بگو سیب و بمیر فصل 12

Say Cheese and Die! - Chapter 12

“Hey—what’s with this stupid camera?” Bird asked, grabbing the snapshot out of Shari’s hand. He tilted it from side to side, squinting at it. “It’s out of focus or something.”

“Weird,” Greg said, shaking his head.

“Hey, Bird—get over here!” the Dolphins’ coach called.

“Coming!” Bird handed the picture back to Shari and jogged over to his teammates.

Whistles blew. The two teams stopped their practicing and trotted to the benches along the third-base line.

“How did this happen?” Shari asked Greg, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand, holding the photo close to her face with the other. “It really looks like Bird is lying on the ground, knocked out or something. But he was standing right in front of us.”

“I don’t get it. I really don’t,” Greg replied thoughtfully. “The camera keeps doing that.”

Carrying the camera at his side, swinging it by its slender strap, he followed her to a shady spot beside the bleachers.

“Look how his neck is bent,” Shari continued. “It’s so awful .”

“There’s something definitely wrong with the camera,” Greg said. He started to tell her about the snapshot he took of the new station wagon, and the snapshot of his brother, Terry. But she interrupted him before he could get the words out.

“And that picture of Michael. It showed him falling down the stairs before he even fell. It’s just so strange.”

“I know,” Greg agreed.

“Let me see that thing,” Shari said, and pulled the camera from his hand. “Is there any film left?”

“I can’t tell,” Greg admitted. “I couldn’t find a film counter or anything.”

Shari examined the camera closely, rolling it over in her hands. “It doesn’t say anywhere. How can you tell if it’s loaded or not?”

Greg shrugged.

The baseball game got under way. The Dolphins were the visiting team. The other team, the Cardinals, jogged out to take their positions on the field.

A kid in the bleachers dropped his soda can. It hit the ground and spilled, and the kid started to cry. An old station wagon filled with teenagers cruised by, its radio blaring, its horn honking.

“Where do you put the film in?” Shari asked impatiently.

Greg stepped closer to help her examine it. “Here, I think,” he said, pointing. “Doesn’t the back come off?”

Shari fiddled with it. “No, I don’t think so. Most of these automatic-developing cameras load in the front.”

She pulled at the back, but the camera wouldn’t open. She tried pulling off the bottom. No better luck. Turning the camera, she tried pulling off the lens. It wouldn’t budge.

Greg took the camera from her. “There’s no slot or opening in the front.”

“Well, what kind of camera is it, anyway?” Shari demanded.

“Uh… let’s see.” Greg studied the front, examined the top of the lens, then turned the camera over and studied the back.

He stared up at her with a surprised look on his face. “There’s no brand name. Nothing.”

“How can a camera not have a name?” Shari shouted in exasperation. She snatched the camera away from him and examined it closely, squinting against the bright afternoon sunshine.

Finally, she handed the camera back to him, defeated. “You’re right, Greg. No name. No words of any kind. Nothing. What a stupid camera,” she added angrily.

“Whoa. Hold on,” Greg told her. “It’s not my camera, remember? I didn’t buy it. I took it from the Coffman house.”

“Well, let’s at least figure out how to open it up and look inside,” Shari said.

The first Dolphin batter popped up to the second baseman. The second batter struck out on three straight swings. The dozen or so spectators shouted encouragement to their team.

The little kid who had dropped his soda continued to cry. Three kids rode by on bikes, waving to friends on the teams but not stopping to watch.

“I’ve tried and tried, but I can’t figure out how to open it,” Greg admitted.

“Give it to me,” Shari said, and grabbed the camera away from him. “There has to be a button or something. There has to be some way of opening it. This is ridiculous.”

When she couldn’t find a button or lever of any kind, she tried pulling the back off once again, prying it with her fingernails. Then she tried turning the lens, but it wouldn’t turn.

“I’m not going to stop trying,” she said, gritting her teeth. “This camera has to open. It has to!”

“Give up. You’re going to wreck it,” Greg warned, reaching for it.

“Wreck it? How could I wreck it?” Shari demanded. “It has no moving parts. Nothing!”

“This is impossible,” Greg said.

Making a disgusted face, she handed the camera to him. “Okay, I give up. Check it out yourself, Greg.”

He took the camera, started to raise it to his face, then stopped.

Uttering a low cry of surprise, his mouth dropped open and his eyes gaped straight ahead. Startled, Shari turned to follow his shocked gaze.

“Oh, no !”

There on the ground, a few yards outside the first-base line, lay Bird. He was sprawled on his back, his neck bent at an odd and unnatural angle, his eyes shut tight.