You Look Different in Real Life

backseat.
    “We’re going to go around the corner, get something to eat. We can check again later.”
    Felix glances at Nate, then opens the car door. “Starving,” is all Felix says.
    Rory shrinks further into her corner.
    “You coming?” I ask.
    She shakes her head.
    “Rory, you have to face the city eventually. It’s a quiet neighborhood. You’re with us. It’ll be okay.”
    She shakes her head again, then leans over and picks up the magazine, which she has surely read from cover to cover by now.
    I sigh, frustrated, and close the car door extra tight as if hermetically sealing Rory from the world.
    Felix peers back at her, worried. “We’ll be back in a little while,” he calls, but she doesn’t seem to be listening, or caring, or aware there’s anyone else in the world.

SEVENTEEN
    W e start walking to the corner of First Avenue. I’ve got Nate on one side and Felix on the other. The buffer between them, apparently. I think about shooting, but it feels good to take a moment to look at things with my own eyes rather than filtered through a lens.
    We pass an elderly woman with three small dogs on leashes. She wears a straw hat tilted sideways and glances at the guys, then at me, with a sweet smile. For an instant, I see what she sees. Yes, I’m in New York City on a perfect afternoon, flanked by handsome boys. Aren’t we thequintessential picture of youth? We’ve got everything ahead of us. We’ve got everything, period.
    The feeling is so strong that, for a moment, I believe it too.
    We round the corner and stop, scanning the block. At first glance, it’s got a little bit of everything, like a movie set of a typical city street. “That looks good,” Nate says, pointing a few doors down to a café, where there are tables set up on the sidewalk. We walk there together but as we reach a table set up for four, Nate and Felix hang back. At first, I think this is chivalry, but then quickly realize it’s because they want to sit on either side of me.
    A waiter comes by and puts water on the table, hands us menus.
    “We could get the Smothered Nachos,” says Nate, scanning our choices. “But it would pretty much blow the rest of our cash.”
    “Go for it,” I say, thinking of the credit card under Olivia’s floor mat. “And add on the chicken. We’ll figure out the rest when we need to.”
    Nate nods but doesn’t look convinced. After he orders, we sit in silence. I take a long sip of water. Nate starts chewing his ice. Felix watches him. At least they’re actually looking at each other now.
    “Do you think Rory’s okay?” Felix asks after a minute.
    “Trust me,” I say. “She’s safer in the car.”
    Felix looks at me sadly, then says, “I know you’ve been trying with her.”
    “Trying, and failing.”
    Instinctively, I glance at Nate. Because I get the sense he has been trying, and failing, as well. With Felix. There’s an awkward silence and Felix gets up. “Bathroom. I’ll be back.”
    As soon as he’s gone, Nate says, “Let me ask you something.”
    “Okay.”
    “You want to shoot this?” he asks, indicating the camera with a tilt of his head.
    “Sure.” I pick it up, turn it on. Get him in frame.
    “Why is it so important for you and Rory to be friends again?”
    I stare at him on the LCD display; Leslie was right—it’s easier to use this now that I know what I’m doing. His face, so close, when the camera should really be registering my reaction. It’s weird that he wanted me to shoot him, but a good weird. A glad weird. “Because I was shitty to her, and she didn’t deserve that.” I watch his face soften into curiosity and add: “She shouldn’t have to be alone.”
    After a moment, Nate shrugs. “It seems like she’s doing okay. Finding her niche online, and all that.”
    “But that’s online,” I say. “It’s not real. Or at least, not the same real.”
    “You wanna know what I think?” he asks, then takes a long drag on his water.
    “Sure. You seem to have a lot of stuff figured out here.”
    “I think maybe it’s not about her at all. I think it’s all about you.”
    He says that with such confidence, I have the urge to punch him, and maybe this is why he wanted me to be shooting this conversation because I can’t punch him, unless I do it with the camera. Which may not be such a terrible idea.
    “You’re tired of feeling guilty,” he continues, and there’s something about his voice now. His sad stare at the middle distance