Page 42 of The Rival in South Africa
Alex left the room, retrieving the small bag he’d left by the door. No longer distracted by a handsome date, I could see it for what it was, a camera bag. He unzipped it, pulling out a Sony, the latest model that had sold out instantly and had a months-long waiting list. I hadn’t even planned on upgrading yet, as my camera was only a few years old, but I’d thought about it. Was tempted by it. And here was a shiny brand-new model flush with the latest stabilizing technology and an even higher f-stop.
I reached out reverently, and Alex placed the camera in my hands. I zoomed in and out, the motions of the lens smooth and graceful. I flipped it on, pivoted the screen, tested the buttons, even took the lens cap off and took a few shots, aiming randomly around my flat.
It was a gorgeous camera.
And once again, Alex was busting out of the gates bigger, better, faster, all the things I wasn’t. Sure, I could upgrade my camera to match his, but what was the point? I knew Alex wouldn’t be taking trips with me, but the next time we’d travel together, it’d be a complete competition. Even with my experience, Alex would hire an instructor, take a course, devote himself entirely to the camera and chasing the shot.
I could picture this future, us fighting for position to get the best shot, his brilliance leading him to all kinds of creative ideas. Then we’d compare notes, and he’d gloat—sure, my shots were great, but his were better.
Worst of all, this was my career. It was still a budding one, but I just couldn’t stand the thought of being bested at yet another thing, especially something I wanted to make my living at.
“Alex, what are you going to do with a camera?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought we could take some courses together, maybe do some photography challenges. Who knows, you might finally get me interested in my Instagram account.”
I closed my eyes. “Why do you do this?”
He responded, and I could hear the bafflement in his voice. “Do what?”
“I’m a photographer, Alex. Look, I know I didn’t say anything before, but this is exactly why I didn’t, and you went and did it anyway!”
“Well, you didn’t say anything, but I kind of figured it out with the big camera and whatnot.”
“No, Alex.” I opened my eyes and looked at him. I could feel my lip starting to quiver, and bit it, trying to hide my frustration. “I’m a photographer—as in, that trip was comped, and I was getting paid to be there. This is what I do now.”
His face shifted to deeper puzzlement. “On Instagram?”
“That’s how it started, with Ion. He was tired of the photography and trying to figure out how to self-promote on Instagram, so I took over his account. That was me behind the camera, me posting and figuring out hashtags and Stories and how to position him to grow his fan base. And I’m really good at it. Not just the marketing, but the camera.”
Alex watched me. “I didn’t mean that you aren’t good at it.”
“I know that. And I know there’s photographers out there who are better than me, but you, you pick up everything I do, and you rub it in my face and make me feel small and inadequate.”
“I don’t—” Alex started.
“Yeah, you do. Do you remember when I ran the London Marathon to fundraise for that children’s charity? I went around our friend group and my mother’s social clubs to get people to pitch in. I did months of training and then, suddenly, you’re running the race, too, and you tripled what I raised, and then, finally, we ran the race, and you came in so much faster than I did.” A tear slipped down my face, and I brushed it away. “And then I had been talking to Coach Johnston to train me for that regatta in Malta, and suddenly he emails me back with, ‘I will be unable to make a commitment to you. I’ve been hired by another team to coach.’ And shocker, it was you. It sounds small and dumb when I say it out loud, but you always dig your way into my favorite things, and it’s honestly, just not that much fun when someone’s always coming along and besting me. Over and over again.”
I sat up a little straighter, my anger building. “You’re always there, Alex, and I won’t let you take this away from me too.”
Alex’s jaw had set, a flush rising in his cheeks. “Right, okay, you don’t want me to take up photography, fine.” He turned and, despite his anger, carefully packed the camera away.
“Don’t turn this on me to make me the bad guy. You’re always swooping in, and you’re always better.”
“That’s not… that’s not what this is about, Nikki. I’m not trying to take your career away. I just . . . I thought we could do this together.”
“By beating me all the time? You’re competitive and so bloody awful about it. That is not a good plan.”
His jaw tightened further, and I could see that I’d hurt him. “Fine, forget it, Nikki. I’ll return the camera. I’ll leave you alone to do your own thing, okay?”
“Fine.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest. We stared at each other for a beat, and then Alex started to pull his clothes on.
“You make it sound like I’m awful to spend time with. Why would you want to be around me when I ruin things for you?” His voice was clipped, and he dressed faster, barely buttoning his shirt before pulling on his socks.
“Stop ruining things for me, then.”
“So, what, I’ll just work constantly?”
He said it as if there was no alternative, as if his options were work or compete. As if, without the pleasure of competition, he didn’t want me playing in his sandbox.
