mastermind [h.s.]

chapter 7

Quite a long chapter, enjoy!

***

Harry rotates the camera lens with careful precision. He has one eye shut while the other is determining the perfect shot. He clicks, the shutter snaps, and he pulls the camera away from his face. I lean over his shoulder to check out the photo.

"Nice, very nice," I encourage. He nods, but brings the camera back to his face, intent on getting a better shot. If there's one thing I learned about Harry in these past two months, it's that he has very high standards for himself. It shows how humble and completely non-arrogant he is, which I think is great, of course. But ever since he's asked me to teach him photography basics, his stubbornness proved to be a pain in the ass.

He takes the same shot about twenty times, still not satisfied.

"Maybe you lost the moment?" I suggest. He doesn't reply.

I let him do this own thing while I bring my own, much older, camera to my eyes. Just a few days after the whole fiasco where I got mad at Julia, Harry told me he bought a camera and didn't know how to use it and if I could teach him. I'd been pretty distant with him for those few days and I think he sensed that and that's why he came to me. Nonetheless, I agreed because he's my friend and I like hanging out with him.

I move back to stand next to Harry. My arm brushes against his, but that's inevitable because we're both wearing thick jackets. I watch him flip through the pictures he's taken so far. Most of them are really good, but his aperture was either too small, or his ISO too high. The way he frames his images is really nice though.

Now that he's aware I'm watching, I see him gulp and flip through quicker. I don't why, but in his eyes I'm Da Vinci and he only wants me to see to his most impressive work. Little does he know, no artist considers their work to be highly impressive, but that doesn't mean it isn't. Harry is just going to be too hard on himself and I wish there was a way I could convince him that not every creation will come out a masterpiece.

He flips through at lightening speed, but one image catches my eye and I force him to go back. He tenses, and hesitantly goes back.

"This one?" he squeaks at a picture of an evergreen tree.

"No, not that one. Keep going," I demand.

"This?" he stops at another angle of the tree.

"Harry! You know which one I mean."

Reluctantly, he goes back to the one I'm talking about it. It's a picture of me from the side. With my camera in my hand, I'm looking up but my heard is slightly turned towards the camera. My eyes look wider and there's light snowfall, meaning this picture was taken about an hour ago because the snow stopped. I remember this moment, I was looking up towards the trees and wondering if I can get a shot in where the sunlight peaks through the foliage. I didn't even notice he took a picture.

"This is really good," I marvel. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm in it."

He laughs nervously.

"Ignoring the fact that I'm the subject, it actually is really good," I continue. Harry seems unconvinced. "The placement of the subject—me—is perfect. Not right in the middle, not too much to the side." He stays silent for a moment, so I urge us to go inside somewhere. "Let's walk towards Starbucks, I'm cold. And God knows your hands are probably frozen."

"I thought things looked better in the middle?" he says, as we start walking.

"Not always," I answer. "I still have to tell you about the Rule of ThirdS, and the Golden Ratio. You've been using those rules without even knowing you were; I can see from a lot of your photos. You're a better photographer than you think, Harry," I smile. His eyes meet mine before he looks away and ducks his chin down, a slow smile spreading across his face.