"P-Peter. Peter Parker."
Peter's outstretched hand froze in midair, like a sausage fresh out of the fridge.
Felicia didn't take it right away.
She leaned against the back of her chair, her green eyes moving from his face to the old Leica M3. Sunlight filtered through the leaves outside, dancing on the ends of her golden hair.
Peter swallowed.
"I-I'm Peter. Peter Parker."
"Peter."
Felicia repeated it, letting the last syllable linger softly.
At last, she reached out and brushed her fingertips against his palm. The contact lasted only an instant, but Peter felt his palm grow even hotter. He quickly pulled his hand back and wiped it on his pants.
"Your uncle left you that camera?" Felicia asked.
Peter froze.
"How did you know?"
"The edges of the leather case are worn unevenly. The left side is worse than the right. That only happens when someone carries it on their right shoulder for years." Felicia tipped up her chin. "And you've repaired it. There are tiny marks around the viewfinder from taking it apart, and the screws on the bottom of the body have been replaced."
Peter looked down at the camera, his eyes gradually lighting up.
"Uncle Ben used to love photography. He took lots of pictures with this camera when he was young. Aunt May said he'd waste a whole roll of film just photographing her cooking."
"Waste?"
Felicia raised an eyebrow.
"A good photograph never wastes film."
Peter stared.
Coming from anyone else, that might have sounded pretentious. But Felicia said it with such complete conviction, as though that was simply how she was supposed to think.
The professor entered the classroom carrying a stack of textbooks and tapped the desk at the front.
"Quiet, everyone. Photography isn't about pressing the shutter. It's about deciding what