Camden walked to the front of the class and looked at everyone.
“Good afternoon,” he said rather formally. “My name is Camden McQueen.”
A few people snickered, probably because of his unfortunate “Camden the Queen” nickname.
He continued as if he hadn’t heard them. “The assignment we were given proved to be a bit of a challenge for me. The minute I heard the word—justification—I immediately had a subject in mind. But capturing this subject in the state of the word? That was going to be tricky.”
Even though most people despised Camden, they were all leaning forward and listening attentively. Even the girl was pleasantly curious to see what he had in mind. That was until his eyes drifted to hers. And stayed there.
“I was fortunate, however,” he said deliberately, his eyes never leaving her face, “that an opportunity presented itself to me one afternoon. I had a spare block and was wandering the grounds with my camera.”
An immense feeling of dread washed over the girl like soot.
“And while I was wandering about, I noticed the girl’s gym class was in session. A soccer game.”
Her heart froze.
“Or, it should have been a soccer game. There seemed to be one little problem and a yelling match between the teacher and a student took place.”
Oh shit, the girl thought and her eyes started darting around the room to see if anyone had picked up on it. No one had—not yet. Camden had an audience.
“This girl,” he said slowly, finally breaking his gaze and looking around the room, “the student, was the subject of this project. And as she took to the sidelines and watched the soccer game take place, I started snapping her picture.”
The girl started to shrink in her seat, wondering if she could get under the desk without anyone noticing. Maybe, if she willed it enough, she could just disappear.
Camden walked up to the board and started pinning black and white 8x10s up on it. The girl was too afraid to look.
“Behold,” Camden announced like Marilyn Manson’s magician, “justification in the form of Ellie Watt.”
And there it was, in front of the entire class, black and white photos of the girl. They weren’t bad pictures, per se. In fact, Camden had possessed quite a talent for photography. Despite the paparazzi, telephoto elements to the shots, they were well developed and exposed. The girl looked beautiful with her blonde hair cascading down her back, her full lips and sensual eyes. But in that exotic face held more than just beauty. It held anger and it held pain. It held justification.
The teacher cleared his throat, unsure of how to deal with this, while the classroom erupted into excited whispers. Everyone was looking at the girl for her reaction. Everyone.
The girl could only sit there like a deer in the headlights, the red flames on her face the only sign that she was embarrassed beyond words.
Finally the teacher said, “Camden, I don’t think taking pictures of your classmates is appropriate.”
Camden shrugged. He obviously didn’t care if it was appropriate or not, if he failed or not. He was out to prove a point and he was good at proving them. “You never said it wasn’t. Besides, no one in this whole school has the right to act the way that Ellie Watt does. Except for Ellie Watt.”
More eyes on her. She wished her school was built over Hellmouth and it would swallow her in one gulp.
Camden continued. “When I see these pictures, when I see this face, this expression, I see someone plotting out their future. I see the bad things this girl will do. And I understand why. That is what I call justification. Thank you.”
Before he could take his seat, before anyone could even think about clapping, the justification took hold of its subject. The girl got up, the stool clanging to the floor behind her. She leaned forward, her eyes, her fury, on the kohl-rimmed boy.
“You stalker!” she yelled, her voice surprising her, him, and everyone else in the room. It wasn’t just that he took photos of her without her knowing, it wasn’t just that he was trying to get graded on them, it was what was happening in those photos. It was what they represented; her leg was hidden in those photos but the scars were all over her face.
“You sick fucking freak!” She screamed the last words, rendering the whole room into silence. “All you do is follow me, pester me, bug me, and now take photos like a fucking creeper! You need a life, a hobby, and a girlfriend. And for the last time, no it will not be me!”
And with that she slammed her sketchbook down on the table, scooped up her backpack from the floor, and left the room. She didn’t care if she was leaving in the middle of class, she had a feeling her teacher would understand. She just wanted to get away from him and that situation as quickly as she could.