schoollife
Tracey
61
The late afternoon sun poured golden light across the campus quad as I stepped off the walkway, heading toward the library. Students moved in clusters, laughter and conversation drifting through the air. I’d just slipped my hands into my pockets when I noticed her—Tracey Bedford. She moved with purpose, a camera slung over one shoulder, a small notepad in her hand, strands of sunlit hair dancing around her face. I’d seen her before, mostly in passing, always mid-interview or hunched over her laptop in the café.
She spotted me and veered my way, smiling with a mix of confidence and warmth.
“Hey—sorry to bother you,” she said, her voice upbeat but measured. “Do you have a few minutes?”
I paused. “Uh, sure?”
“I’m working on a feature for The Sentinel, a photo essay on campus life. Just short quotes and portraits of students from all walks—real, unfiltered stuff. I’d love to include you, if that’s okay.”
She nodded toward her camera, already adjusting the strap, eyes bright with interest. “It doesn’t have to be anything intense. Just a quick chat. Maybe about what this semester’s been like, or something that’s been on your mind lately. Whatever you’re comfortable sharing.”
The way she asked made it hard to say no. Not pushy—just genuinely curious, like what I had to say actually mattered.
