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Libby was texting on her flashy new phone while the train made its way to their destination. Sitting beside her, Joe
held his dad's old Polaroid close to his chest. He occasionally lifted the viewfinder to his eye and centered Libby in the frame. She always managed to block the shot with an open palm, just as Joe depressed the lever.
He had a box under his bed filled with these kinds of photos.
Libby stopped texting and placed the phone on her lap. She then turned it over, screen facing down.
"I don't know why you persist," she said as Joe fanned the photo, waiting for the image to become clear. "You're never going to get me," she continued. "Not how you want me anyway."
A silence took over the conversation. Joe looked at the photo. Libby was, as always, completely obscured except for a small area of her pale neck and half of a furrowed eyebrow.
Libby picked up her phone again and resumed texting, sitting so only she could see the
screen. END
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