"Why are you holding a camera?" Her eyes flickered to look at his. She possessed no poker face—her discomfort made him smile, even now.
"I don't know," replied a disembodied voice. The sound of his words made his heart beat faster, made the memories come rushing back in some horrific nightmarish image of a carnival ride.
She displayed her white teeth to him in an awkward smile, the flashing red light reflected in her eyes. They weren't looking at the camera—they were looking at him.
"Talk to me," he said, loving to film the shape of her face in all that silence but knowing her awkward quirks.
"I don't know what to say." Her voice was quieter than normal, and scarlet stop signs were ebbing at her cheeks.
"Say anything," he commanded in a voice heavy with anticipation. His vowels were richer than a gourmet bagel caked in strawberry cheesecake cream cheese.
She bit her lip, and he could see the cartoon bubble appearing above her furrowed brow—I'm thinking.
"John Cusack," she whispe