Do you want to be a professor too?"
He shrugs. "Maybe one day. I'd like to travel more first though, work on dig sites in places like Greece or Central America. Ancient civilizations are buried everywhere. It's, like, no matter where you walk, you never know what could be under your feet. I want a job that lets me see all the things I want to see before I get stuck behind a desk."
"I know what you mean. I can't wait to see the world and document it, photojournalist style." An image of the two of us traveling together pops into my mind: him digging up the world and me taking pictures of it. I squash those butterflies too. "Yeah?" he asks, his smile finally revealing teeth. "I can see you doing that, like for or something."
"You haven't even seen any of my pictures," I scoff. " Besides, can you imagine how competitive a job that would be? Those photographers are incredible. They have years of experience under their belts. I'm not even eighteen years old yet."
"Doesn't matter. You've got time," he says. "You know what someone said to me once? Figure out what you love doing, then figure out how to make money doing it."
I turn the thought over in my head. "I like that."
He smiles, plunging his hands into his pockets. "So tell me about you. Who is Pippa, in the broad scheme of things?" He winks.
I return the smile. "Well, I'm an only child, born and raised in Chicago--"
"Ah, Chicago. That's the accent."
"I told you before, I don't have an accent."
"To ears you don't." He laughs. "But it's definitely there to the rest of us."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"No," he says. "It's cute."
Oh, I might die. A boy used the word "cute." And when describing something about me. I can't look at him.
He shrugs. "Maybe one day. I'd like to travel more first though, work on dig sites in places like Greece or Central America. Ancient civilizations are buried everywhere. It's, like, no matter where you walk, you never know what could be under your feet. I want a job that lets me see all the things I want to see before I get stuck behind a desk."
"I know what you mean. I can't wait to see the world and document it, photojournalist style." An image of the two of us traveling together pops into my mind: him digging up the world and me taking pictures of it. I squash those butterflies too. "Yeah?" he asks, his smile finally revealing teeth. "I can see you doing that, like for or something."
"You haven't even seen any of my pictures," I scoff. " Besides, can you imagine how competitive a job that would be? Those photographers are incredible. They have years of experience under their belts. I'm not even eighteen years old yet."
"Doesn't matter. You've got time," he says. "You know what someone said to me once? Figure out what you love doing, then figure out how to make money doing it."
I turn the thought over in my head. "I like that."
He smiles, plunging his hands into his pockets. "So tell me about you. Who is Pippa, in the broad scheme of things?" He winks.
I return the smile. "Well, I'm an only child, born and raised in Chicago--"
"Ah, Chicago. That's the accent."
"I told you before, I don't have an accent."
"To ears you don't." He laughs. "But it's definitely there to the rest of us."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"No," he says. "It's cute."
Oh, I might die. A boy used the word "cute." And when describing something about me. I can't look at him.
( Kristin Rae )
[ Wish You Were Italian ]
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