A thoughtful exploration about finding oneself, learning to hope after loss, and recognizing the role that family, friends, and even strangers can play in the healing process if you are open and willing to share your experience with others. It has been two years since his mom’s death, and Jamison, his dad, and his younger sister seem to be coping, but they’ve been dealing with their loss separately and in different ways. When Jamison almost forgets the date of his mother's birthday, he worries that his memory of her is slipping away. To help make sense of the passing of time, he picks up his camera—the Nikon his mother gave to him. Jamison begins to take photos of ordinary people on the street, at the same time and place each night. As he focuses his lens on the random people who cross his path, Jamison begins to see the world in a deeper way. His endeavor turns into a school project, and then into something more. Along with his new outlook, Jamison forges new and unexpected friendships at school. But more importantly, he’s able to revive the memory of his mother, and to connect with his father and younger sister once again. ★ "A wryly funny, extremely intelligent , and sweetly romantic contemporary novel full of biting sarcasm and... tender yet powerful emotions." — Kirkus Review , starred review ★ “An engaging, thought-provoking title that is easy to read, hard to put down, and will have readers wondering about the characters long after they’ve finished it. . . . highly recommended.” — School Library Journal , starred review "A character-driven work that celebrates the healing power of connection and creativity , encouraging readers to take a closer look at the world around them." — Publishers Weekly “ The novel’s greatest strength is its characterization . The relatable characters come alive on the page, their portrayal being, yes, picture perfect.” — Booklist "A strikingly honest depiction of loss, grief and healing." — BookPage A Kirkus Reviews Best of 2022 Selection A Broadart Books Staff Teen Selection A Bank Street College of Education’s Children’s Book Committee’s The Best Children’s Books of the Year 2023 Selection Mark H. Parsons is a writer and musician living on the Central Coast of California with his wife (also a writer and musician). They have two sons with whom they occasionally make loud music under the name Risky Whippet. Mark enjoys the three "R's"—reading, running, and rock 'n' roll. CHAPTER 1 It is not enough to photograph the obviously picturesque. --Dorothea Lange   “Can stupidity make your head hurt?” Seth asked me. “Only other people’s heads,” I said. “Never the stupid guy’s.” He looked toward the other end of our table. “Well, that explains a lot.” We were in the cafeteria, eating lunch while trying to ignore Beal Wilson and his buds and their rating game. Those geniuses had started a ten-point system at the beginning of the school year. Who knows why . . . maybe they saw it in a movie and missed the entire point? Now, a week in, they’d finalized it. According to them, any girl under a five was so far below grade she wasn’t even worthy of notice or discussion. (As a corollary to this, by doctrine they’d hook up with anyone five or above. So really, it was a binary go/no-go system, not a ten-pointer. But it was useless trying to tell them this. Trust me--besides being sexist asshats they aren’t exactly La Montaña High’s best and brightest.) They continued with their hot-or-not bullshit while I looked for the chance to practice my street photography skills. Given the choice I’d rather use my Nikon but there’s no way I’m dragging it around all day in my backpack, so I’m not above using my phone. I’d just snapped someone walking toward the exit with a tray in her hand. I hadn’t seen her before, but something about her walk caught my eye. Like she meant business. Okay, and maybe something else. Just before I hit the button I reframed it so she was leaving the frame instead of entering it, and panned with her so she was sharp and the background was blurry. Like she was almost too fast to catch. After I snapped it, I took a quick peek at it. Yeah, that works. Underneath it all I could still hear Beal yakking away . . . “. . . so, I’d say that’s a seven-five. Well, at least a solid seven.” “Solid,” his buddy Tristan said with a snort, like the word was somehow funny. I looked up. They were talking about the girl I’d just photographed. I never joined their rating games, but I couldn’t imagine thinking of her as “nice and ordinary,” or whatever they thought a seven was supposed to be. “You’d better not let her hear that,” Riley said. “They call her AK-47 for a reason.” Riley is Beal’s other sidekick. “So?” Beal said. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m just saying she’s fine. She’d rate even higher if she wasn’t so damn scary.” He looked down toward our end of the table. “Right, Seth?” “You’re clearly the expert, dude,” Seth said. Beal nodded, missing the irony. “J? Wha