Perfect Couple by Jennifer Echols Read Free Book Online Page A

the entire scene.
    So out of it, in fact, that I was gay guys’ go-to girl when they weren’t ready to come out and wanted to put their friends off their trail a little longer. They figured I wouldn’t mind too much because I wasn’t that interested in the opposite sex anyway.
    Until now. Maybe it was because I’d thought about Brody constantly and planned what I would say to him when I told him we needed to take our Superlatives photo. But I didn’t think so. The pure sight of his beautiful body, shining with sunscreen and sweat in the morning sun, running toward me, made me realize I was a part of this scene after all.
    A part of the scene that was about to get knocked on its ass. Since the first runners had approached, I’d trusted that myprofessional attire and large, expensive camera would warn the competitors not to run me down. But Noah galloped past me a little too close for comfort. Brody and Will were barreling straight for me, their shoes slapping the asphalt.
    Brody turned away from Will. His eyes drilled straight through my viewfinder, into my eyes. He kept coming. He was about to hit me.
    With a squeal, I spun to protect the camera if he elbowed me.
    He passed so close, I felt the wind move against my back.
    And then I was watching him raise both hands in victory as he crossed the finish line just ahead of Will.
    Brody had forgotten me, if he’d even intended to pay me any attention at all.
    Grumbling to myself, I turned back to the pack of runners and shot as many of them as I could, thankful I’d taken some of their pictures before I focused on Brody. I wondered if he knew or cared how close he’d come to making me drop my camera. But that was Brody. He was a daredevil who took crazy chances. Nothing bad ever happened to him , though. He always landed on his feet.
    Except for that time on Fifth-Grade Play Day when he dove off the water slide and had to go to the hospital.
    And another time, in second grade, when he wanderedaway from the group during our class field trip to the children’s museum in Tampa, and the teachers found him inside a priceless dinosaur skeleton.
    In fact, now that I thought about it, I recalled that he’d wrecked his mom’s car when he was fourteen . . . and I held on a little more tightly to my camera as the crowd passed me on both sides.
    After another thirty runners, I spotted Kaye with two of her fellow cheerleaders, race numbers pinned neatly to their shirts, which matched their shorts. Kaye saw me first and yelled to the other girls. They waved wildly and mugged for the camera as they passed. At least one of them had her mouth open or eyes closed in each frame. The key to getting a great shot of all three of them, so flattering that they would swear forever I was the world’s best photographer, was simply to set the camera on continuous feed to shoot frame after frame. If I took enough photos, one of them was bound to be good. Photographing crowds for pay involved more know-how and logic than art.
    A few more small groups ran by me, and then Sawyer jogged into view. He might have made it through Friday night’s game, but he should not have been running a 5K on a hot September morning a week past being hospitalized.
    Sure enough, after three miles of running, his wet T-shirtstuck to him, and his normally bright hair was dark, soaked with sweat. His exertion hadn’t dampened his spirit, though. As I tried to center him for a good shot, he ran straight toward me with his hand out like a movie star trying to block the paparazzi. I got three brilliant shots of his palm.
    “Sawyer, dammit!” I cried as he passed, realizing as the words escaped my lips that this was a common exclamation at our school. Sawyer’s middle name might as well have been Dammit.
    The groups of runners grew thicker now, and I struggled to keep up, taking at least one clear shot of every face. They still stuck together in packs, though. During a break in the crowd, I looked over my shoulder at