Normal is the Watchword

…DEFINE NORMAL

NORMAL: adjective

1. Conforming to the standard or the common type; usual; not abnormal; regular; natural

2. Approximately average in any psychological trait, as intelligence, personality, or emotional adjustment.

-Dictionary.com

Normal. That’s what every teenager both craves to be and also hates to be. It’s nice to feel normal when you are surrounded by strangers and dying to fit in. You hope that every move you make, every word you say, isn’t being judged by your peers when you walk down the hallway absent of thought. It is of course, but hopefully everyone will think you are normal.

While you want to fit in, everyone wants to be special. You want to stand out, in a good way. You want to walk down that same hallway, surrounded by strangers that can see how unique you are. Those few seconds are just enough to make you think, ‘maybe being normal is boring’. Why be average, when you can be above it all?

I always felt that labels were unnecessary. I am myself. Take it or leave it, I can only be as genuine as those around me will allow. That’s why I liked photography so much. One picture can capture the truth or paint a false image in a second. I strive to tell the truth with every click of my camera. I never considered that a photo could put my life in danger.

CHAPTER ONE

It’s Monday. The worst day of the week as far as I am concerned. It's not that I don’t enjoy going to school. I have accepted the fact that all children should be required to get an education years ago. There is no point in continually hating something that you can’t change. And if you really thought about it, why would you want to walk around the world clueless?

In terms of passable happiness with the usual teenage drama, high school has treated me well so far. I have good friends, enough extracurricular activities and good grades to secure a spot in a solid college. I really don’t mind listening to my favorite teachers lecture about lighting for the perfect portrait or why bees are the most important part of modern agriculture. I actually like learning.

But this week, Monday really sucks. It means I only have two weeks left to submit my final photography project for scholarship consideration. I thought I had plenty of time…two months ago, but now I am struggling to find a new take on the tired Canyon Beach Rocks! theme.

When I was thirteen, a few of our neighbors did a joint yard sale. Our yard was covered in a sheet of crap as far as your eyes were willing to see. Items ranged from old, stained baby clothes to scratched laser discs. I even spotted a basket of scarves; not a bad find if you don’t mind funky orange and pink paisley patterns. Some things were in perfect condition, but why would anyone want to buy a used hot comb from the 80’s?

Yes, our yard was bountiful. My mother had recently developed this irrational fear that she would end up on an episode of Hoarders if they weren’t careful about throwing out their junk. Amongst the old appliances, I spotted an old fashioned Leica camera next to a stack of mystery novels. It was the type of camera that you have to crank after each exposure to reset it. It looked cool, and obviously my parents didn’t want it anymore, so I rescued it from the pile.

Turns out my love of photography came from my dad. He bought the camera when he was on his high school yearbook staff. Like me, he was attracted to its look. Plus, it was cheaper than a brand new one. When its aesthetic appeal faded, he never quite had the motivation to learn how to use it properly. It collected dust while he continued to use whatever the school had available.

My dad let me rescue it from the interested glare of a lanky older boy with glasses. As he stared me down, I was all too happy to wink at him after walking away with such a prize. With enthusiasm, my father taught me everything he remembered about photography. Once the cost of developing film mostly featuring dark blobs and neighborhood trees became less appealing, they upgraded me to a digital camera. Years later and I still think of my digital camera as the best present they ever got me.

On my way to the courtyard, I pass my school’s attempt to bring color to the otherwise drab yellow hallways of the main building. Our class voted on a photomural as this year’s contribution. A pretty inspired idea by our Class President, actually. Every senior is required to submit photos of themselves or others that have enriched their lives in some way. Most people just turn in goofy pictures with friends, constantly trying to test the limits of what’s socially allowable for display.

I spot one of my favorites, a photo of three of the soccer team’s best players, one is standing straight up with his arms in a flowering position, the other two are at his legs folded up with big smiles on their faces. Not at all phallic, right? Clearly the faculty advisor has enough humor to let it slide.

The collage continues for another few feet before it warps into images of school pride. The most obvious things are lovingly displayed: crowded bleachers at a football game, a cheerleader with a big smile and pom-poms above her head, our girls basketball team portrait. There are so many images of school life that I’ve never felt compelled to submit anything to this category.

It flows into the community pride section. Photos of local businesses and our politicians are pretty much the only things on here so far. I expect it’ll be the slowest section to fill up, the smallest too. Most students would prefer to see their faces on the wall, not the adults of this town.

The wall isn’t complete yet, with many spaces left empty. Most of these spaces are reserved for the photography students to add their final semester projects. Leaving pockets of blank, crusty yellow wall is supposed to encourage us to contribute. I think it just looks sad and poorly planned.

The administration has offered a small prize for the top contributions. Winners will be presented with a scholarship worth a semester at an in-state college or university. It’s only about $3,500 cash equivalent, but its well worth a good submission to me. I would love to take any stress off my parents when I go to college next year.

I reach the end of the hallway, exiting to the courtyard. The open grassy area in the middle of the school’s main buildings is fairly large, with half a dozen paved walkways extending in different directions. The entire area is surrounded by short plain hedges and sprinkled with colorful flowerbeds. The tables and benches are scattered on small concrete islands near the main paths. The grassy areas are flat and always kept well manicured. I usually eat lunch out here with Carrie, but I got sidetracked looking at the mural again. Now there’s only ten minutes left before we are forced back out of the warm California sun.

I step off the concrete, blazing a trail through the center. Blades of grass crunch beneath my shuffling feet as I make my way further inwards. I find Carrie sitting near the statue of Jonathan Canyon, one of the city’s early mayors. She’s eating with our friend Jeremy.

We’ve all rode the same bus since we were in middle school. Even back then I would catch his eyes as they lingered a bit too long, or watch his face fall when she left. I always thought it was pretty obvious that he liked her, though he always denied it.

I still don’t understand why Jeremy won’t just ask Carrie out already. He’s sitting uncomfortably far away from her but staring at her intently while she gathers her trash. I’d like to see them together. Carrie is a pretty even-keeled soul. She focuses on playing sports year round but spends a lot of her free time reading and even more time blogging about the perils of high school and the world. Carrie’s blog, written with her pen name, is actually incredibly popular for our network. It's full of topics for the informed teenager as she likes to say.

She’s very smart, usually carrying herself with a certain amount of grace. On the flip side, she can be incredibly silly and gets very excited about her ideas. She should have more friends, but I think some people are put off when she starts talking passionately about her opinions. Which, according to her, is fine since she finds most kids our age to be too immature to hold a decent conversation anyway.

Jeremy doesn’t even notice me at first when I plop down next to them. His long dark hair shades his eyes, helping give him tunnel vision, especially when it comes to Carrie.

Hey, I say.

What happened to you? Carrie asks.

I got lost in the wall again. I couldn’t help but stare relentlessly at that sweet empty space my project will never fill.

Carrie sighs. She has heard me express my frustrations time and again. This last project is just another in a line of challenges I have faced since taking my photography seriously.

Relax, you always come up with gold, she says.

I’d almost settle for something I won’t be embarrassed about, if I can just come up with an idea. I can feel time running away from me.

Behind me I hear a loud cackle followed by a chorus of cheers and laughter. I turn to see Julie, an old friend, in a group of some basketball players, a couple of cheerleaders half dressed in their uniforms with jeans, and two smaller Freshman boys. Surprisingly, they are laughing too. I figured they were the butt of the joke. It is common practice to razz the underclassmen. Seniors did it to us and we are happy to continue our traditions here.

It’s sad really. If freshman year sucked for you, your goal should be to make things better for next year’s class. Unfortunately, we lack the maturity as a group to make legitimate social changes in ways that really matter. Putting up a mural showing our smiling faces to contribute to student life…no problem. Stopping the sometimes-vicious cycle of intimidation tactics…practically impossible.

As much as I’d like to believe that there’s no such thing as the overly dramatic teen angst television tropes we see on nightly primetime hours, it’s not true. Even I have cried in the shower once after being stood up by a guy I didn’t even really like. Just thinking about that moment makes me cringe a little. It was so embarrassing I had to start laughing at the cliché of it all. I take pride in trying to be above it all, but dammit, hormones are real. Sometimes I fall victim to them just like everybody else.

The group disperses and any assumptions I may have had about what the big joke was float away from me with them.

Well, maybe you should just start by shooting something, anything, Jeremy contributes.

His focus never left us; meanwhile I suddenly wonder what Julie is planning on turning in. We used to be close, now most of our interaction is usually through online status updates or in competition.

You are absolutely right! I say, returning to the conversation over-enthusiastically.

I unleash my camera from its case. I frame him up perfectly and snap a picture of Jeremy. I keep clicking, indiscriminately as I turn in a circle, encompassing the active courtyard. Students are packing up, throwing trash away; a couple makes out at a table, people are walking through with smiles, some with scowls. When I finish, I turn back to Jeremy smiling.

It was just a suggestion. You know you could put all those together and title it ‘June’s Sarcasm Revealed’. Jeremy says with a smirk.

Smiling, I thumb through my photos. Most of these will end up in the trash. I’ve already started pressing the delete button. A picture of two kids making out with the top of their heads cut off…Trash.

That’s what I love about digital. I can take as many meaningless pictures as your heart can handle.

I stop on a picture of a cute guy walking past a row of lockers. Not exactly my best framing, but there is something here. I’ve only seen him around school a couple times before. He’s tall, well built, and walking with a purpose. He has headphones in his ears and looks thoughtfully ahead of himself. Golden caramel skin glows against the clean white shirt he’s wearing. His mouth is hard set, but his face seems soft. It makes me wonder what he’s thinking.

I vaguely register shuffling around me as Jeremy and Carrie start to gather their stuff. Jeremy stands up and looks down at me, still seated.

Anything good? He asks.

I tear myself away from the screen, clicking the camera button to off. Hastily, I pack it back up again.

Not really, I say.

That should be my real answer. I know it’s a lie, though. I am just a little too happy to keep such a poorly taken picture.

CHAPTER TWO

After school, I walk with Carrie to the track. She bounces with excitement, ready to start the training season again. She proudly wears her new blue and white racing shorts. Her straight, dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She gives me a playful punch in the shoulder and runs ahead to meet the coach.

I make my way to the bleachers. I usually have a meeting to attend, but the photo lab was cancelled. Instead of taking the crowded bus, I decided to wait for Carrie to finish practice.

After lying along the hard pressed-steel benches, for a few minutes, I immediately start to regret my decision. While I’m glad my back isn’t being assaulted by hundreds of splinters from those crappy old wooden stands that used to be here, these new benches aren’t exactly lined with pillows.

I wade through my playlists for a bit to pass the time. Am I feeling like I’ll never be ‘Royal’? Do I want Avicii to ‘Wake Me Up’? A sweet slow melody starts to play, then it’s immediately cut off; Replaced by a hip-hop beat. Admittedly, though my head is bobbing up and down to the rhythm, a quick cut to something a little smoother is still necessary.

A grand total of thirty minutes have passed and yet only a few songs have graced my ears. I spent more time making a playlist than actually listening to music. Now, I only have another hour and a half to go. What was I thinking?

I sit up straight, with a heavy sigh. I smooth the mussed flyaways of my hair back down. With my headphones in, I survey the landscape around me. A smooth Alternative song fills my ears as I look out onto the sea of activity. Everyone’s actions are sometimes right on cue with the music, other times it feels like an odd choice for a backing track. The most hilariously wrong pairing occurs when I look at a few students gathered around a couple of guys who look to be in a verbal dueling match. It looks like a fight is about to break out, but the sweet lyrics of unrequited love take the sting off any danger. In the musical world in my head, they are actually just emotionally craving each other’s attention and love. A smile stretches across my lips as I look away.

I see Carrie and a few girls running around the track. While this isn’t a song to work out to, it definitely gives them an interesting movie montage moment from this distance.

This game, however, is only as good as my playlist and point of view. It gets old fast and I am back to where I was not long ago: bored and regretful.

Eventually, I convince myself that Carrie may want some photographic proof of how good she is, so I break out my camera. I admit it’s my go-to boredom activity. I feel useless when I have absolutely nothing to do. If I’m not going to participate in something, I’d much rather capture somebody else’s moment in time.

I see the cheerleaders are working on a new dance. I could be doing that too. I always liked dancing, but I don’t think I have enough pep to be a cheerleader. I think too much. On rare occasions, I envy people who can just act on their desires or scream out chants of support just because someone tells them to. I would question why we should support a team that never comes to cheer us on at competitions or hang a Thank You banner in the cafeteria for us at the year’s end.

Sometimes I feel like if I can just take the perfect photograph at the perfect moment, the emotions of the subjects could jump off the screen and into me. As if the camera really could steal part of a person’s soul like some cultures believed. I liked that idea. Though, in the back of my mind I wonder if I’m too comfortable being in the background of things.

The soccer team is running drills in the center field. They look fairly organized, passing the ball to each other in small groups. I had heard the team got a new coach this year. Apparently the last one was tired of losing all the time. The track team is running laps along the outer loop. I see Carrie is trailing only one other girl who looks to be tiring.

They both look tired, actually. Struggling to make it to a finish line neither can see. I can almost feel an uncomfortable tug of fatigue in my legs just looking at them. I like sports, but I will never understand how anyone can find running around a large circle to be fun. Tennis is my game. Hitting a ball back and forth over a net. Oh yeah, way more stimulating. I laugh at myself.

I cut across the edge of the field, my camera bobbling against my chest. The track group ends up stopping further away than I anticipated. I shift, taking the shortest path to get over there. As I pass in front of one of the soccer goals. I feel a gentle thump on my leg. A stray soccer ball rolls into my view.

I look up to see the cute guy from my courtyard photo is running towards me, chasing after the ball. Too late to subtly fluff my hair, I’m thankful at least my breath still smells of the mint gum I was just chewing. He bounds up close, but still further away than I’d like.

Sorry about that, you mind? He asks, eyes motioning to the ball.

I roll the ball toward me, bringing it onto the top of my foot before popping it up and kicking it gracefully at him. Expecting him to take it quickly and return to the game, he surprises me with a compliment.

Nice. Want to put that camera down and play with us? He asks.

My eyes widen with curiosity. Does he really want me to come over? No. I push that thought to the side. It would be better to leave on a high note. Any more exposure right now and I will probably just end up embarrassing myself.

Love to, but I don’t like getting schooled outside of the classroom, you know, I return.

Ha! Come on. Everybody sucks. Kicking it straight is more than enough to get you a spot on the field, he continues. I bet you’d be giving some of these guys a lesson. It’ll be fun.

He gives me a half smile. Only raising half of his lips is enough to light up his whole face. His cheeks are flush and his brow is brimming with sweat; No doubt reflecting the effort he has put in on the field. I can’t imagine somebody with a body like his could possibly suck at any sport. He is actually ridiculously well built for his age. Obviously he listened to those old Wheaties commercials. I figure I may as well make the most of this opportunity.

Thanks, maybe next time. Smile, I raise my camera and snap a quick photo of him. Have fun out there, I say as I walk away.

He chuckles and starts kicking the ball back to the center. I can hear his teammates shouting at him, telling him to stop flirting. I turn my head to look back. I see him greeting his teammates, a couple of them still lightly ribbing him. He pushes one of his friends aside and catches me looking at him. I shake my head with slight embarrassment and keeping walking, this time refusing to look back.

I make it to Carrie’s side of the track. She and a few other girls are wiped out, sweating and sprawled along the asphalt. I recognize Amber from our AP World History class. She and Carrie give each other a healthy dose of competition. She is huffing and