A Few Candid Shots

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            The first picture he posted with me was fine. Just a group of old high school friends smiling together in the football stands. I was on the far left, three people away from Jameson. There was no tag, just my name written in the caption along with everyone else's. None of his fans cared who any of us were. They only wanted Jameson to reply to their comments.

The second picture he posted was a little more damning. We were standing together on the porch at his lake house the summer after we all met up for the football game. His strong arms were around my waist, purposefully awkward as we re-created one of our prom photos.

"My date broke up with me three hours before prom," his caption read. "But this girl put the bro in Brodie and came with me instead." Jameson had included the original picture in all of its glory—his mouth full of braces and my eyes squinting shut because of how hard I was smiling. I'd had a crush on him since he took a dodgeball to the face for me in sixth grade. So, when he called me asking if I had a date, I jumped at the chance, even if we were only going as "friends."

"You could have done so much better than her," the most biting comment about me declared. The majority of the others spoke of how stupid his original date must have been. Though I agreed—Lyra Johnston was no rocket scientist—there was no need for Jameson's fans to be so mean.

The third picture he posted changed everything. It was from the same weekend as the prom pictures. Jameson had asked our friend Tommy to get a few candid shots of the two of us standing on his dock. Jameson had suggested I give my phone to Tommy as well, "so we can both have the pictures."

But as soon as we got onto the dock, there was a mischievous glint in his eye. He reached out his arms and grabbed for my waist. I squealed and squirmed, ultimately giving in when he used his superhero movie strength-training for evil and lifted me into the air. I braced myself to hit the water, surfacing not long afterwards.

Jameson posted a shot of him raising me over his head, and even I had to admit it was beautiful. The two of us laughing, a cloudless sky and clear water behind us. All Jameson had said was that I was a good sport, and I commented saying that he sucks. That was enough for people to find my account and see my own response.

I had posted another shot that Tommy took. This one had Jameson laughing on his dock, meanwhile my eyes were poking out of the water's surface like a crocodile. "These Hollywood types think they can do whatever they want," I captioned.

I received a flood of likes, follows, and comments after this post. Some people were nice, saying how sweet it was that Jameson and I were still friends after all of these years. Some played along with my caption. But there were quite a few "fangirls" who thought it was necessary to tell me how ugly I was, or that Jameson was too good for me.

"Just ignore them," he told me after I showed him some of the worst ones. "You don't need that in your life."

"But what are they going to think after tonight?" I muttered. My hands were shaking while I put my cell phone back in my clutch.

"I'm telling you, Brodie, don't feed into them," Jameson said. He reached his arm over the leather seating and squeezed my shoulder. "You're hanging out with a friend, just like senior prom."

"Except this time, you're a famous actor and there'll be cameras everywhere," I pointed out.

"You'll be fine," Jameson assured me, rubbing circles into my shoulder. "I wouldn't have asked you to come with me if I didn't think you could handle it."

"Yeah, and none of your model girlfriends can handle it?" I joked.

Jameson's handsome face wore a self-effacing grin. He removed his hand from my arm and shifted in the car seat. "Don't you think I would have invited one of them if I really wanted to?" He looked away and I wished I hadn't said anything at all.

Our limo pulled up to the red carpet. I leaned forward and gazed out of the tinted windows. Said carpet parted the sea of press and fans. Cameras were flashing and large cardboard signs were bouncing in the air.

"Ready?" Jameson finally said.

When I nodded, he opened the door and gracefully exited the limousine. I slid across the seats and reached for the hand he was extending to me, very careful to keep my knees together as the slit on my gown was unforgiving.

Jameson held fast to me as we slowly traveled down the carpet. He never let go of my waist, even when the reporters strongly hinted at wanting to speak with him alone. He answered their questions in his naturally charming way, occasionally glancing at me to make sure I was doing okay.

"And who is this you have with you?" an older blonde woman asked. She shoved her big microphone under Jameson's nose, faking a smile in my direction.

"Oh, this is one of my oldest friends," Jameson told her. He pulled me in closer and looked into my eyes. "She used to let me cheat on her spelling tests. Would've never made it through fourth grade without her."

"That's what friends are for," I added into the microphone.

Funny how the word "friends" can still feel so bitter in one's mouth.

"How sweet," the reported crooned. "Now, Jameson, tell us about your fitness routine for this movie."

The fourth picture he posted was of the two of us at this premiere. We looked much better than we did in either of our senior prom pictures. Jameson's suit was perfectly fitted to his muscular body, and my dress wasn't a hand-me-down from an older cousin. This time, however, my eyes weren't squinting from pure excitement. Maybe it was only me, but I could see the anxiety and the heartache in my face.

"Best friends forever," he wrote. Hundreds of thousands of likes. Too many comments to read. But the ones I saw were actually quite nice. People saying how great we looked together, how they were loving that my light blue dress matched his eyes, and even one person said that Jameson always looked so happy to be near me.

I curled up in Jameson's guest bed the night of the premiere, holding my phone close to my face as I posted my own shots from the premiere. They were candids Jameson's assistant took as we left the red carpet. We were backstage at the theater where the movie was being presented. The four pictures showed us walking, Jameson stepping on my skirt, me in the process of falling onto my hands and knees, and the two of us laughing as we sat on the floor together while Jameson hugged me apologetically.

"Can't take him anywhere," I typed with my thumbs. After properly tagging and crediting, I posted the pictures and set my phone on the cushy mattress. I lay back and closed my eyes, waking up several hours later to a barrage of notifications on my phone.

"When are you two going to date?" one person asked. Another, to my horror, tagged Jameson in their response to this question. But the most embarrassing of all was a comment declaring, "turn this bromance into a romance!"

"Oh my God," I whispered to myself. I wriggled my way deeper under the covers. I was staying at his house for the rest of the week. Just as I started to wonder how I was going to face him at breakfast after all of this, I heard a gentle knock on my door.

"Hey, Brodie, you up?" Jameson muttered just loud enough for me to hear it over the pounding of my heart. "Can we talk?"