44 - Say Cheese and Die—Again (4 page)

“I need to borrow the camera,” I told Jon. “Just for one day.”

“It’s such a cool camera,” he replied. “I don’t know. Maybe I should take it
home.”

“I’ll bring it back tomorrow afternoon,” I promised. “I just have to take it
to school.”

He twisted his mouth, thinking hard. “I’d better ask my dad.” He pointed to a
wall of lumber under the trees. “He’s back there with the architect, talking
about the new house.”

“No. Wait!” I cried.

But Jon took off, running up the hill through the swaying weeds.

I started after him—but stopped when I heard a shrill bleat. And then Jon’s
horrifying roar of pain soared out over the lawn.

My breath caught in my chest. I stumbled forward through the weeds.

And saw Jon holding his sneaker, his face twisted in pain.

Even in the dim moonlight, I could see the huge nail pushing up through his
foot.

“Jon!” I shouted. “I’ll get your dad!”

I didn’t need to find him. Two men—one tall and thin, the other chubby and
short—rushed out from behind the lumber pile. I guessed they were the
architect and Jon’s dad.

“Jon? What’s wrong?” the chubby one—Jon’s dad—called.

Jon tossed back his head in another scream of pain.

“He’s got a nail in his foot!” I shouted, running up to them, pointing
frantically.

Both men ran past me. “Oh, good heavens!” Jon’s dad moaned.

They grabbed Jon under the arms. The tall man held Jon’s injured foot above the ground. “Into my car,” he urged. “I have a
towel. We can wrap the foot. He’s losing a lot of blood.”

“Should we pull out the nail?” Jon’s dad asked in a quivering voice.

“No. Too dangerous,” the other man replied.

“Don’t pull it out! Don’t!” Jon pleaded. “It’ll hurt too much!”

“We can’t even take off the sneaker!” Jon’s dad cried.

“The hospital is that way,” the architect said, pointing. “Only a few minutes
away.”

“Owwww. It hurts! It hurrrrts!” Jon wailed.

The two men lifted him off the ground. And half-walking, half-running, they
carried him down to a car parked across from the Dumpster.

I watched from the weeds as they gently lowered Jon into the backseat. I saw
them struggle with a long white towel. Finally, they had it tightly wrapped
around the foot and sneaker.

They closed Jon’s car door. Then they quickly slid into the front. A few
seconds later, the car roared off into the darkness.

I stood in the middle of the yard, feeling the swaying weeds brush against my
jeans legs. I swallowed hard. My mouth suddenly felt as dry as cotton.

“Poor Jon,” I murmured out loud.

The camera was as evil as ever. Tonight it had found another victim.

It’s all my fault, I thought sadly. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to
press the shutter. But I pressed it.

The two men hadn’t even looked at me. They were so upset about Jon, I don’t
think they saw me.

I glanced down and realized that I still gripped the camera in my hands. I
had a strong urge to heave it to the ground. To stomp on it again and again
until I smashed it forever.

My eye caught something fluttering in the tall grass. I bent and picked it
up. The snapshot.

I squinted once again at Jon, holding his foot, shrieking in pain.

I tucked the snapshot into the pocket of my flannel shirt. I’ll bring it in
to Mr. Saur, I decided. I’ll bring in the camera and the photo of Jon. I’ll tell
him exactly what happened to Jon tonight.

I won’t have to snap a picture in school.

I have this picture as proof.

So it won’t be dangerous. It won’t be dangerous at all.

The next morning, I gulped down my breakfast. Then I pulled on my backpack,
strapped the camera around my neck, and hurried out the door.

I left the house fifteen minutes early. I didn’t want to run into Shari, or
Michael, or Bird.

I stepped out into a warm day. The air smelled fresh and sweet. I saw a row
of tulips poking up through the ground along the side of the house. First
flowers of spring.

I loped down the driveway and turned at the sidewalk. The camera felt heavy
against my chest. I reached up to adjust the strap—and heard a voice calling
me.

“Greg! Hey, Greg—wait up!”

Shari.

I spun the camera behind me and tried to hide it under my arm.

Too late. She had already spotted it.

“I don’t believe you!” Shari cried, running up beside me. “You’re unreal! You
pulled that thing from the Coffman house?” She stared at the camera, shaking her head.

“Well… not exactly,” I replied. “How come you’re so early, Shari?”

“I was watching out the window for you,” she confessed. “I wanted to see if
you were crazy enough to get that camera.”

I frowned at her. “You were
spying
on me? Why?”

“Because I’m not letting you take that evil thing to school.” She stepped in
front of me, blocking my way.

I snickered. “Who made
you
queen of the world?” I sneered. “It’s a
free country, you know.”

She crossed her arms over the front of her plaid vest. “I’m serious, Greg.
You can’t take it. I won’t let you.”

I faked to the left and tried to edge past her on the right.

But she stayed in front of me. I bumped into her—then backed up a step.

“I’m serious,” she repeated. “Take the camera home.”

“Shari, you’re being a real jerk,” I muttered. “You can’t tell me what to
do.”

Her expression changed. She uncrossed her arms and tugged her black hair back
over her shoulders. “Don’t you remember how dangerous that camera is? Don’t you
remember all the horrible things it did to us?”

I gripped the camera in both hands. It suddenly felt very heavy. The metal
felt cold against the front of my T-shirt.

“Don’t you remember, Greg?” Shari pleaded. “I disappeared because of that
camera. Disappeared into thin air! You don’t want that to happen to someone else—do you? Think how terrible you’d feel.”

I swallowed hard, remembering the night before.

The camera had already injured someone.

“I’m not going to take any pictures,” I told her. “Really. I’m just going to
show it to Mr. Saur so he’ll change my grade.”

“Why will seeing an old camera make him change your grade?” Shari demanded.

“Because I have a photo to show him, too,” I declared. I pulled the snapshot
of Jon out of my pocket and flashed it in front of her face.

“Oooh—gross!” she cried, shoving the photo away with both hands. “That is
sick!”

“I know,” I agreed, sliding the photo back in my pocket. “The poor kid. I
took this picture. Then, a minute later, it really happened to him.”

“So I’m right!” Shari declared, her eyes narrowed at the camera in my hands.
“You just proved my point—didn’t you, Greg! I’m right!”

A car rumbled past, filled with kids on their way to school. A small brown
dog stuck its head out the back window and barked at us.

I glanced at my watch. If we stayed here arguing another few minutes, Shari
and I would be late for school.

“We’ve got to go,” I told her. I started walking, taking long strides. But
she hurried to block my way.

“No, Greg. I can’t let you. I can’t.”

I rolled my eyes. “Shari, give me a break.”

“It’s too dangerous,” she insisted. “I know I’m right. I know it will get you
into big trouble.”

“Get out of my way, Shari.”

“Give me the camera.”

“No way!” I cried.

She grabbed for it with both hands. And yanked it off my shoulder.

I grabbed it back.

And the camera flashed in Shari’s face.

Shari blinked. Her hands shot away from the camera. She let out a startled
cry.

“Oh! Sorry!” I cried, backing away. “Sorry! Really! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean
to—”

The camera felt warm in my hands. I reached for the square photo that slid
from the slot.

“Give me that!” Shari demanded. She swiped the snapshot away from me. “What
have you done to me?”

“It was an accident!” I shouted. “You know I didn’t mean to snap it.”

Shari stared down at the square as it started to develop. “What have you
done? What have you done?” she repeated. Her voice trembled more each time she
said it. I saw that her hand was shaking.

“I told you not to bring out the camera,” Shari cried. “I begged you to leave
it at home.”

“Shari, I’m sorry,” I apologized again. “Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe—”

She swallowed hard. “Maybe I’ll disappear again, Greg. Maybe I’ll disappear
forever.”

“No!” I cried. “Don’t say that. Please—”

We both stared down at the photo. It developed so slowly. First, the yellow
darkened over the white square. I began to see Shari’s face.

Was she screaming? Was she howling in pain?

I couldn’t tell.

The blue tint filled in over the yellow. I could see Shari’s face outlined in
green.

“You look okay,” I told her. “I think you’re okay.”

“Wait,” she said softly. She bit her lower lip. She didn’t blink. Her eyes
squinted hard as the red and blue tints spread.

The picture darkened. Darkened to black.

I could see Shari’s face clearly now. She wasn’t smiling. She didn’t look
happy. But she wasn’t screaming, either.

Darker.

“Hey!” Shari cried. “It’s a negative.”

“Huh?” I didn’t understand.

“It’s not a photo,” Shari replied, holding the square up to me. “It’s a
negative. The photo didn’t come out. It’s all reversed.”

I stared at it. She was right. Everything was reversed.

“Maybe the camera is broken,” I said. I let out a long sigh of relief.
“You’re okay, Shari. The camera doesn’t work.”

“Maybe,” she said. She handed me the negative. I slid it into my pocket. When
I looked up, she had a strange smile on her face.

An evil smile.

“Shari—what’s your problem?” I asked.

I should have known. I should have guessed what she planned to do. I should
have moved faster.

She grabbed the camera with both hands. Spun it around. Pointed it in my
face. And flashed a picture.

“Hey!” I tried to duck away from the lens.

Too late. She caught me.

“Shari—that’s not funny!” I cried.

“It won’t hurt you,” she replied. “The camera is broken—remember?”

I pulled the square from the slot in front of the camera.

My throat suddenly felt dry. Is it broken? I wondered. Will this one be a
negative, too?

Or will it show me howling in pain with a nail through my foot—or something
even worse?

As I stared at the small square, my imagination ran wild. I pictured my body
stretched out like a rubber band. I pictured myself tugging at an arrow through
my chest. I pictured myself lying mashed under a huge steamroller.

“Shari—how could you do this to me?” I groaned, watching the colors darken.

Her dark eyes flashed. “You’re really scared,” she said. “Admit it, Greg. You’re really scared. Now maybe you get it. Maybe
you see why I didn’t want you to bring the camera to school.”

My hand trembled. I gripped the snapshot with both hands.

The colors darkened.

“It’s not a negative,” I said.

Shari stepped up behind me and stared down at the photo.

“Oh, noooo!” we both cried at the same time.

Shari started to laugh.

“I don’t
believe
this!” I wailed.

“This is
horrible
!” I shrieked.

I recognized my face. But I didn’t recognize my body.

At first, I thought my head was resting on top of a giant balloon. Then I
realized that the giant balloon was
me.

In the photo, I weighed about four hundred pounds!

No joke.
Four hundred
pounds!

I gaped at the photo, studying my round face and my even rounder body. I had
about eight chins. My cheeks were puffed way out. The collar of my T-shirt was
hidden under one of my flabby chins. The shirt was stretched tight over my chest
and only came down to my belly, which bulged nearly to the ground.

I looked like a really gross mountain of pudding!

“Stop laughing!” I snapped at Shari. “It isn’t funny!”

“It’s
very
funny,” she insisted. She grabbed the photo, raised it to her face, and started laughing all over again. “You’re
bigger than Sumo One and Sumo Two!” she exclaimed.

I grabbed the photo back. I stared at the folds of flab hanging down from my
cheeks. My face was so huge and puffy, my eyes looked like tiny pig eyes.

And my stomach! My stomach hung down over my fat knees!

“Are you still going to bring the camera to school?” Shari asked. “You won’t
change your mind?”

“I have to show it to Mr. Saur,” I told her. “I’m just going to show him the
camera. And the picture of Jon.”

“And the picture of you?” she asked, grinning.

“No way.” I shoved it into my jeans pocket. “I don’t want anyone to see it.
Ever.”

Shari glanced at her watch. “Come on,” she said. “We’d better hurry! We’re
late.”

She started to run down the sidewalk, and I followed her.

All the way to school, I kept picturing my photo. Kept picturing my flabby
face, my enormous four-hundred-pound body.

Don’t worry about it, I told myself.

The camera is broken. There’s nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about.

But guess what? I was worried.

The halls were nearly empty when Shari and I arrived at school. The first
bell had already rung.

I hid the camera under a bunch of stuff on the floor of my locker. I didn’t
have Mr. Saur’s English class until just before lunch. And I didn’t want to take
a chance of Brian or Donny or somebody else grabbing the camera and messing
around with it.