Never Enough (9 page)

“Tuesday,” Marcus said, in an uncomfortable whisper. He took a step back down the stairs.

Great. The one day my sister had free from her many activities. But I didn’t want Marcus rushing off. “No biggie,” I told him. “We’ll just ask Claire if we can use the computer for a few minutes.”

I took the rest of the stairs two at a time.

“Can we get on there for a bit?” I asked.

Claire grabbed a paper bag from beside her and crumpled it up, then turned back to the computer and chewed something before she cleared her throat. “I’m busy. Can’t you use it later?”

“Oh, come on, Claire. You’re just on G-chat. We both know you’ll be on there for hours.”

“And you won’t?” She tilted her head until her hair fell like a barrier between us. Like she was trying to get her hair to have the last word in this conversation.

“We just need it for a bit of . . . homework.” I put my books down, accidentally knocking her brown crumpled bag to the floor.

“Fine.” She hit the X at the top of the screen, grabbed her trash so quickly I was sure the bag must be on fire, and marched out of the room, not even looking at Marcus as she went.

I wondered what she needed to hide in the bag. Did she think I would take it from her? Marcus pulled up a chair beside me, seemingly much more relaxed, which brought me back to the moment.

I stared at the screen, not knowing where to start, but I knew I had to put up a confident front. I Googled “darkroom,” which garnered more than a million entries, everything from electrical advice to children’s slumber parties. Marcus reached past me and added the word “photography.” I felt the heat of his arm hovering in front of me until he pulled back. Our search results were slightly more manageable at twenty thousand.

Marcus pointed to one called “Darkroom Basics.”

I clicked on it and a splash screen for Kettleton College in Chicago appeared. The screen morphed into one of black text, an article with the heading “Introduction to the Darkroom.” Underneath that, a few lines advertised the college’s photography program. I skimmed over the ad and went straight for the information I needed. Scrolling down, I read about chemical mixing, light, temperature, and resin-coated and fiber-based papers. More than anything, I was starting to grasp how much there was to learn.

Since Marcus seemed like the computer whiz out of the two of us, we switched spots. He printed off some pages, and I leafed through them, circling things I thought were important while he continued searching. I figured if I could make the amount we had to learn appear smaller somehow, that could only be good.

The next thing I knew, Claire tapped her foot in the doorway.
“I thought you weren’t going to be long, Loey. It’s been more than an hour. I need to get back on there, and you know you’re not supposed to have boys upstairs.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Did she really just say that?

“Oh, like
you’ve
never had boys upstairs,” I snapped back. Her face went beet-red, and I wondered exactly how many of Mom and Dad’s “boys rules” she had broken. The idea made me more angry than giddy or jealous. “Don’t worry.
We’ll
go downstairs and work, since
we
have nothing to hide.”

I knew it was a bitchy thing to say, but she’d really embarrassed me. She glared, but didn’t say anything back, and she was in my warm chair with her G-chat screen open before Marcus and I reached the door.

*   *   *

A couple of students sat at a side table working on art projects when we arrived after school the following day. Thankfully Mr. Dewdney remembered why I was there.

He opened the door at the back of his classroom for us. “Now I expect you both to keep this room clean.”

I scanned the messy storage area. “Um, of course.”

“Obviously you know what to use for light and temperature. The controls are here.” He motioned to some dials on the wall.

I nodded, trying to don my most confident face.

I thanked him and let Marcus into the small room first,
surprised when Mr. Dewdney didn’t made a big deal about me being alone with Marcus the way Mr. Benson had.

The door had rubber trim around the edges, so I had to give it a good pull to get it to shut behind me. There were only a couple of feet for either of us to move between a small sink near the door and two counters, one in front of us and one behind. Colorful construction paper, old, rusted tubes of paint, felts, brushes, and broken pencil crayons covered the surfaces. The room felt claustrophobic—but in a good way, because Marcus was here. I could smell him in the small space. Different from Josh. Still boy, but more outdoorsy, like fresh-cut grass.

Marcus and I spent the next half an hour cleaning and then checking all the solutions. The small space made it difficult to move without bumping each other and touching hips.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, and gave the basin a quick rinse. Then I flicked off the fluorescents and turned on the red light.

“Cool,” Marcus said.

It took our eyes a few seconds to adjust, and in the dimness, Marcus suddenly felt even closer. I kept my eyes on the supplies in front of me as I jostled my film out of its case.

Marcus poured the package of developer powder into a brown gallon jug as though he’d done this a million times. I squinted at him, wondering how much he’d studied the darkroom
notes. Even though I’d read the directions more than twenty times last night and again during classes today, I still felt so unsure. I ran the water in the sink, trying to gauge with my fingers what seventy-two degrees might feel like, but with my body playing weird temperature games in here being so close to Marcus, it was hard to tell. I’d need to bring a thermometer next time for sure.

My arm brushed across Marcus’s, but he didn’t shift back the way most people would. My little arm hairs stood up, like they were just waiting for me to do it again. I swallowed, wanting to, but knowing that with my grace, it might come across more like I was pushing him out of the way.

I needed to concentrate on the task. After adding the lukewarm water to the jug, I screwed the lid back on and shook.

“Two to three minutes of shaking,” the directions had said, but my arms gave out after thirty seconds.

“Here.” Marcus took the brown jug, reading my mind.

I watched the clock and thought about that picture of Claire and Josh kissing. If Marcus saw it, would he think I was some kind of weirdo stalker?

And more important,
was
I some kind of weirdo stalker?

When the shaking time was done, I memorized where each of the items I needed was, then switched off the safe light and fumbled to find my roll of film. Trying to wind the
film onto the reel, I got quickly flustered. “I can’t get this stupid thing!”

Marcus’s arm brushed me again as he slid his hands over mine, holding the edges of the film and helping me guide it onto the reel. His hands seemed so warm and calm compared to my clammy, spastic ones. The film didn’t go on at first, and I almost made a crack about keeping our day jobs but my mouth was too dry to talk, with him leaned right up against me like that. After a few tries, the film fell into place like a key in a perfectly fitted lock. Marcus’s breath echoed in the darkness beside me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of it.

“Thanks,” I whispered, liking the way my hushed voice made it feel even more intimate.

He pulled his hand away and cleared his throat. “What’s next?”

How embarrassing.
I was glad for the first time that the lights were off. I put the reel into the canister, and once the lid was closed, I took a big breath and then turned on the safe light. At least the red light wouldn’t give away the flare in my cheeks.

“Now we wait,” I said. Marcus had the strangest smile. “What?”

He shook his head and stared at the canister. I couldn’t help but let my mind try to figure him out. Maybe he
was
as excited as I was about waiting in the dark together.

I inched my fingers along the counter toward him, but then lost my nerve and picked up the canister. Every twenty seconds, I rotated the can, glad to have something to do.

“So, you and Claire . . .” Marcus’s deep voice surprised me, sounding louder than normal in the small space. “You love each other? You hate each other? What?”

I let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Pretty much. We’re sisters,” I said, as if that should explain everything. But by the silence that followed, I wondered if it did. “It can be hard sometimes.”

“I always wanted an older brother,” he said. I wondered if that meant he had a younger brother. Or maybe he was an only child. Before I could ask, he leaned past me, so his chest practically touched my arm, and angled the timer so he could see it. He pulled away slowly, then focused on his pile of papers with the directions. The guy was hard to read. One second I felt like he was trying to get closer, the next like I was invading his space. I thought girls were supposed to be the complicated ones, though I admit, hanging out with Marcus was a lot more fun than hanging out with Shayleen had ever been. Marcus and I talked about more than just crushes and fashion. We weren’t afraid to try new things like this together.

When the time was up, I popped open the drainage spout and dumped it down the sink with some running water.

Did we do it right?
I looked at Marcus, but his eyes stayed on the instructions. I poured in my tray of stop bath solution.

Few things can kill a romantic moment—or what
might
have been a romantic moment—like a bad smell. This one smelled like vinegar.

After emptying that solution thirty seconds later, I ran plenty of cold water to try to get rid of the fumes. Then I poured in the final solution and shook gently, trying not to create bubbles.

“Who knows if it’ll work or if it’ll turn out like little black blobs of nothingness?” I babbled, not knowing if I was nervous about seeing the pictures or about being alone with Marcus, or both. “First time for everything, right?”

Marcus didn’t respond, and his silence made me feel the need to talk some more.

“I think it’ll work, but even if it doesn’t, we can try again. It’s not the end of the world. It’s not like this cost us anything, and my mom brought home another multipack of film for me the other day so I can try again.” Even though my confidence was waning by the second, I was still glad to have this new hobby, and I wanted so badly for it to be something I was good at—maybe even good at the first time.

Finally the timer dinged. I drained the solution and took the negatives out, running them under some lukewarm water.

They felt slimy in my hands. In the dim light, I could
see that there were actual shapes on each little square. They may not have been perfect, but I’d actually done it properly.
We’d
done it properly. A grin spread across my face. Marcus grinned back at me.

After hanging the negatives on a string, I put the solutions away while Marcus rinsed the containers. “I think that’s it for today,” I said. “They’ll take a few hours to dry.”

Marcus followed me out of the small room, and it wasn’t until we were back in the light of day that he looked at me and uttered his first word in what seemed like forever.

“Coffee?”

The next day in the darkroom was full of experimentation. I took out the
enlarger—an overhead projector on steroids—and attempted to make prints. Marcus had all sorts of suggestions for adjusting temperatures and distances, but didn’t talk about anything else. Today he stood farther away, and it looked uncomfortable being squished up against the far wall like that. We weren’t going to be “accidentally” brushing against each other today.

I clipped prints to our drying line, trying not to take his distance personally, and had completely forgotten about the picture of Claire and Josh kissing until Marcus handed it to me.

I sucked in a breath, then opened my mouth to say something, but just blubbered out an “Uh” followed by a few more unintelligible syllables. Marcus met my eyes. I felt like he could
see right through me, not only about why I’d taken the picture but also my feelings for Josh. A rush of shame washed over me.

“It’s almost five o’clock,” sounded suddenly through the door, making me jump in place. It was Mr. Dewdney. I looked both ways, then down at the print I was still holding.

“We’d better clean up,” Marcus said. He must’ve realized exactly what kind of a person I am and was rethinking the whole friendship, I just knew it.

After an uncomfortably quiet good-bye, I jogged all the way home to work off my anxious energy. When I reached our street, I came to a dead stop, surprised to see Josh’s Civic in the driveway again. I caught my breath, then walked through the front door and slammed it. Sure enough, murmuring and footsteps emanated from the upstairs hallway.

I was halfway up the stairs when Claire’s door opened and Josh whisked by me with his eyebrows pulled together and an angry look on his face. He must’ve been in a hurry, because he was several steps past me when he muttered an “Oh, hey, Loann” back in my direction. I’d barely turned when our front door opened and shut behind him.