I grin. “Megan thought we should make the most of the cafeteria before I head home. I’d heard the cheese and Marmite toasties here are unbeatable.” I hold up my sandwich, then realize that waving a half-eaten cheese toastie in front of someone’s face is probably not normal behaviour. His mouth twists as he struggles not to burst out laughing and I try to diffuse the awkwardness by ramming the rest of the toastie in my mouth.
Unfortunately, all that does is give me giant chipmunk cheeks and I have to try to eat the toastie without opening my very full mouth, to avoid showing him a pile of chewed-up Marmite and cheese. Attractive.
I’m grateful to him for turning away for a moment, leaving me to recover my dignity. I chew as fast as I can, swallow down the rest of the sandwich, and manage to calm some of the red in my face by the time he’s turned back to look at me. On his lap is his photography portfolio plus an A4 folder of black-and-white photos that look as though they’ve just been developed in a darkroom. I even think I can smell the chemicals on them from the developing.
The noise in the room gets a little louder as Callum lifts his eyes to meet mine. I take a deep breath. Don’t let anxiety ruin this. Please.
“Oh, sorry, do you mind?” Callum asks, mistaking my rising anxiety for irritation. “We have a big project due already and I want to get it perfect.”
“No, please, go ahead,” I say, glad for the distraction. At least it gets Callum’s attention off me for a moment, and allows me to recentre myself.
I focus on the photographs he’s laying out across his lap. They are portrait shots, so haunting they send a shiver down my spine. The detail in them is like nothing I’ve ever seen.
“What do you think?” he asks. “I’m not sure it’s quite right yet.”
“Some of these shots could give you nightmares!” I say, with a laugh.
He blushes. “I know, they’re a bit gothic, but to be fair they are destined for a Halloween display. What lens do you use for portraits?” He smiles, and his teeth are so straight and white they almost blind me. He has a little freckle on his top lip next to his cupid’s bow and I melt a little more. It takes all I have not to scream out: Who is this guy and where has he come from? He can’t be human! HE CAN’T BE!
Focus, Penny. Photography. I can do this. “I use a prime lens for portraits. I find that the detail it gives is amazing, but not as harsh as a macro lens, especially if you’re shooting analogue. Do you shoot with film or digital?”
“I shoot in both; I think you can get great shots with both mediums.” His tongue sticks out of the side of his mouth as he works his way round the page, glue in one hand, photos in the other. “It really depends what angle you want to go for, I guess. Some of my favourite photos have been taken with a seven-quid point-and-shoot that I developed in Boots. I’m all about capturing the moment.”
“Oh, I totally agree.” I nod enthusiastically, then suddenly a pang of guilt hits my stomach. We’ve just been geeking out about photography, and I’ve been ignoring Megan completely. She’ll hate that. I look up and, with a sigh of relief, notice Megan deep in conversation with Callum’s friend about a house party in building 4B. Megan’s mum would be a frantic mess if she knew Megan was planning to join house parties with hot seventeen-year-old guys, but it doesn’t surprise me at all.
Guilt appeased, I let myself relax back into the conversation with Callum. “How would you describe this photo?” he asks, as he hands me a black-and-white image of an elderly lady holding her hand to her face. You can see the intricate detail of eight gold rings stacked on her fingers. Her eyes look sad, but her mouth is tilted upwards at the edges. Half her face is in darkness, and the other is burned with light.
“I think . . . she’s saying, ‘I’ve lived a long life and I don’t regret a single second of it.’ ” I look at the haunting image, then back up at Callum. Our eyes meet and the lines round his eyes are back as his smile creeps across his face.
“Ladies and gentlemen, can we have some applause for the cheesiest line ever?” He laughs and claps his hands.
“Hey, you asked!” I shrug my shoulders and return his smile.
“And that deep and meaningful analysis, my dear, is why I’m studying here and you aren’t.” He winks at me in a playful manner and my mouth drops open in mock outrage.
“I might not write great captions, but talent can’t be taught,” I shoot back, and I’m surprised by the words coming out of my mouth. I’m not normally this “on fire” when it comes to banter. Who is this new Penny?
“Touché, Penny Porter,” he concedes. He shifts slightly and his leg falls against mine. We might have jeans on, but the small contact sends a current of electricity rushing through my body. I don’t know if he senses it too, but pink spots rise in his cheeks even as he continues to look down at his photography. Maybe it’s not just me . . .
Then a swell of anxiety follows the current like a tsunami. I can’t even catch my breath, it comes over me so quickly. Everything that was fun and exciting turns terrifying. I can hear every slam of the ball from the table football. The a cappella singing is high and screechy in my ears. The air has become thick and warm, like breathing in honey.
My panicked eyes search for an exit route—and when I see a door I grab my bag and run. I don’t think about Callum, his friend, or Megan. I just run down the corridor, twisting round corners, through fire escape doors, until I’m outside and filling my lungs with fresh air.