"Holy shit, Morgan. You weren't kidding."

Adam's voice rings out across the rooftop; he spins around to face where I'm standing, several yards away, arms spread like he's taking it all in. Beside him, Fazia jerks to try keep the umbrella over his head—and more importantly, the expensive Canon camera slung around his neck. She's not overjoyed by this arrangement. Admittedly, Elliot and I have drawn the long straws, and we're taking refuge under the sheltered section of the parking lot while she braves the elements alone. For her sake, I hope Adam gets his shot quickly.

"It's nice, huh?" I call back.

"It's perfect," he says. "How'd you find it?"

I pause. Give a nonchalant shrug. "Tip-off from a friend."

"Well, I owe them one for sure. This is going to make for a great shot." Not wanting to waste any more time, he turns and wheels his chair further out into the rain, toward the concrete-block edge and magnificent view. Fazia hurries after him.

Elliot and I watch silently as he fiddles with the camera, peering through the viewfinder and adjusting the settings accordingly. Having never operated anything more complex than a smartphone, I wouldn't have a clue what he was doing if I was standing next to him, let alone set back this far. But it's nice to watch all the same. There's something calming about the methodical way he takes a test shot, peers at the result, then makes a slight tweak to go again. And once he's perfected the setup, it's a waiting game.

"How come you're not out there?" I ask Elliot.

"Ah." He scratches the back of his head. "I'm no landscape photographer. It's not really my thing."

"No? What is?"

He glances over at me, gaze flickering up and down my face. Almost as if trying to gauge my level of interest. "People," he says. "I'm into more of a candid style, but I dabble in portraits too. It's, uh... mostly for this specific project I've been working on."

"Is it a secret project?"

He looks confused. "No. Why?"

A smile plays at the corner of my lips. "So you can tell me about it?"

There's a slight shake to his laugh, and I think maybe he's a little nervous. It's kind of a weird feeling to be on the other end of it. "If you want to hear about it. I don't want to bore you with all the details."

I nod toward Adam, who's still adjusting the position of his camera. "I've got time."

"It's, uh... kind of like a Humans of New York style. All about people watching—capturing incredible stories in a totally mundane environment. But the thing about people is that they instantly put their guard up when the camera comes out. Even if they're completely confident in front of it. You look at them through the lens, and there's this mask they don't even realize they're wearing. It just doesn't have the same magic."

"So you... creep on people without them knowing?"

Thankfully, he catches the joke in my voice and nudges me in the side. "It's not like that," he says, laughing.

"It's not?"

"No," he says pointedly. "I'll admit, yeah, I take the candid shots without the person knowing. But I always approach them after and tell them what I've been doing. And if they don't want to be part of it, or if they don't like the pictures, I delete everything right away. But that rarely happens. They start off telling me they look terrible on camera, how they already know they're going to hate them... so I show them the shots. And then they're not talking anymore."

"Really?"

He nods. "Solid nine times out of ten. That's when I ask them about what they were thinking about in that moment. To get the story for the caption. Doesn't matter how deeply profound or completely shallow. Then I take the portrait, and I've got everything I need."

"It sounds amazing," I tell him. "What do you do with the pictures?"

"I had an Instagram account for the collection at my high school," he says. "But that's complete now, obviously. I'm starting to think about doing the same for a Davidson edition, but... it's not there yet."

"I'd love to see it when you do."

He gives me a sideways glance. "Really? You're not just saying that?"

"No, I mean it. You'll have to tell me the name of the account so I can follow it."

When he smiles, it brightens up his whole face. It also occurs to me that this is when his resemblance to Josh fades the most. Not that Josh didn't smile—because he did, a lot of the time—but Elliot just looks a lot more like himself.

"You just need to wait for the right theme, then," I tell him. "On the group."

"Yeah, I know." He looks back out across the rooftop, eyes settling on Adam and Fazia. "Although if he gets the shot he wants tonight, he'll probably have yet another win to rub in my face. God, it'll be insufferable."

"You love him really," I say, with a laugh. Elliot joins in, reluctantly conceding, and once the quiet falls over us again I find myself adopting a more serious tone. "They seem like really good people, though. You're lucky to have found such great friends this early on."

"I know," he says, nodding. Then pauses. "I thought it was going to be a lot harder than this, actually."

"What do you mean?"

"The whole... starting college thing," he says, gesturing vaguely. "After Josh, and everything. It wasn't like I had any choice where. Davidson was the only place I applied, but even if it hadn't been, I couldn't have afforded anywhere else anyway. The scholarship they were offering wasn't the kind of thing I could turn down. It wasn't even supposed to be a big deal, coming here. But that changed. Obviously."

I exhale deeply. "Yeah. No kidding."

"Faz and Adam have been great, though. Like, I genuinely don't know how I would've coped without them. Thank God I joined the group over the summer."

"I'm a little jealous that I don't have a hobby like you guys do."

"You don't? I thought you were into—" He stops himself at the last minute, but momentum means the tail end of his sentence has to go somewhere. "Well, I thought you were part of the same group that Josh started. But maybe you're not anymore. That'd be understandable, obviously."

I think of the evenings and weekends I used to spend out on collections, unpacking and repacking boxes of donated books, flyering on campus, doing school visits, socializing with the other volunteers. I think of how those same evenings and weekends now stretch hauntingly before me, huge expanses of unfilled time.

At first, I wondered whether the group even still existed. In the absence of its founder, and tainted by scandal that Hanna's article brought to light, I thought maybe it would fizzle out. But I was walking through the student center one day when somebody thrust a flyer into my hand. I took it to be polite, avoiding eye contact so I wouldn't be pulled into conversation with an overzealous rep, but when I glanced down a second later I felt a jolt through my chest.

Leaders in Literacy.

I looked back, but of the three people in green polos, I didn't recognize any of them. They must've been last year's late joiners, or perhaps this year's freshmen. I wasn't sure whether a familiar face would've been better—but at least this way I didn't have to answer any difficult questions.

"No," I say, returning to the present with a shake of my head. "Not anymore. I know I should probably find something else, something similar... but I haven't yet."

"Photography?" Elliot tries.

I give him a flat look. "You've got to be kidding. I can't even manage to take a decent selfie more than once a year. I can't even remember the last time I changed my Facebook profile picture."

"Point taken." He grins. Then adds, "I could take one for you, you know."

"A profile picture?"

"Yeah. Like I said, my thing is people."

I'm not sure whether he's being serious. The smile isn't a giveaway, because he makes it look sincere every time. But the thought of being on the other side of his camera lens makes me want to wriggle away. So I laugh it off. "It's okay. I've still got a couple of years left in my current photo."

If he's about to say anything else, he doesn't get there. Because at that moment the night explodes in a burst of bright white light, flickering several times before plunging us into darkness once more. It makes both of us jump. The crackle of thunder that follows is deafening, sounding like the sky is about to cave in—but it's almost nothing compared to Adam's voice when it rings out a few seconds later.

"Holy shit!" he cries. "I got it!"

He's huddled under the umbrella, hand shielding his camera's screen while he peers closely at the image. Fazia ducks her head for a look, too. They must both be happy, because a beat later they're tearing back across the concrete, headed toward the pair of us as well as some much-needed shelter.

Fazia's definitely come off worse; she's drenched from head to toe, stray raindrops sliding down her face, her sweatshirt now a completely different color of gray. She shivers, then wraps both arms around herself.

I'm suddenly guilty that I got off so easy. "You must be freezing," I say, pulling off my hoodie. "Take this."

She waves me off. "I'm fine. I'll only get it wet, anyway."

"No, seriously." I hold it out. "Take it."

There's a second's pause; she eyes both the hoodie and me up as if assessing how much trouble it'll be to refuse. I must seem serious, because she reaches out and takes it from me. "Thanks, Morgan."

"You're welcome."

Once it's over her head, she glances at Adam. "You better win the contest with that picture, or you owe me big time."

"What did you get?" Elliot asks.

"Only the most perfectly timed shot of my fucking life," Adam says, grinning from ear to ear. "You saw that insane lightning, didn't you? Well, take a look at this."

He holds the camera up for me and Elliot to see.

The screen is small, and I don't know the first thing about photography, but neither of those things matter because the photo is breathtaking. Adam has managed to position the camera for a panoramic view of the central features of campus: the pillared buildings, sprawling lawn, the towering clock illuminated in blue and gold. But it's the backdrop that takes center stage.

A single bolt of lightning slices through the inky purple sky. It strikes somewhere behind the clock tower, splintering into smaller branches of electricity along the way. It's both beautiful and terrifying. And I can barely tear my eyes away.

"Holy shit." Elliot sums up exactly what I'm thinking.

"Right?" Adam says. "It's in the bag. Everyone else in the group can go home."

"Don't get too cocky. Someone could still top you," Fazia says, but it's followed by a pause. "Though I have to admit it's pretty insane."

"And it's all thanks to Morgan," Adam says. At that moment, three sets of eyes turn to me; I feel my face flush under the sudden attention. "Without you, I never would have known about this place. And I definitely would never have found it myself. So, thanks."

I smile, slightly self-consciously. "That's okay."

"I owe you one." He gives Elliot and Fazia a sideways glance. "What do you think about hitting Sunny Side Up? Because Morgan's pancakes are definitely on me."

"Pancakes?" I echo.

"We found this twenty-four-hour diner," Elliot explains. "It's turned into a bit of a habit—"

"Which, by the way, is wreaking havoc on my waistline," Fazia adds.

"—but the place is cool and their pancakes are really good. I know it seems like a bit of a weird time to eat them, but trust us."

"They taste better in the middle of the night," Adam tells me. "And they'll taste out of this world when you know you're not picking up the check. So, what do you say? You hungry?"

I shouldn't be. Although I'm not sure of the exact time, it's got to be past midnight. On any other night I would be in bed, if not fast asleep. I'm not even usually hungry first thing in the morning—I can easily get through the first couple of hours of my day before I find myself reaching for anything more than coffee. But right now, weirdly, pancakes sound very appealing.

And so does a continuing late-night adventure with these guys.

It's strange how things can change.

"Sure," I say. "I'm in."

-----------------

I LOVE THESE FOUR SO MUCH. I enjoy writing them, but it's not until I read back the chapter before posting that I get to see the scene with fresh eyes, feel the whole thing flow and the characters bounce off each other and I'm like YES. THIS WORKS.

Question of the chapter: who's your favourite? Fazia, Adam or Elliot?

I'm intrigued to know!

- Leigh