{"id":1035,"date":"2019-02-10T21:08:44","date_gmt":"2019-02-11T02:08:44","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1035"},"modified":"2022-03-07T10:08:08","modified_gmt":"2022-03-07T15:08:08","slug":"picture-imperfect","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/picture-imperfect\/","title":{"rendered":"Picture Imperfect"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Picture Imperfect<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by\u00a0Susan Thogerson Maas<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Twelve-year-old JJ loves three things: her great-grandma, her cat, and photography. But she\u2019s never going to be a real photographer unless she gets better equipment. When her best friend, Kat, discovers a photo contest with the grand prize of a fancy digital camera\u2014the kind JJ\u2019s parents could never afford\u2014she jumps at the chance to win it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Things start going wrong when ditzy Aunt Lissa moves in under mysterious circumstances and JJ\u2019s forced to share her room. Why did Lissa lose her job anyway? Kat has all sorts of theories\u2014theories that bring more trouble than the girls can imagine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gram\u2019s not doing so great, the cat\u2019s always trying to sneak out, and Aunt Lissa\u2019s ruining JJ\u2019s summer. According to Gram, photography is JJ\u2019s God-given talent, but how can that be true when everything keeps going wrong?<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

The rental truck rumbled into my driveway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So soon? I grabbed my camera\u2014the one Gram\ngave me for my 12th<\/sup> birthday\u2014and ran to the kitchen. I had to get a\npicture of Aunt Melissa stepping into our house. I would call it The Invasion<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But Mom would not approve. \u201cLissa\u201d was her\nbaby sister, after all. Though that baby sister was almost thirty years old.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019d go with The Change<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mom walked in, followed by Lissa, whose\nlong, golden hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a flowery shirt,\ntight jeans, and, of all things, high heels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pressed the shutter button.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The flash went off and Lissa jumped,\ntottering for a moment on those narrow heels before regaining her balance. \u201cWhat\nwas that?\u201d she cried. Then she saw me. \u201cOh, it\u2019s you. I should have known. Hi,\nMiss Jada Jane.\u201d She pulled me to her and smothered me in a hug. \u201cOr should I\nsay \u2018roomie?\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I cringed. Calling me by my full name was\nbad enough but \u201croomie\u201d was just plain scary. Faking a smile, I snapped another\npicture. Maybe I would<\/em> call it The Invasion<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mom tromped down the hall, yelling,\n\u201cBrett! Come on out. We need your help.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My brother emerged from his room in\nshorts, a rumpled T-shirt, and flip-flops. His dark, curly hair stuck out on\nthe left side and was plastered down on the right, making it easy to tell which\nside he\u2019d slept on. He rubbed his eyes and grinned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I snapped his picture.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Brett stuck his tongue out at me. He\ndidn\u2019t really mind his picture being taken, though. After all, that\u2019s something\na sports star would have to get used to, and he intended to become one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t just wake up, did you?\u201d Mom\nasked. \u201cIt\u2019s one in the afternoon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Brett\u2019s grin got bigger. \u201cDidn\u2019t you read\nthat study about teenagers needing more sleep? I\u2019m a growing boy.\u201d He flexed\nhis biceps. \u201cLet me at that furniture. I\u2019m ready.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Laughing, Mom shook her head, then her\nserious look returned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Time to work. I stuck my camera in a\ndrawer. Couldn\u2019t risk it getting knocked over and broken.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mom led the way outside to an ugly orange-and-white\ntruck. Dad pulled a cardboard box out of the back and plunked it down next to several\nothers on the cement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boxes that would soon invade my<\/em> room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad grunted and wiped the\nsweat off his forehead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The early summer sun glared\ndown, but a gentle breeze whispered through my hair and cooled my face. Not bad at all for June. At least it wasn\u2019t raining. If it weren\u2019t for Aunt Lissa\ninvading our house, it could have been a perfect day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d Dad said, \u201clet\u2019s get organized.\nLissa and Carol, you can take boxes to the bedroom. Brett, you help me with the\nfurniture. We\u2019ll put most of it in the basement. JJ, you can take a box, then\nhelp Lissa arrange her stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI want the bed, chair, desk, and dresser\nin the room,\u201d Lissa said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad stared at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s not much space in my room.\u201d My\nstomach twisted. \u201cI don\u2019t think they\u2019ll fit.\u201d Why did I have to share my room?\nIt wasn\u2019t fair. Of course, I knew the answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She couldn\u2019t very well room with Brett,\nand we didn\u2019t have an extra bedroom. Still \u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey\u2019ll fit.\u201d Lissa stuck her hands on\nher hips. \u201cI\u2019m going to make the bed into a bunk bed and put the desk and\ndresser under it. It will be almost like college again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad looked at me, eyebrows raised.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I shrugged. Nobody asked my permission\nbefore saying she could move in, so why ask now? Besides, Dad wasn\u2019t likely to\ndo anything. It wasn\u2019t his room, so what did he care? Mom had better be right\nabout Lissa only staying for a little while.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad handed a box to Lissa, then Mom, and\nthen me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lissa headed into the house but stopped\njust inside and propped the door open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I called. \u201cYou can\u2019t leave the door\nopen. Tasha will get out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTasha? Who in the world is Tasha?\u201d Lissa\ngave me a snarky look.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A nasty answer started to bubble up inside\nme, but I swallowed it back down. I hated this already. \u201cTasha is my cat. We\ncan\u2019t let her get out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy not? Cats should be able to go where\nthey want, shouldn\u2019t they?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTasha is an indoor cat.\u201d The box I\ncarried was gaining weight by the moment. What did she have in it, a rock\ncollection? I tried to get a better grip. \u201cCome on. Let\u2019s get going.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMove it.\u201d Mom gave Lissa a shove with her\nbox.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lissa moved on, letting the screen door\nslam behind her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t close only the screen door,\nLissa,\u201d I hollered after her. \u201cTasha can open screen doors.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Would she remember that important fact\nwhen there was nobody else to close the door for her?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t hear an answer, so I closed it\nand clomped along after Mom. Panting, I set the box down in what had once been my<\/em> room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad and Brett carried in the bed, leaving\nthe desk and chair in the hall. Dad put the bunk bed frame together, while\nLissa directed him. She didn\u2019t need to worry; I\u2019m sure Dad was better at that\nthan she would ever be. But she still kept careful watch. When that was done, they\nbrought in the desk, chair, and a small dresser.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With furniture and boxes filling up the\nroom, it didn\u2019t feel like mine anymore. Lissa\u2019s bed hid most of my Ansel Adams\nposter, his famous black-and-white photograph of Yosemite Park with a big full\nmoon shining over it. I could get lost in that picture, imagining myself\nwandering through such a beautiful place, my camera shutter clicking away. What\nwould it be like to be able to take such wonderful photographs?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My own photos didn\u2019t come close, but I\nstill liked them. I had two of them on the wall. Thank goodness I had moved them\nto my side of the room, so I could still see Tasha staring at me in one and a\npeaceful view of the ocean in the other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And, by the door, hung the picture my\ngreat-grandma had painted of a stream flowing through fern-filled woods. Gram had\nbeen a painter for over fifty years, and she still painted some in the\nretirement home. Her paintings felt the way I wanted my photographs to feel,\nlike someone could walk into them and be at peace. She said painting made her\nfeel close to God.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That didn\u2019t make sense to me. How could I\nbe close to some spirit up in the sky somewhere?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But Gram looked so happy when she said it\nthat it made me ache inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My parents stood outside the bedroom door,\nwatching as Lissa rearranged boxes and tried to unpack her clothes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Brett strolled in wearing sweatpants and carrying\nthe long bag with all his baseball gear inside. \u201cGotta leave for practice. Can\nI borrow the car?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad dug into his pocket and tossed him the\nkeys. \u201cBring it back in one piece.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Brett shrugged. \u201cI\u2019ll do my best,\u201d he said\nwith a wink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe need to turn in the rental truck.\u201d Mom\npulled at the corner of Lissa\u2019s blouse.  \u201cCome on, sis. You\u2019re the one paying for it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lissa grabbed her purse and followed Mom\nout the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad slouched in the doorway for another\nminute or two. He looked sweaty and tired. Being a factory supervisor didn\u2019t\ngive him much exercise, I guess, but he\u2019d gotten his full share today. He\nlooked at me, then at Lissa\u2019s pile of stuff. \u201cJust what we needed. Another body\nto take up what little space we have,\u201d he muttered. \u201cI hope she can cook.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe won\u2019t be here for long, right? That\u2019s\nwhat Mom said.\u201d Frowning, I twisted a strand of my shoulder-length hair around\none finger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOnly until she gets a job.  She promises that won\u2019t take long.\u201d He\nstretched and pressed a fist into his lower back. \u201cHope she\u2019s right.\u201d He turned\nand headed down the hall toward the family<\/a> room. Soon, baseball game sounds\nblared from the TV. Dad was back in his own world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If only he cared a little more about mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tasha stared at me from the photo, those\nbig dark eyes watching me, her black-and-white fur so sleek-looking. In my\npicture she was resting on top of a pile of clean laundry. She should have\nlooked guilty, but she looked like a queen instead. That\u2019s why I liked it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I hadn\u2019t seen Tasha since Lissa arrived.\nShe had probably found a quiet place to hide. She wasn\u2019t the friendliest cat\nthat ever lived. In fact, Brett called her a black ball of claws.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But she loved me, and I loved her. That\nwas good enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wandered through the house, checking all\nof Tasha\u2019s favorite places\u2014behind the couch, under the beds, in the laundry\nbasket \u2026 I stopped for a moment in the living room and looked at the family\nportrait on the wall. Gram sat in a big chair in the middle, and Dad, Mom,\nBrett, and I were gathered all around her. I was reaching down to hold her\nhand. That picture said a lot about our family.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now Aunt Lissa was shoving her way in. What\nchanges would that bring?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sighed and moved on. \u201cTasha!\u201d I called.\n\u201cHere, kitty, kitty!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No sign of her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I reached the kitchen, I looked under\nthe kitchen table, then turned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Somebody\u2014most likely somebody named\nLissa\u2014had left the door open. And the screen door was slightly ajar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh no.<\/p>\n\n\n