Little Girls Lost Read Free Page B

his eyepiece, the little monster sucking in his tongue and blinking moronically into the lens. Truman pressed the shutter release and the flash popped.
    “I think my eyes was closed,” the kid protested.
    “They were open,” Truman said. “You’re done.”
    “They felt closed.”
    Truman looked toward the teacher, a portly woman with thick glasses. She was at the door on the far side of the room and looking down the hall.
    “Git,” Truman spat at the kid, who grudgingly slid from the stool and joined the otherslining the outside hall. “That’s it,” Truman called to the teacher. “I’m finished with your class.”
    “Wait,” the teacher said. Truman heard running footsteps and a tiny, slender girl ran into the room, her arms stacked with books.
    “I was at the library,” the girl said. “I forgot the time.”
    Truman stared at the girl. The recognition was instant, like a bolt of clear lightning.
    She was a Keeper.
    Truman rolled his camera in his hands, pretending to study something. He pushed stringy blond hair from his forehead and looked at the teacher with apology in his eyes.
    “Doggone. I’ve got to recharge. How about I send her back when I’m done? Just take a sec.”
    “She knows the way,” the teacher said, and led the class from the small locker room hastily designated as photo studio.
    “Have a seat, little miss,” Truman said. “Do you need help getting up? The stool’s kind of high.”
    “I can get it.” The girl clambered up on the stool set before the dappled background.
    “What’s your name, dear?” Truman said, eyes moving between his camera and subject. You could fall into that smile, and those eyes are so huge.
    “Jacy. Jacy Charlane.”
    “How old are you, Jacy Charlane?”
    “Nine. Almost.”
    Truman held the camera at waist level and clicked off two shots without flash.
    “I didn’t get ready,” the girl said.
    “I’m not taking pictures, dear. This is part of recharging the camera.”
    “Oh. Sorry.”
    Truman knelt on the floor and took two more up-angling pictures.
    “Still recharging?” Jacy asked.
    Truman smiled and stood. He slipped the camera into the tripod.
    “Say cheese, Miss Jacy Charlane.”
    “Everybody says cheese. Can I say something different?”
    “I don’t know, sweetie. It says in the rule book everyone’s supposed to say cheese. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
    “No one will know but you and me.”
    Truman studied Jacy and tapped his chin. “I think you’re too much to one side. Tilt your head just the tiniest bit, dear. No, more. Wait, too much. Let me help.”
    Truman walked over and tilted Jacy’s head a few degrees. He leaned back and checked, then smoothed her hair, his fingers grazing her neck.
    Jacy said, “I’m telling.”
    Truman felt his throat tighten. “What did you say, dear?” he rasped.
    “I said I’m gonna tell everybody.”
    “Tell everybody…what?”
    Jacy giggled. “That you’re the best Picture Man ever. The old one was a sourpuss.”
    Truman closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. He looked out the door. No one there. He drew the door shut and jogged to his camera.
    “That’s a pretty dress, Jacy. Pull it up a teensy bit more and show those pretty knees. Maybe put your feet on the top rung.”
    “Isn’t it just faces in the pictures?”
    “It helps me focus. Do you always ask so many questions?” Truman zoomed the lens and snapped shots as he spoke.
    “Aunt Nike says question everything. I live with her.”
    “A smart woman. And with an interesting name, too. Is she named after—”
    “Everybody thinks she’s named after shoes. She’s named after a famous lady from a long time ago. Her name came from her papa, who drew pictures they make houses from. It means something like ‘always a winner’.”
    “Too cool. Do you live with Aunt Nike in a house or an apartment? Wait. Don’t move. These are practice shots.”
    “An apartment.”
    Truman said, “I don’t know if I’d feel