I ended up taping the photo back to the drawer. Don’t get me wrong; I wanted to keep it, but at the same time, I don’t want to upset my mom when she notices it’s missing. Besides, I’m not even positive the man in the photo is my father. Only, I sort of am. I can feel it in my soul. Plus, my mom was pregnant in the photo.

The photo haunts my mind for most of the day. But my thoughts get briefly distracted as I’m loading up the cleaning supplies in the car to head home when Carter sends me a photo of a girl sitting near a massive oak tree. She has a book in her hand, her head is tipped down, and leaves are falling to the ground around her. Her face is shadowed by her hair so I can’t tell who the girl is, but the area looks familiar. The tree, too.

Then it clicks. The girl is at the park, reading under a tree I often sit under.

Confused as to why he sent the photo to me, I reply by sending an image of a girl skipping in a field with questions marks above her head.

Moments later, a photo of a kitten surrounded by hearts pops into the thread.

I send back a random photo of a guy running into a wall.

He responds with a guy tilting his head to the side, his brows furrowed as someone bangs a book against his head.

I reply with a cross-eyed cat and dog DJing at a party. Then add one of a dude shaking his booty.

Carter: All right, you win. You’re the weirdest image texter ever.

Me: Hey, you’re the one who started it.

Carter: For your information, that first photo was actually a picture I took.

I scroll back to the photo and look it over again.

I’m surprised. It’s really good. The shadowing is just right. And the way he captured the girl, so at peace, makes me feel relaxed, too.

Me: You take photos?

Carter: It was for a photography class.

Me: You take photography?

How did I not know this? With how much I stare at him, I should have.

Carter: It was an extracurricular class. Not too many people knew I took it. My parents would probably flip out if they knew.

Me: Really? Because I’m pretty sure El’s taken photography classes.

Carter: El and I have different rules. They’re stricter with me.

Funny how I never noticed that, but when I think about, I can see it. Carter is supposed to be taking over the business, so he spends a lot of time in the office with his father. He also gets in trouble whenever he throws parties, yet El never does. Carter gets lectured about being presentable and getting good grades, while El has frequently griped about how much her parents ignore her.

Me: Sometimes parents are strict with their kids because they love them.

Carter: That sounds like some psych 101.

Me: My mom’s always throwing those sorts of remarks at me.

Carter: Has she taken psychology?

Me: Yeah, she did. She’s going to school right now to get her business degree.

Carter: Really? Your mom’s a business major?

His shock makes my jaw tick as I recall the remark he made the other day about my mom. I suddenly feel like I need to defend my mom’s honor or something.

Me: She’s part-owner of the cleaning company and thought it’d be helpful. She’s really smart. Smart enough to be a single mom, take care of me, go to school, and work. And she never complains to me about it, even though I know she must be exhausted. She’s actually pretty badass.

Carter: She sure sounds like it.

Me: She is.

Carter: I’m glad. It must be nice to have someone care about you that much.

Me: Yeah.

I pause, rereading his message, feeling as though the words carry an underlying meaning, as if he doesn’t believe anyone cares about him. That can’t be right. Not when he has his own fan club and basically has everything he’s ever wanted since the day he was born.

Carter: So, did you figure it out yet?

What?

Me: Figure out what?

Carter: Who the person is in the first photo I sent you.

I scroll back to the photo. At first, I’m lost. Am I supposed to know the girl? I can’t even see her face. Then a memory sparkles in the back of my mind and …

“Holy shit,” I whisper, leaning against the trunk of the car.

The girl in the photo is me, and the photo was taken quite a few months ago, before this whole “play Carter” plan was put into motion.

Me: You took a photo of me?

Carter: Not in a creepy way, I promise. I was at the park, working on my project, and I saw you sitting there. You looked so peaceful and gorgeous, and the angles and shadows were casting so perfectly over you, so I snapped a few photos. That one turned out really good, so I submitted it for my final project. I got an A, btw, so thanks. ;)

I can’t help but smile. I can only imagine what I look like right now. All goofy and silly and swoony. Fortunately, no one’s around to see it.

Me: Why? I didn’t really do anything.

Carter: Um, yeah, you were the focal point of the photo.

I drag my fingers through my hair and shake my head, utterly lost. He took a photo of me. I was the focal point of his photo. I looked peaceful and gorgeous. What the fuck is happening right now? This can’t be real, right?

The damn photo sure is real, though.

“You ready to go?” My mom exits the house, towing a vacuum behind her.

I rip my attention off my phone and nod. “Yep.”

She eyeballs me funnily. “Whatcha doing?”

I shrug. “Just waiting for you.”

Her gaze descends to my phone. “Who’re you texting?”

I shrug again. “No one.”

She grins as she hikes down the driveway toward the car, the vacuum wheels clanking against the gravel. “Well, no one sure knows how to make you look flushed.”

I place my palm to my cheek. “It’s from the sun.”

She pops open the trunk. “Sure it is.”

“It is,” I insist, ducking into the car, mostly to hide my flushed cheeks.

As I’m buckling my seatbelt, another message pings through.

Carter: I didn’t scare you away, did I?

Sort of. But since I’m supposed to be trying to seduce him, I go another route.

Me: No. Sorry, I’m still at work and trying to clean up so I can go home.

Carter: All right, I’ll let you go, then. See you tonight.

Me: Okay.

I blow out a trapped breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. God, that conversation was intense. Too intense. So intense I almost forgot none of this is real.

It makes me worry what the hell is going to happen while we’re out on this date. And if I’ll be able to keep my head in the game.