You capture my attention [Nicholas]

[CADY GRANDT]

It was turning out to be a really, dry, boring evening.

To say that Cady was displeased was an understatement. After hours of wandering the ins and outs of the Central Park, she still hadn’t caught a glimpse of any couples breaking up, children being berated by their parents, or any friends having a horrible falling out. The general contentment around her was simply just so excruciatingly boring—and moreover, remarkably against the norm. There had to be something interesting happening around here. Maybe she had chosen the wrong day to seek out vicarious living through the drama of humanity, an activity she had nearly made a sport of over the years. It was a bitter cold, with a whipping wind that instantly reduced skin and lips to flushing, cracking, uncomfortable states. But Cady enjoyed the cold, and how it numbed the senses. Apparently, most of the other citizens of New York City did not.

Usually, though, when there was a lack of people, and at this hour in the evening, when most had retired for a meal, many of the more eccentric types were out and about, wreaking all sorts of mayhem: artistic, peculiar, or just plain crazy types of havoc. But it just wasn’t the case today. A few people milled the streets and fields, talking quietly, without animation or vibrancy. It was impossible to read their faces from afar, and the few conversations she’d managed to overhear had been less than stellar; she really hadn’t wanted to hear one park patron’s account of worry due to his cat’s persistent diarrhea.

Shoulders slightly slumped, she trudged through the park, disheartened and contemplating returning to Baum in a few minutes if nothing of interest arose. Sighing, she turned to lean against a tree, breathing slowly in and out and trying to avoid thoughts of jealousy. She repeated told herself that she definitely did not want to be in groups of two or three like most others in the park. How frightfully boring it would be to live one selfish life.

There was an unexpected glint to the right side of her vision, and Cady slowly peered over in that direction, heart palpitating with a trivial hope.

He looked like he’d stepped out a thrift store, after trying on a ramshackle of items that didn’t really match. He was tall, wiry, with greasy hair and a general grungy appearance. He was very curious looking, in a different way from most of the artsy types Cady had observed while she lived here. One of his eyes appeared slightly larger than the other. Maybe it was just the angle. Either way, Cady could deal with this.

A camera was poised delicately in his fingers; he was just close enough that she could make out the clicks of pictures being snapped. The camera was bulky and professional looking, with a protruding lens. He was either a spoiled, wealthy brat, who, with the help of mummy and daddy’s money, believed he was a prodigious photographer, or just serious about his photography, Cady decided. She couldn’t tell for sure, at least not yet.

She turned her head towards the ground and examined her shoes. No, she wouldn’t talk to him. She was in an antisocial mood, but following him from afar could provide a bit of fun. Plus, she had a growing suspicion that he was photographing her, of all people at the park that evening. She was pleased. Creeped out, perhaps a little. But it was very flattering none the less. Cady had never really been the vain sort—she never understood why girls her age took so many pictures of themselves. Come to think of it, Cady couldn’t remember if she even had a picture of herself, or last time she’d seen one. Her parents probably had some, but for all she knew they could have burned them out of bitterness by now. It didn’t matter. She really didn’t like how she looked in pictures anyway. She decided that she should probably tell him to cut it out. She glanced back up and—he was gone. Vanished. Nonexistent. Damn.

Frustrated, Cady turned to walk along the closed concrete path in the park, heading in Baum’s general direction. Perhaps she was feeling sick and seeing things. She reached to touch her palm to her forehead, and then realized her stupidity. She’d been in the vicious cold for hours. There was no way she was going to be able to tell if she had a fever or not.
On what seemed like a whim, the hair on the back of Cady’s neck rose. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the terrible, prickling feeling that someone was looming right behind her—

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

Cady pivoted on one foot, rolling her ankle and tumbling to the ground, looking into the eyes of the guy she had seen moments earlier, his camera placed mere centimeters where the back of her head had just been.

“Can I help you?!” Cady snarled. She was reveling in the fact that she hadn't only imagined his presence, and ultimately that this confirmed she was, in fact, his subject of muse. But sneaking up behind her and scaring the bejeezus out of her like that was not okay.

[...Cady may or may not be wearing leather pants]

[NICHOLAS AVERY]

It couldn’t be a bad picture day. It just couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair—no way, no how, no. He wouldn’t have it. And besides, like his mother had told him once, long ago when he was very young and only just becoming any decent at any of this and had come home from the park with red cheeks and a snotty nose and bad attitude, there was no such thing as bad picture days. Only bad angels and simple, subtle mess ups he could fix by sitting, standing, or spinning.

So really, today could be a good day. It could be a wonderful, not-so-horrible, very good, very great day. He could go home with a full memory card. He could shut the door, kick his shoes into the corner, and flip through the camera in search of every picture worth keeping; and then he’d walk down to the store (with his shoes back on, of course, though whether they’d be of the same pair really was up for debate) and hand them the card and wait. And wait and wait and wait, because time never passed quickly when he wanted it too. And then he’d pick them up, and he’d walk back home and shut the door again, and he’d kick off his shoes and tape them up anywhere the wall would let him.

Of course, doing any of that meant he needed some pictures to take. Something to snap a photo of. Or someone.

He saw her then. Out the corner of his eye, black hair like a raven’s eye and cold, cold skin he bet felt like ice. And why wouldn’t it? It was very chilly out, after all. He had gloves on to prove it—never mind if they had holes in the fingertips. They did their job. Mostly.

The viewfinder was up against his eye immediately. He squinted, adjusting the aperture and focus manually, having never been one to trust technology with the most delicate of things.

Click.
Click….Click…Click. Click.
ClickClickClick.

Nicholas adjusted his position slightly with each time the shutter window closed. Now, if she could just stand still for a moment longer….this girl was beautiful; all dark hair and white skin and frigid stature against the porcelain snow. She was like a fire—embers, maybe. But not the dying kind.

Click.

But…No! What was he thinking! Nicholas frowned. “No, no no no no no. Can’t be. Mustn’t be. She has the hair, though—but I can’t. I mustn’t, and I can’t, and I won’t.”
Muttering to himself as he shook his head, the young man picked himself up from the patch of snow where he’d been kneeling, paying absolutely no heed to the large patches of water spreading up his jeans from where knees had made contact with ground. He followed her softly, bright eyes focusing in a manner very akin to a lens on her hair, and the way it somehow managed to swish without swaying, and sway without swishing. She had beautiful hair.

It was just as he’d leaned forward, camera mere inches from the one wonderful, glorious strand he was so sure would go down in the history of his bedroom wall of fame when she turned. She turned and she…oh no. That couldn’t be good.

Click.

Nicholas’s mouth dropped a bit at the sound of her yell. He jumped backward about half an inch. A smile appeared in a moment, however, as he glanced down at the camera’s display screen to find a wonderful image projected there of the girl, cross and angry and lovely in all the ways paintings like The Scream were.

He snapped his jaw shut. Immediately, his words fumbled. “Oh—I was—pictures, you see,” he bit his lip, the hand not holding his camera reaching up to tug on his earring slightly as his legs began to go slowly pigeon-toed.

“You have very beautiful hair. Did you know that? It looks very nice with the snow, and your eyes, too—they all look very nice with the snow. Now everything looks nice with white, you know. You have to be very purely rich to look nice with the snow….” stop talking, now. Stopping was good. He closed his mouth rather abruptly and stood still as though frozen in place, biting his chapped top lip as he blinked, wide eyes watching the girl curiously, albeit without the slightest bit of caution or anything less than innocence.

[CADY GRANDT]

Cady really liked receiving compliments. So long as they were sincere of course, and no B.S. or fluff was involved.

This guy didn’t seem to be a smooth talker however, and if anything, he was the opposite, so it was safe to say that her bullshit detector had once again prevailed. That aside, Cady never allowed herself to be blinded by kind words. There was still something shady going on, something that she definitely did not like.

She was practically alone, in the continuously darkening Central Park, with a man looming over her that had just been snapping pictures of her without her permission. She didn’t want think the worst, but by default, she felt she had to. Human were disgusting, selfish creatures on the whole. And this situation pointed to the classic case of scummy, sexually frustrated older man preying on a younger girl in a last, desperate attempt to score. Naturally, he was complimenting her. Reeling her in. Next thing she knew, he’d probably be offering her a ride home, which would result in a drive back to some rundown apartment in a part of the city she didn’t recognize.

Oh, hell no. This wasn’t happening. Creepy Camera Guy may have mistaken her for the desperate, lonely type—and perhaps, in a way she was—no, no. She couldn’t think like that now. Cady Grandt did not have pity parties for herself. Especially when she was on the brink of being kidnapped or worse.

Maybe he assumed she was the typical high school student who found it “cool” to hook up with older guys. One of those girls that when around bragging how she was too mature for guys her age, and older, college students were more her pace. But if that’s what he was looking for, he had most definitely not found it.

She wouldn’t trust him, couldn’t trust him, she wasn’t that stupid. Although, his mismatched look was kind of cute, in a ragtag sort of way. And those buggy eyes blinking at her with, what could it be? Wonderment? Curiosity? It was unsettling but childish, a contradiction that made his gaze even more intriguing.

But she couldn’t confirm that any part of him was genuine, and that’s what scared her. Come to think of it, that’s probably why she didn’t have anyone to walk with on this day. She couldn’t measure levels of authenticity and sincerity, even in her own thoughts sometimes, and it drove her up the wall kinds of crazy.

Maybe she happened to be in the presence of something crazier than her. He did talk awfully funny. And point his camera at someone he didn't know, following them from behind. Maybe he'd even been following her all day. It was an unnerving, yet flattering thought. Very twisted, if anything. A twistedness that could either get her killed, or for once, gain her a bit of companionship, if only for a fleeting moment.

Cady pressed her nails against the pavement, feeling the coolness beneath her before rising to her feet. After her episode of paranoia, she decided to just go with it. If he did kidnap or murder her, at least no one would miss her. Besides, though she was trying not to get caught up in vanity, but she adored the special attention. Perhaps she could suspend the murderer speculation for a few minutes to introduce herself.

Crossing her arms over her chest, dually as defensive and for warmth, she spoke, albeit skeptically.

“Thank you.”

Her eyes glanced at each corner of the park’s horizon, scanning for people just in case she was making a huge mistake. “I’m Cady.”

Trying to erase the tension that had been created due to her surprised scream, she added playfully:

“You’re not so bad yourself. Do you usually follow people you don’t know around and take pictures of them? I don’t know about anyone else, but I like to know when I’m being followed. Next time, a heads up would be nice.”

She took a step towards him and extended a hand, gesturing towards the camera. “Can I see?”

[NICHOLAS AVERY]

Oh, oh dear. She was hurt—surely, that was why she was looking at him like that. She’d slipped on the ice and fell, and now she’d hurt her legs, or her ankle, or her bum, and it was all going to be his fault, wasn’t it? Just another accident. Very much like breaking a lens, or a string or a strap or a film canister, bruising one’s skin was. Always part of the venture, to get a good picture. And he had gotten one—a good picture, that was. A brilliant picture, filled with blacks and whites and diamonds and hearts and roses that showed up even if not in the picture itself, but in the mood of it all. You could feel things in good photographs, Nicholas thought. Things not-so-deep but buried in your chest. Things that tickled a little bit when you looked at a picture too hard or too short from this angel or that.

This, he felt, was one of those photos. It was all in the way she looked. This face, that beautiful, ratty raven’s hair that only made him wonder why brushes had ever been invented in the first place, when light shone so wonderfully on locks like this girl’s here.

Nicholas nodded eagerly, a small, somewhat eerie (to all who didn’t know him, anyhow) smile creeping onto his full lips. “Of course, of course. Thanks doesn’t make it any more or less true, though. You don’t need to say—” he stopped abruptly and clamped him mouth shut. A split second later, he nodded again, more subtly. “You’re welcome.”

Stay polite. Strangers liked polite. Not too much talking, just enough speaking. He had to keep that in mind. Shuffling his feet a bit more, Nicholas stared at the ground just above his right foot as the girl got up from where she’d falling. He offered no help, though it wasn’t out of spite at her scream.

Tugging a bit on his earlobe, Nicholas looked up with a small, timid smile as the girl introduced herself. “That’s a pretty name. Is it your grandmother’s? …My name’s Nicholas.” he added as an afterthought, the words quiet as his eyes darted around the girl’s face, never resting on one feature for too long. They were all so lovely.

“Oh, I um…Sometimes I do. But usually no, not. Not, no, I mean. Not, no.” he shook his head in moderate annoyance at the mix up. “People wouldn’t let me take pictures if they saw me—I’ve asked before. They don’t like it much. And besides, people look different when they don’t know someone’s watching. It’s a bit fascinating, don’t you think? Like you. You look different, now that you know I’m here. But you wouldn’t know it, because you’ve never seen yourself when no one’s watching. Mirror’s aren’t very good for looking at things….Pictures are much better.”

He trailed off with a little nod, fingers tapping along the camera’s hard, plastic skin as he bit his bottom lip. Her request warranted a moment’s hesitation, during which he drew the camera a bit closer to him, movement somewhat protective. Still, he relented with a small sigh and an earnest gaze as he spoke. “Yes, yes, of course. But you mustn’t touch it. Please. I’d really rather you didn’t touch it.” He pressed two buttons before turning the camera so that she could see its display screen, watching her face eagerly for any sign of reaction to his piece.

[CADY GRANDT]

His diction was hard to keep up with. His mannerisms, even more so. His facial muscles twitched every which way, his eyes darted as if he was trying to observe a quickly flying insect. So enamored with his odd behaviors, Cady hardly heard what he was saying, and when she did, she needed a few moments to decipher what he meant.

At the mention of her “thank you” however, Cady’s eyes lit up. Kind gestures to strangers had always been a reflex of hers, so carefully refined by her parents at a young age. But as to why she should have to be kind and nice when she didn’t feel like it, or when someone was being rude to her, she never understood.

“You don’t know them,” had always been the rationale of adults when she questioned it, but the logic was all too easy to poke holes into. She should only place her best foot forward when someone was truly deserving, rather than a person she would never meet or see again. Unfortunately, politeness was a language she spoke fluently and falsely, albeit only on a first-impression basis. Luckily, as soon as an acquaintance exchanged a maximum of 3 sentences with her, the bitterness and suspicion usually rose to the surface.

He spoke to her softly, hurriedly, almost as if he was mumbling directions to himself. At the uttering of his own name and compliment of hers, she remarked sardonically, ignoring his question altogether, “Nicholas. Is that your grandmother’s name?”

Easily holding a poker face, she blinked up at him, emulating his genuine curiosity.

At his warning, her hands snapped down to her sides. She nodded she head in agreement, scooted closer to him until their shoulders were touching and the screen of the camera was in sight.

The image on the screen made her instant sick to her stomach.

There she was, just minutes ago. Sitting on her spot on the pavement. White skin glowing next to the cloudy beige of the sidewalk. Nose big and long, and flaring, as always, and reddened from the cold. Her cheekbone protruded. On her face she wore a half stupid, half angry expression, bulky eyebrows furled and contrasted against she forehead, which was also wrinkled in a same manner.

And her hair, her hair looked absolutely awful. She was surprised that this man wasn’t asking if she’d gotten attacked by a murder of crows, wishing to raise their young in its recesses. The black-brown dye was faded slightly; roots of lighter brown were visible at the top. Every part of exposed skin was a ghostly white blotched by a flaring pink.

Her eyes were vacant. The makeup underneath was smeared and turning grainy, no doubt it was because she hadn’t replaced it with fresh product for a day or two. Her body was made bulky and boxy by her clothes that were much too large for her skeletal frame. For lack of better words, she could only think that she looked like the cadaver of a cheap hooker.

Grimacing and gnashing her teeth slightly, she turned from the camera, biting her lip and blinking slowly. Reaching up an arm to wipe her eyes clean of any makeup induced clumps, she stared at the ground.

“It’s…nice.”

Her voice sounded a bit strangled. She cleared her throat and spoke again, once again, oddly not wanting to offend the complete stranger.

“What do you think of it? After all, it is your work…” she trailed off, not sure what to say.

Keeping no mirrors in her dorm, and avoiding them altogether, because of this exact fretfulness, clearly had its ironic drawbacks. At times such as these, the urge to take refuge in solitude was overwhelming.

[NICHOLAS AVERY]

“Well, it’s—” Nicholas paused, halfway through some manner of wide-eyed reply, and snapped his mouth shut. His hands and shoulders drooped slightly, and his brow furrowed. He bit his upper lip. Shook his head. “Well no, no it’s not. I don’t think anyone in my family has ever been named my name, in fact…Does that make me—what is it, the oddest saying?—‘The odd one out?’ Yes. Is that what it makes me? I suppose it does, doesn’t it?” he trailed off, somewhat depressed at the idea of sharing a name with no one. It was a very lonely business, naming, though. He supposed it wouldn’t be right to blame anyone for it. And besides, it wasn’t as though he could have simply been named “George” after his father’s favorite brother, because then family gatherings would only be even more confusing than they already were.

The worried confusion at being alone with a name like Nicholas vanished immediately, however, as the girl-named-Cady-who-might-have-shared-her-grandmother’s-name-but-no-one-knew-for-sure stepped closer. Again he bit his lip, although this time in anticipation. He even held his breath.

Oh, wonderful! “See, I knew very much you would enjoy it!” he nodded his head excitedly, not even noticing the dyslexic manner of speaking enough to correct it. A bright smile spread across his face, revealing his slightly crooked teeth in a manner that wasn’t so much shark-like as squirrel-esque.

He cocked his head as she turned away, blinking his wide eyes as he craned his torso just a bit closer to her, not quite certain what it was he could have done to frighten or upset her. “Are you alright?”The question was soft, timid as the year’s first snow.

There was no chance to hear an answer, however, as she soon asked her own and he found himself practically bursting to reply. Standing up straighter once more, he pulled the camera screen close to his face to examine the photo for about half a minute before lowering it and looking back at her. “Well, I don’t mean to be modest—Immodest. I don’t mean to be immodest—” he corrected himself quickly with a closed-eyed shake of the head. “But I think it’s absolutely wonderful. Wonderfully absolute. You see, here, your eyes look quite bright, because you seem like you’re angry at me about something—and I’m truly sorry about that, I didn’t mean to make you feel anger—but you’re also very surprised. As you should be! You landed flat on the ground!” A small squeakish snort of laughter escaped him. “And then you have such a face—a lovely one, really, and I don’t mean that rudely. It looks so wonderfully rich, with your cheeks how they are and red as they were—and are, I suppose you must be cold—and your hair…” he paused, looking up at her shyly, shuffling his feet nervously before continuing.

“Your hair is so lovely, I only wish it could be on all the birds’ feathers in the world, because then I would pick them up and hang them in my room instead of all my photographs, and I’d never need to spend another day waiting for something beautiful to come along, because it would always be flying right over my head and leaving soft, feathery gifts in its wake,” he blushed slightly, tugging on his earring as he caught his breath once more, glancing down at the ground. Yes, she was a very pretty looking girl indeed. He could only hope she would like him enough to let him take some pictures of her more.