Free Infatuate by Aimee Agresti

The thought of it made me shiver all over again. I pried out one of the books on the list.
    “I think you should start taking pictures again,” he said in a serious tone. “Just to make sure we know who we’re dealing with all the time.” He crouched down to pull out a biology textbook.
    “Yeah, I was thinking that too.” I had, of course, brought my camera—it was nothing special, a used digital model I’d gotten a while back. But I had learned over the past year that the equipment didn’t matter: I was a soul illuminator. When I took a photo of someone, anyone, their true aura shone through. My photos showed inner beauty or, just the opposite, could detect a decrepit spirit, a decaying soul.
    “Is that all?” I asked, still somber, but a lightness was creeping in, as it sometimes did when we had these kinds of conversations that other people just didn’t have.
    “Yeah, you know, no big deal,” he said as if kidding with me. We smiled at each other.
    “No sweat, right?” I shook my head and returned to my sheet. “Okay, then, just four more and Darwin.” I looked at Lance and noticed that a hint of worry lingered behind those heavy frames. Perhaps I could change that. “I’ll take the bottom two, you take the top two and”—I took a slow step backwards—“I’ll race you for Darwin!” I dropped the books in my hands and took off running. His face brightened instantly.
    “Not fair, you got a head start!” he called after me from the end of the aisle.
    “Sounds like something a loser would say!” I snaked through the next aisle, yanking a book from the shelves, and I saw his face on the other side. In a burst, we sprinted again, agile and silent. I grabbed my other book—astronomy—and whipped around a corner, closing in on Darwin. Lance shot out from the opposite side. I scanned the numbers on the spines. The Origin of Species was going to be on the top shelf, which I couldn’t even reach. I dropped the books in my hands, ran and launched myself up, pulling it out while airborne. I should have landed on my feet. But Lance caught me, bringing me back to the ground.
    “I still won, you know,” I needled him. I held the book behind my back, while he clasped his hands around my waist.
    “I’d say it was a team effort.”
    “We’ll agree to disagree.” I smiled as he leaned me against the bookcase to kiss me.
     
    After the books were gathered, we all set up the tutoring room, and Connor gave us a crash course in teaching tips. “Don’t make anyone feel stupid and, on the flip side, if you find you’re actually not as knowledgeable as you thought on something, don’t be afraid to admit it and we’ll assign someone else,” he advised us.
    “Why are you looking at me?” a jock named Tom, in a Lakers jersey, piped up. “I was kidding. I know gym isn’t actually one of the subjects.”
    Then Connor walked us through a handbook on counseling. “Or, as I like to call it, ‘knowing when to call the cops,’” he said in a joking tone. Drew raised her hand. “You don’t have to raise your hand, Drew.”
    “Oh, sorry,” she said meekly. “But isn’t there, like, doctor/patient confidentiality?”
    “I once talked someone off a ledge,” River said, stone-faced and a shade confrontational.
    “I bet you did,” Brody quipped.
    “I think you mean ‘down from a ledge,’” Dante prompted.
    “That’s what I said,” she said, sniping back.
    And the afternoon went on until we were all well enough prepared to not inflict any scholastic or psychological damage. The rest of the day and evening passed uneventfully. Then again, when a day starts as that one had, it really couldn’t get much more . . . eventful, thankfully.

6. The City of the Dead
    The next morning the schedule simply read, Tour of Community Service Projects, Part 1.
    “Some of the locals need some free labor, and a lot of folks are still trying to rebuild their businesses and lives or maintain public spaces with