“You’re getting close to serious bodily injury. Be quiet.”
His laugh is delighted. I glance over at him and am struck by how different he looks now than he did in all those pictures I saw of him on the internet. He looks happy and at ease, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he belongs right there in that chair at my kitchen table.
“How come you never smile in photographs?”
His laugh dies, his smile fades, and his eyes take on a strange hardness. I sense I’ve stepped into a minefield, but I’m already here. Might as well jump right in.
“I mean, I see you smiling and laughing all the time, like you are right now, but in pictures you always look kind of . . . miserable.”
Silent, Cam looks at me for what feels like a long time. Then he says, “You can’t really be that naïve.”
H
