Page 35 of Faking It For Real

"What about you?" he asked. "Was photography always the dream?"

"Not initially," I admitted. "I wanted to be a veterinarian until I realized I couldn't handle seeing animals in pain. But photography... it found me, in a way."

He gave me a warm smile. “That’s sweet.”

I thought back to my first camera, how I’d roam dawn-lit streets and dusty backroads, chasing moments only a lens could reveal—hiking miles into forgotten corners just for the chance at one perfect shot.

As we drifted toward the game booths, I continued, “These days my dream is to work forSports Illustrations. I was drawn by the scholarship initially, but watching your team taught me why I love photography: it captures the thrill of victory, the sting of defeat, the raw human effort—all distilled into a single frame.”

"I never thought of it that way," Ethan said, looking genuinely intrigued. "I usually find team photographers annoying. No offense."

"None taken," I laughed. "They can be pretty intrusive. Always in your face at your best and worst moments."

"Exactly!" he agreed. "After a bad play, the last thing I want is someone documenting my frustration for posterity."

"But that's where the real story is," I countered. "Anyone can take a victory shot. It's capturing the journey—the setbacks, the struggle—that makes a compelling visual narrative."

He considered this, then nodded slowly. "I guess I can see that. Still don't want a camera in my face after I miss a shot, though."

“Noted,” I said with a smile. “From now on, I’ll make sure to capture your best side.”

"All my sides are good," he replied with a cocky grin that I found surprisingly charming.

Our conversation was interrupted by Dylan's voice calling Ethan's name. We turned to find him approaching with several other hockey players, all carrying various prizes from the game booths.

"Well, well," Dylan said, eyeing our still-joined hands with exaggerated interest. "If it isn't the campus's newest couple, gracing us mere mortals with their presence."

"Subtle, Dylan," Ethan said dryly. "Really subtle."

Dylan winked at me. "He's much more tolerable with you around, Mia. Whatever you're doing, keep it up."

I felt myself blush but managed a casual smile. "I'll do my best."

"Have you guys tried the games yet?" Tyler asked, holding up a small stuffed bear. "I dominated the ring toss."

"We were just heading that way," Ethan replied.

"You should try the apple bobbing contest," Reyes suggested with a mischievous grin. "Couples competition is starting in five minutes."

"Couples competition?" I echoed, alarm bells ringing.

"Oh yeah," Dylan nodded enthusiastically. "They've got all sorts of ridiculous couple-based games. Three-legged races, pumpkin rolling, apple bobbing. Very romantic. Nothing says true love like face-planting into a tub of water."

“We’ll pass,” Ethan said, his tone unyielding.

“Afraid you’ll lose?” I found myself saying, surprising both of us.

He arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

A teasing smirk slid across my face. “Come on—don’t tell me Ethan Wright, star player of the Wolves, is intimidated by a few silly couples’ games?”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Is that a challenge, Navarro?”

"Absolutely," I nodded. "Unless you're scared."

"Oh, this I gotta see," Tyler grinned.

And somehow, that's how we ended up at the apple bobbing station, Ethan rolling up his sleeves while I tied my hair back, both of us squaring off like it was the championship game of an extremely ridiculous sport.

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