Pinhole, Higher Learning - Cover

Pinhole, Higher Learning

Copyright© 2024 by Fanlon

Chapter 14

Over the next week, Professor Zarnick’s lectures centered around lighting and how it could be paired with backdrops. Not only that, but he also showed other methods to adjust lighting aspects which included the use of diffusers and reflectors, among other things.

There was a debate on the merits of natural, outdoor light, which Professor Zarnick liked to call wild light, against indoor and controlled studio lighting. I was in the minority when it came to my preferences.

“I like to use natural light,” I announced from my seat in the lecture hall. “I don’t think it’s all that hard to use, honestly. I mean, you just need to have a clear idea in your head of what you want the photo to look like and then set yourself up for it. It’s pretty easy.”

Apparently, that was the absolute worst thing to say at that moment. Everyone in the class homed in on me, trying to point out how silly my line of thinking was. To make matters worse, sitting in the second row had everyone else higher than me, which meant I had to look up at everyone as if I were insignificant. I tried to listen to them all, but there were three or four different voices, all of which were trying to talk over the others in that same moment, and the room quickly fell into chaos.

“Let me ask this then,” Professor Zarnick’s raised voice cut through the air and the room fell silent in the blink of an eye. All eyes shifted from me to the professor. “Who in here saw Mr. Davis’s submissions to last semester’s exhibit?”

My eyes widened at the mention of my submission, but my teams’ arms all rocketed up into the air. As I looked around the room, so had everyone else’s, except two. Those two people who hadn’t raised their hands and were looking around curiously and confused.

“Mr. Davis, those three portraits you submitted, were those taken with wild lighting?”

I nodded.

“There was no equipment of any kind, correct? Nothing at all to limit or direct the lighting?”

“Nope, none.”

For whatever reason, I thought he and Professor Peterson knew how I took those images. That’s when everything clicked in my head. I smiled, realizing where Professor Zarnick was going with those questions...


“I have something I wanted to ask you, but don’t freak out, okay?” Laura asked as the two of us sat in the booth waiting for Dana to bring our order once they called our number.

“Uh, sure. What did you want to know?”

She squeezed my hand, which she was holding in both of her hands under the table. I grinned, and she smiled brightly at me in return. Whatever it was she wanted to ask had her nervous. I could see it in her eyes, and the way her cheeks flushed slightly.

“Well, I was hoping that you might want to umm, come with me so you could, you know, meet my dad.”

“What?” My eyes couldn’t have been wider if the head coach of the Huskers had walked in and offered me a full ride scholarship at that moment. Out of everything I thought she might ask me, that was not even close to the top of the list. “You want me to go meet your dad? Did he get released already? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“No, no!” Laura quickly replied. “He’s still in prison, but I wanted you to come with me, so you could meet him.”

“You’re not serious right? You’re just joking with me.”

“Of course, I’m serious!” Laura suddenly had steel in her voice, and I leaned back in case she was going to try to smack me.

“When were you ... you know—”

“I’m going Thursday.” Laura leaned her shoulder against me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“I can’t go on Thursdays; I have club meetings.”

“No, I don’t want you to come with me this Thursday. I am going to visit my dad and ask him if I could bring you; see what he says.”

“Oh.” All the tension in my body disappeared in the blink of an eye at that revelation. There was no way they would allow me to be a visitor in prison. That was just for family, lawyers, and stuff. “I guess let me know what you find out. I just can’t go on Thursdays or Fridays to be safe.”

“I understand Thursdays, but why not on Fridays?”

“Because I have lab on Friday, who knows how long that will take, you know?”

Before I could explain any further, Dana slid into the booth on the opposite side of us, our food hot and ready on the tray on the table.

“What were you guys talking about?” Dana asked, all smiles as she stuffed her mouth full of fries.

“Josh is going to come with me to meet my dad!” Laura kissed my cheek before grabbing her food from the tray.

The happiness written across her face as she answered Dana brought back the flood of nerves in full, unstoppable force.


The idea of meeting Laura’s father consumed me for the entire week. I tried to pay attention during the lecture on Monday and then the teaching class in Studio B on Wednesday, but it was no use. Everything went in one ear and out the other.

Jerry and the girls all noticed something was up with me, but for whatever reason they decided not to question me about it. I was grateful for that, but at the same time, it didn’t help me much either. I didn’t offer any input or ideas when it came to our assignment that week. I just nodded absentmindedly to this and that, not really knowing or caring what they were talking about.

Thursday evening when Dana came to pick me up, she had had enough of my attitude.

“What is going on with you?” Dana demanded, turning in her seat, so she was facing me. The car remained parked in the driveway. “You’ve been weird all week.”

“It’s Thursday...”

“Yeah, so?”

“Dana, it’s Thursday!”

“I don’t get ... oh shit!”

“Yeah, oh shit’s right.”

“Have you talked to her today yet?” I shook my head no. “Maybe you won’t be allowed to visit and you’re getting all worked up over nothing.”

I genuinely hoped she was right, but I had a feeling she couldn’t have been more wrong. I didn’t know how these things worked, but I had little doubt that if Laura brought me with her to the prison, no one would even question the fact I was there.

“Besides, there is no way her mom is going to let you go with them. She still hates you.”

“Dana!”

“What? It’s not like it isn’t the truth.”

“Still ... she doesn’t hate me.”

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