Free Shutterspeed by A. J. Betts Page A

be in the shit, not just with school but with his oldman. But fuck it, right now it’s just the two of them, and the turtle, and they don’t have to be anywhere but here, doing anything but this.
14
    There aren’t too many people at Cottesloe. Just some tourists tanning on the sand, and a group of dole-bludgers and part-timers out on boards, hoping the offshore wind will pick up.
    It takes Jasmine four attempts to park the Mini, but she finally nails it. They walk down the stairs and settle on the lawn overlooking the beach. Jasmine prises open a few pistachios. Out to sea, a couple of old guys sit waiting for a set. In closer, some body-boarders play in the small waves.
    â€˜Perfect day,’ she says. ‘Photo-perfect. Let’s get some shots for the assignment.’ She drags an old SLR camera from her bag.
    â€˜You’ve got to practise your wagging technique, Jaz,’ he says, taking the camera off her. He looks at borders through the viewfinder. ‘You’ve missed the point.’
    â€˜Come on, can we? It’ll be fun. I need a model and I want you, okay? I just gave you a lift here and I’m sure that’s equivalent to at least four photos.’ She smiles.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜And you ate a pistachio — that’s another three photos.’
    â€˜Since when? You know I don’t pose. I won’t,’ he says, suddenly self-conscious. He runs his hands through his hair, wondering how scruffy it looks. ‘I’m not a poser and I’m no frickin pretty boy.’
    â€˜Thank god for that,’ she says. ‘You’re Dustin and you’re my subject, so calm down, relax, and help me keep up my A-minus in art, okay? I’ve been helping you pass all year — you owe me this at least.’
    It’s a convincing argument. She pulls a black spiral notebook from her bag and flicks a third of the way through it. He snatches the book and looks at each of the pictures drawn in 4B pencil. There are least twenty pages of them.
    â€˜This is me?’ Some parts look like him — the hair, the shoulders, the eyes — but many of the lines are too quick and sketchy. There’s just a lot of movement.
    â€˜It’s rough,’ she says.
    â€˜This is what I look like? To you?’
    â€˜In parts. It’s not supposed to be realistic. It’s more about the positioning and …’
    â€˜But you’ve made me look messy! And crazy. And what’s
that
supposed to be?’
    â€˜That’s the turtle,’ she grins, then grabs her art book backoff him. ‘You
are
messy. Anyway, it’s hard to draw from memory. I don’t even have any photos of you, you know. Don’t you think that’s weird?’
    â€˜You see me every day, you don’t need to see me at home.’
    â€˜Well, that’s all going to change, with you being my hot male model. How’s your Magnum look coming along?’
    â€˜Magnum’s not ready yet. You’ll have to make do with Blue Steel … Do I really have to do this?’
    â€˜There’s a first time for everything, Zoolander. Shit, sometimes you just gotta give in.’
    Overhead, screeching parrots flap about between pines. The noisy distraction gives Dustin some breathing space. ‘How ’bout calling it ET?’ he says, indicating the turtle scratching about on Jasmine’s school bag.
    â€˜Don’t be cruel. Besides, it’s a girl. Now stop trying to sidetrack me. Seven photos!’
    He runs his fingers through his hair again, brushing it behind his ears.
    Jasmine leads him down to the soft sand in front of the surf clubhouse, where she opens her sketchbook. The ideas are simple — often they’re just parts of him against sand: a hand, an elbow, an eye. Each shot obeys the rule of thirds. She plays around with technique first — the ‘soul-stealing’, she says, will come later.
    She fans out Dustin’s fingers and