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By Hilary Duff

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Ben opened the closet where Dad kept all his cameras, from his newest digitals to collectors-item Brownies he’d bought on eBay, to long-defunct Polaroid OneSteps he couldn’t bear to throw away. I winced as Ben shifted them around and they clanked together. “Be careful,” I said. 54 “Sorry. ” He pushed aside a couple more cameras, then stood on tiptoe and leaned forward to press a spot against the back wall. What was he doing? “There,” he said. “Where? ” He didn’t answer, just grabbed a step stool and carried it to the far wall of the room, which was covered in framed photographs.

Still, I wasn’t exactly sure about the best way to start dishing about someone who existed only in my dreams. I took a deep breath and just dove in. I told her all about the dreams, but I didn’t mention how I first saw him. I just said he was some guy I’d seen in a picture somewhere. It actually felt great to talk about him. I felt like I gushed for ages. When I was done, Rayna just stared at me. ” she asked. ” Rayna raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a boyfriend,” I clarified. “I’m not saying I’m against the idea, but I don’t want someone just to have someone.

Nothing. The mouse rattled in my shaking hand and I let it go, but I couldn’t stop staring at the picture. Who was this man? What was he? Ideas bolted through my brain, but every one of them was impossible. But so was standing in midair. In a flash of wild inspiration, I grabbed my camera and snapped ten pictures, spinning around in my chair to get the bookcase, the closet, the bed …every section of the room. I frantically uploaded them onto the computer and started poring over them one at a time, enlarging them and straining my eyes to find any unusual shadow, any half-blurred image.

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