Page 41 of Faking It For Real

"Complicated," I repeated, unsure if it was a compliment.

"In a good way," she clarified. "There's more going on beneath the surface than most people realize."

Something warm unfurled in my chest at her words—a dangerous feeling of being seen, perhaps for the first time. I needed to redirect this conversation before it ventured further into personal territory.

"Well, the team will be excited about the shoot," I said, reverting to safer ground. "Especially the individual portraits. Everyone loves a chance to show off."

"I'd expect nothing less from hockey players," she replied with a small smile. "Now, what angles would you recommend for capturing the team dynamic best?"

We spent the next hour discussing photography logistics—the best vantage points around the rink, lighting challenges in the arena, how to position players for maximum effect. It was surprisingly easy, and I found myself genuinely engaged in helping her plan the shoot.

"You know," she said as we finished our coffees, "you have a good eye for composition. Ever tried photography yourself?"

"Not beyond terrible phone pictures," I admitted.

"You should sometime," she suggested. "You might enjoy the perspective shift—being the observer rather than the observed."

"Maybe I'll borrow your camera someday," I joked. "Give you a taste of your own medicine."

"Touch my camera without permission and lose a hand, Wright," she shot back, but her smile took the sting from the words.

We left the coffee shop together, falling into step as we crossed campus. The afternoon was crisp but sunny, the quad vibrant with late autumn colors. Without discussion, we headed toward the photography building where Mia had her next class.

"So," she said after a comfortable silence, "how are things with Vanessa since the festival? Any fallout?"

"Radio silence, actually," I replied. "Which is exactly what I wanted. I think our performance was convincing."

"Good," she nodded. "That's good."

Another pause, this one less comfortable.

"And your finances?" I asked. "Any progress on that front?"

"Not yet," she sighed. "But the paper is increasing my assignments, which helps a little. And I've started researching summer internships more seriously."

"I haven't forgotten about the Samantha introduction," I assured her. "My dad's coming for the State game in December. I'll talk to him then."

"No rush," she said, though her expression suggested otherwise. "We have time."

We reached the photography building, stopping at the bottom of the steps. Students flowed around us, rushing to afternoon classes, but we stood in our own small bubble of hesitation.

"Well," she finally said, "thanks for the input on the shoot. It really helps."

"Anytime," I nodded. "That's what fake boyfriends are for, right?"

She laughed, the sound unexpectedly musical. "Absolutely. Right there in the job description: 'Must provide expert hockey photography consultation.'"

"Along with caramel apple procurement and apple bobbing excellence," I added, earning another laugh.

"You're setting a very high bar for fake relationship services," she observed.

"I aim to exceed expectations," I replied with mock seriousness. "It's the Wright way."

Something flickered in her expression. But she only smiled, shouldering her camera bag more securely.

"I should get to class," she said. "See you at practice tomorrow?"

"I'll be there," I confirmed. "Can't miss my daily dose of being immortalized on film."

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