The bitter cold nipped at my face. Giggles erupted from my mouth, and my friend joined in. “Just act natural!” She said, her phone pointed at me. 

“I’m trying to!” I whined. “I’m just… not photogenic.” 

I agreed to be her model to help her with a project for her photography class, but I never promised I’d be good at it. How do I know which pose to do? Why do I try to look mysterious and captivating, when after one look at the photo I realize I just looked confused and constipated. Regret churned in my stomach as I wondered if I were the best person she could have chosen and if we were ever going to get a decent photo. 

After she took a few photos of me strolling around the empty parking lot, we wandered down the street, and I couldn’t help but feel like we looked like we were trying to hail a cab.

We saw the bright lights up ahead, illuminating the stores: a beacon of light in the night. She and I shared a knowing glance. I walked around in the semi-empty parking lot as she snapped pictures, then stood by some string lights and she snapped some more. 

Walking back down to Sweet Dreams, the place we first went to take photos, I noticed there were people inside. They were of all ages, two little boys around nine, some boys around thirteen, and three adults. We stood outside of the shop to take photos, some of which turned out really good. I laughed at the thought of the people inside staring at two teenagers taking pictures at an ice cream shop at nine o’clock at night. But I shrugged off the embarrassment and we continued to take photos, photos where I tried so hard to look natural… but perhaps it was the photos taken of me giggling, my eyes gleaming and bright, that were the best quality, as it held a memory that a fake smile can’t get you.