schoolwork." There were school assignments, but there weren't that many. I was too lazy to go to the manicure with my mom. The only thing you had to do there was flip through a gossip magazine while the girl did her job. And the owner there always asked me if I had a boyfriend, which made me uncomfortable. Why did everyone think I needed a boyfriend when I was fine on my own?

"Oh, of course. Well, if your father ask, tell him I'll be home on time for dinner."

My mom was always home on time. Sometimes she would wait for Dad with a glass of wine in her hand. I went into my room and threw myself on the bed. It felt good to be back in my safe universe, where nothing bad could happen. My mother wasn't one to knock on my door unless she wanted something. If my dad did that, it meant I was in trouble and I would be called into the office for punishment. Frannie hated my room and never went in there. I was the one who had to go to hers when called, mainly to paint her nails. It could be a great manicure.

I closed my eyes and could relax a little bit. So I imagined how I would do my photography project. What images would you like to get and if you would finally have the courage to face the ferris wheel alone to take a photo of Lima from up there. I think I dozed off in the process because the next thing I knew I was being shaken by my mother.

"Dinner time, dear. Your father and sister are waiting downstairs."

I ran to the bathroom to wash my hands. It had to be quick because Dad didn't like to wait and I wasn't in the mood to listen to his scolding. I ran down the stairs for the first half, then slowed down so I wouldn't be out of breath. My mother insisted that this was disrespectful.

"Good night, daddy." I kissed him on the cheek before sitting down next to my sister.

"Good night, Quinnie. Tiring day at school?"

"A little bit."

"I thought you were too tired to nap all afternoon. Perhaps experiencing flu-like symptoms?" My face started to flush. My father didn't look kindly on those moments of unjustifiable laziness when I had said myself that I was overloaded with tasks.

"I just wanted to rest my eyes for a few minutes. I fell asleep." I excused myself and my dad gestured like it was no big deal. It was a relief. I looked at the set table. Starter salad and spaghetti with garlic and oil with cheese and basil sauce to be served separately. It was one of my favorite dishes. I served the salad first, as the tradition said. "Speaking of school, I'm doing a photography project and thought I'd use the carnival as a theme. Tomorrow is Saturday, could one of you take me there?"

"The carnival isn't that far, why don't you go by bike? It would be good for you to start losing a few pounds, little sis. The way you are fat, no one will ask you to the prom." Frannie has been teasing me about my weight forever. I recognized that I was a little out of shape, but it still wasn't something that bothered me. I was growing up, after all.

"No! Going to the carnival by bike and alone is dangerous. I heard on the radio that there is a wave of robberies in Lima... things from these starving Mexicans who cross the border to rob us." My father sentenced. "No, cycling alone is risky, especially if you come back after dark. Frannie will drive you and pick you up."

"Daddy! No! I have a date with my friends!" Frannie snapped.

"I can go alone, Daddy. Really!"

"This is non-negotiable. And if you, young lady…" She pointed her finger at Frannie. "Not making time to take and pick up your sister, you won't have time to socialize with your friends either."

"But Daddy..." Frannie tried to plead.

"My word is final!"

"Okay. I'm going to drop Quinnie off at the carnival." Then she fixed me with a look that sent shivers down my spine. "Or rather, don't you think I should just pick her up? Think about it: Quinnie could walk and take advantage of some physical exercise to lose some calories. That's not healthy at all, you know? If she doesn't act now, she will become an obese adult, like those poor unfortunate women that nobody wants."

"Don't bother Frannie!"

"Has anyone ever asked you to go to your school's prom?"

"No…" I said softly. "But who said I want to go to prom?"

"Hum… your sister has a point." My mom said after taking a sip of wine. "All your friends have boyfriends or suitors, except you. I think that extra fat needs to go, or you'll never get a good boyfriend."

"But..."

"You're going to be 13 soon and you're not going to grow that much in height anymore, just sideways. It's time to stop this. From now on, you will only eat salad and you are forbidden to eat junk food. And you're going to gyn with your sister."

"But if I am an American and a patriot, shouldn't I appreciate good American food?" I insisted. Salad doesn't fill anyone's belly.

"That's the most desperate fat argument I've heard!" Frannie snubbed me.

"Eat less... and you won't have dessert. From now on, you're on a diet, young lady. How are you going to get a boyfriend with all that weight?" My mother condemned me.

"I don't plan on getting one."

"Don't talk nonsense." My mother insisted. "Of course you want a boyfriend. Every girl your age does. Why would you be any different?"

I grumbled and helped myself to a reduced portion of pasta. Afterwards, while the family enjoyed a lemon mousse, I ate an apple. It wasn't fair. After Dad dismissed us to the table, I went to my room and threw myself on the bed, feeling humiliated. Like that day I liked a dress in a store and wanted to try it on, but the salesperson said that unfortunately she didn't have my size. She didn't even allow me to put the clothes on my body to see with my own eyes something I imagined could accommodate my body.

It's not that I wanted to grow up fat. I knew I would have to take care of me at some point. I just never imagined that my diet would start in a forced, sudden and mortifying way. I cried myself to sleep.

The next day, instead of the traditional cereal or pancakes: a banana. I took the ordered food under Frannie's giggles and went back upstairs to the bedroom. I spent time surfing the internet looking for good photography sites for inspiration. At least it distracted me. Then lunch came and again I had to content myself with my mother's impositions. Wouldn't it be more dignified for her to send me to a nutritionist or an endocrinologist? At least I would be dealing with the restrictions dictated by an expert. I spent the entire time brooding as I got ready to go to the carnival.

"Let's go, Lucy Caboosey!" Frannie knocked on my open bedroom door. Every time she wanted to bully me, she would call me Lucy Caboosey because she knew I hated my first name and because I hated Adam Sandler.

I was still finishing applying a lipstick. I put my coat over my dress, grabbed my camera, and slipped on my shoes on the way to the garage. My sister even stopped by to pick up a friend from school who lived on the same street as Dr. Jones, who was our dentist. doctor Jones had a daughter my age, Mercedes, but she went to another school and I only saw her at certain church events. I didn't talk to Mercedes because I found her annoying.

From the moment Frannie's colleague got in the car, the subject was a certain party that would take place that very night. It was just what they talked about: parties, cheerleaders (my sister was a cheerio and was considering being captain next school year), and how a certain handsome jock would doing everything she wanted. All of that was just lip service. I had already seen her with a boyfriend and what seemed to me was that my sister was doing everything he wanted. Luckily I didn't have to endure that for long.

"Take 20, Lucy Carboosey." Frannie gave me the money and practically shooed me out of the car.

"Go to hell, Frances Bacon."

I didn't have to pay admission to the carnival and it didn't have very good attractions. The best toy was an ordinary roller coaster that didn't even have looping. Still, I stood in the doorway not knowing where to start my project. At that time there were children and teenagers my age circulating around the space. Perhaps I could do one of those very colorful shoots with pictures of children holding balloons and stuffed animals. It was a good idea. But instead of circling, I preferred to set up base near the target shooting booths.

I found it so fun to be behind a lens and an excellent zoom. It was like playing spy: I would hide in a not-so-secret place and use the benefit of my machine to put my eye close to someone without necessarily approaching them. All I had to do was wait for the right moment, and presto, someone was captured inside the memory card. I spent few minutes there, until I created the courage to risk myself on the ferris wheel. I soon saw that taking panoramic pictures of Lima was not as interesting as it should be at night. The daylight revealed the uncomfortable reality of the place where I lived: a large suburb with a reasonable center that survived thanks to a refinery was responsible for moving the economy. Anyway, I didn't miss the chance to take some panoramic photos of the city from the park itself.

My stomach rumbled. I might have been on a forced diet, but at that moment my parents weren't around, or my sister, to deprive me of all the hot dogs, pizza, churros, and popcorn. I bought a slice of pepperoni pizza, churro and a can of regular coke. My mom would freak out if she saw me at that moment with all those greasy things, but that food went down so well... Everything was so delicious that I didn't even feel guilty about disobeying. I took the opportunity to take some more pictures of children leaving the cotton candy stand. Pink dyed sugar could produce the biggest smiles.

Just before leaving the table in front of the food stalls, I saw Santana and Rachel Berry-Lopez and Brittany Pierce eating pizza. Santana seemed to have the sweetest tooth. I confess that I felt a little envious when I saw the three skinny ones, especially the Berry-Lopezes ones, devouring all that food without caring about the scales and the width of their hips. Some people were luckier than others.