Elective

"What is the most beautiful thing in the world?" Professor Logan asked us in the one class we had. It was January, cold and dark when I got to school in the morning, and colder and darker before he started his "lecture."

A couple of overachiever hands shot up, but he ignored them. "The answer is different for everyone. Beauty in the eye, and all that."

He scrawled on the overhead projector and found the button to turn it on, then fiddled with the knob that brought his print into looming focus. The sound of notebooks opening erupted from those who still took notes the old-fashioned way, accompanied by the clacking of laptop keys. I raised my phone as if to check the time and took a picture of the words.

"I can't teach you how to take a photo. If you don't already know how a camera works, come back to another semester. Your grade is based on your photography. Your photography should show me the most beautiful thing in your world. You can drop your prints in the box outside my office. Any questions?"

I sank into my seat. Photography was supposed to be my easy A for this semester. I needed a rubric. A standard. I needed instruction, and more than a textbook could tell me.

I heard people ask Logan questions. I heard a couple of his answers. Enough to know that I didn't need to attend class, that he didn't care whether or not we bought the book I had lugged around all day so I wouldn't have to go home between classes.

I moved my legs to the side so someone could leave the aisle, and I started to pull myself back to reality when I heard, "Ms. Diggory?"

I stared at him, wondering how the professor knew my name, until he went on.

"Are you feeling unwell?"

He no longer stood at the front of the lecture hall, but was halfway up the stairs to the aisle I sat in. The auditorium was empty, except for us. When he put his hand out to help me stand up, I had to shake my head. He looked much younger up close.

"I haven't eaten much today," I told him and slowly bent to grab the backpack in the seat beside mine.

He made his way down the steps backwards, watching me. "I am wary of letting you leave until I know you will make it home safely."

*I'm fine."

"Are you quite sure?"

✴️

"Daaaammnnnnn," my friend Clara said. "That's all you remember?"

She sat on the floor with her back against the side of my bed, my spiral notebook in her lap. I'd written "Photography" on the cover, and filled the first page with the story of that class.

"Yep. Wrote it down thinking it would help me remember the rest. How I got home. Something."

"I'd have dropped it."

"By the time I tried, it was too late. So now, I have to find the best photos and turn them in."

She looked down at my notebook. "The most beautiful thing in your world?"

"Yeah. But there was something about that quote, too."

I scrolled through my phone to find that picture, Clara leaning over to see it, too. When I found it, I frowned.

"I hope you've got a better camera than your phone," Clara said.

It was blurry, as if I'd swung my arm while pressing the button on the screen. I could barely make out the image of Professor Logan standing in front of the screen, much less read the words from the projector.

"Nah," I answered her. "If he can't bother actually teaching the class, why should I spend the money on a camera for it?"

She squinted at my phone. "Does that say 'Adams'?"

"I don't know. Maybe? The only Adams I know is Art Adams, and he's a comic book artist."

"Ha!"

I Googled "photography quotes" and the name "Ansel Adams" came up in the predictive text. The first quote to come up popped the words from my memory. "You don't take a photo, you make it."

"That's it," I said, nodding. There was more to it than Logan had written. But the second quote was good, too. I kept scrolling. I felt like Logan would appreciate the one about no rules in photography. I scrolled back to the top and started writing them all down.

Clara sat back and watched me. I stopped mid-sentence when she said, "That's really personal."

"What?"

I looked up at her, and she was frowning. "The most beautiful thing in your world. And it being different for everyone. I can't even think of anything."

I sighed. It was personal. What was the most beautiful thing, anyway?

I flipped my spiral shut and tossed it to the side. I'd have to figure out what to take pictures of before I started worrying about getting it turned in.

✴️

"Come with us!" Clara pleaded. "I can't spend all week with Tomás and Julie at the lake house with nobody else to break the romance and laugh at them.

"I can't. I've gotta do this photography assignment. I've only got time during spring break."

"So, what are you gonna do? Sit around the house reading the textbook and taking pictures of yourself sitting around the house?"

I went with her, Tomás, and Julie to the lake house. Obviously, there would be more beauty in the natural surroundings that at our apartment, in town. I had my phone in my hand whenever I was awake. I took pictures of everything.

The lake itself. At all hours of the day. Sunrise on the lake. Sunset. Flowers blooming nearby, and animals I was surprised to see. Tomás's record-setting bass. Or perch. He wasn't sure, but he was proud of the fish. I even took pictures of Julie and Clara cleaning the fish and cooking our dinner.

I took pictures when Clara and I were talking. I took pictures when we were watching the two channels we could get the antenna to tune in to. I took pictures of the cow that stood on the doorstep eating some dandelions one morning. We didn't leave the house until after she left. We never found out whose cow she was.

I took pictures when Julie quietly hugged Tomás close to her. When they kissed like Clara and I weren't there. I took pictures of the gibbous moon and stars when everyone else was asleep.

And yeah, in the weeks after spring break, I edited the pictures on my PC. After all, you make a picture, right? Because if that doesn't work, only silence will do.

✴️

I didn't know why, but I didn't trust that my prints would get to Professor Logan intact. I had this image of some other student coming up and putting their name on the packet I put in the box outside his office. I dropped it in late one night, and sat in the hallway to make sure Logan got it.

It was close to 2:00 am when his office door opened. He scowled at me and asked, "What are you doing here at this hour?"

I pushed myself to my feet. "I wanted to make sure you got my prints," I said.

He chuckled. "Who else?"

I was tired. "No one. I just wanted to make sure."

"Ms. Diggory. Is that right?"

I nodded.

He pulled my envelope from the box. "I've got it. No one else."

He pulled back through the doorway and stopped only when I said, "Professor Logan?"

I didn't know anything to say to him. My brain roiled through questions, then answered itself. I really just wanted to know if I had passed the class or not.

He smiled. "If you made a photo that shows the most beautiful thing in your life, you've got it covered."

I never knew which photo made the cut, but I did. An A, but not an easy one.