Outside, the night had long since swallowed the courtyard, with only the campfire forming a luminous circle where sparks rose like tiny stars. Wood crackled, smoke drifted into the cold air, voices resonated from everywhere – calls, laughter, the clicking of the first Polaroids.
Our Group 12 had settled a bit apart, sitting on logs arranged around the fire. Fiona held her camera up like a trophy.
"Okay, people, first group photo. And don't you dare make a passport photo face."
"I always look good," Jonas claimed while pulling a grimace that proved the opposite. Fiona pressed the shutter, the photo whirred out, and Jonas immediately snatched it before it could even develop.
"Let me see!" Mira reached out her hand, but Jonas backed away. "Art needs to mature," he declared dramatically, and Fiona nearly doubled over with laughter.
