Rule of Thirds, The Read Online Free PDF

your last chance. Isn’t he going away to college? God, your life is this movie.”
    “Yeah, that’s sort of a problem . . .” I say. “It’s three weeks into the term. He should be at Harvard. Why isn’t he there?”
    “Maybe he’s commuting.”
    “From Spalding to Boston every day? That’s only, like, seven hours. No biggie.”
    “Sorry, I didn’t realize this was geography class,” Dace says, stabbing me in the arm with the remote. “Maybe he’s home for the weekend. To volunteer at the hospital. Who cares? Point is, I’d say you got the best volunteer placement of all.”

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 23 13 DAYS UNTIL VANTAGE POINT
    The hospital is about a half hour walk from school, but there’s a path at the end of the football field that leads to the ravine, and you can walk the entire way there, totally oblivious to the rest of the world. It’s like a hidden forest—even when it’s bright out, it’s a dark and ominous world in the ravine, as though it’s the land the sun forgot. Once I’m down there, I look through my camera up at the canopy the red oak trees create. I adjust the aperture as high as it can go and then zoom in on a branch right above my head, bringing it into focus and letting the leaves go out of focus. It’s one of my favorite techniques—there’s nothing special about this particular branch in the ravine. But focusing on something so specific, and letting everything else go, gives me a sense of calm.
    The path exits onto an easement between two houses, and then it’s a short walk to the end of a residential street, through the parking lot of a plaza and then around the back of the hospital to the front door. Climbing the stairs, I take a deep breath. On the top step I point my camera down and snap a picture of just the toes of my sneakers in the bottom third of the lens. And breathe.
    This time I make it past the front door unaccompanied by my best bud, Mr. Panic Attack. Dark gray speckled floors, light gray walls lined with plaques of donators’ names, a large fountain in the middle of the atrium, the elevators beyond. The reception desk is to the right, but it’s empty. An elevator is waiting, doors ajar. The doors close behind me, then reopen on the fourth floor. Fluorescent lighting illuminates a world tinged in yellow—the walls, the tile floor, even the vinyl chairs in the small waiting room I pass. The nurses’ station is to the left, and one of three wipe boards on the wall has CANDYSTRIPERS written in black marker across the top. Someone’s added an extra “P” with a blue pen and an arrow. I’ve got to remember to tell Dace about that later.
    “You’re late.” A girl glares at me. She’s got to be five years older than me, with enviable zit-free, buttery skin and blue eyes. She’d be really pretty if it weren’t for her massive frown. Her blonde hair is pulled tightly into a bun. She’s wearing a super cute pink-and-white striped polo shirt, khakis and a pair of Crocs. Unfortunate, that last bit. Her name tag says Hannah.
    “Where have you been?” She shakes her head. “Honestly, why are there always a million of you kids in every other ward except mine?”
    I shove my camera in my bag and stash it under the counter with the other bags.
    “I need you on—” she checks her clipboard “—plant watering.” She grabs a watering can off one of the shelves and thrusts it at me. “Do the entire rehab ward, and come find me when you’re done.”
    Water plants. Easy. How could I screw that up?
    “Oh, and what’s your name?”
    “Pippa.”
    “Spell it.”
    I watch her scribble my name on her clipboard as I spell it.
    “Don’t take too long. I have about a million things I need you to do.”
    How many plants are in the ward? Where is the rehab ward? And how am I going to sneak away and figure out where the music team plays?
    A directory points me in the right direction—to both the rehab ward and the bathroom, where I fill up the watering can. Then I