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“Woah!” Camilo exclaims at the flash of the camera. He looks to his father beside him. “Papá! We’re in the middle of a board game. Give us some warning.”
Mirabel was about to make her next move, but she’s forgotten all about the board now. She drops the plastic piece representing her character.
“Tio Felix,” she acknowledges, smiling brightly as he snaps another photograph of her and Camilo, but she’s shaking.
She places her hands on her lap, suppressing the tremors.
Felix checks the image playback on the camera after he’s done. “These look fantastic! Love the candid one,” he tells them, and then quickly shuffles over to another corner of the courtyard to get a picture of Dolores and Antonio.
Camilo rolls his eyes after Felix is gone. He watches Antonio pose for the camera. “He’s been taking pictures of everyone randomly, ever since last night,” he tells Mirabel.
“What for?” Mirabel asks, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Something about making new memories for the albums. Replacing old ones.” Camilo looks at her, and his expression falters.
Mirabel smiles at him, but she’s not so sure it comes off as genuine.
“Are you—what’s wrong?” Camilo asks, concern spreading across his face. “Did the flash startle you? I’ll go tell him to quit it; my Papá is always barging into other people’s space like that, sorry—”
He’s up from where he was sitting criss-cross on the floor in front of her and is halfway ready to argue with Felix when Mirabel reaches out for him, grabbing him by the wrist.
“No, don’t. Please. He didn’t do anything.” She lets go of Camilo afterwards, and he settles back down onto the tiled floor.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay. Something happened, though. You’re upset.”
Mirabel grimaces and glances over at where she knows Dolores is listening. There is no hiding from Dolores. Ever.
She meets Mirabel’s eyes but doesn’t say anything.
Mirabel sighs. There’s nothing she can do to prevent it. Whether Dolores knows or not is inconsequential; she trusts her to not spread the word unnecessarily.
Mirabel lowers her voice, still, so the conversation doesn’t involve anyone other than the three of them.
“I’m just not used to having my photo taken. It’s not a big deal, really, it’s just…” Mirabel trails off.
Camilo knows about the family pictures that she’s been left out of. Of course he knows—everyone knows that—but would he understand? Does he truly even see—
“The change scares you,” Camilo says, filling in for her. “Because you’ve never been included like this before.”
Mirabel nods, exhaling. “Yeah. Something like that,” she mumbles.
“You don’t have to, you know,” Camilo says. “We’ve been unfair to you. If you don’t want pictures taken of you, it’s your right to say so.”
Mirabel runs her fingers through her curls. “But I do want pictures. It might be uncomfortable—unfamiliar—but if I’m not part of them, then nothing would change. From before.”
She gestures vaguely, but they both know what ‘before’ refers to. Before Casita was rebuilt. Before the reconciliation.
“I get it,” Camilo tells her. “But maybe there are ways around that. For example: I could burn every picture in this house, and we’d all be equal, of course.”
Mirabel cracks a smile at the joke. Humor is what Camilo has always been good at. Even when they were children, he’d constantly make her laugh every opportunity he got.
They sneak a glance at Dolores from across the courtyard. She shakes her head, but looks amused.
“I don’t know if setting things on fire is the best idea,” Mirabel replies, playing along. “I’m sure Casita wouldn’t appreciate that.”
“Hm.” Camilo offers an alternative. “Every picture of our family from now on will be a painting, then. It’ll be like the Renaissance. We’ll be the upper class, paying to sit still for hours while we have our portraits done.”
“Really?” Mirabel challenges. “And which masterful artist is going to do that?”
“Me, of course.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Sure. Stay here,” he says before he takes off to his room.
When he returns, he’s carrying a sketchpad and a case of colored pencils. He sits back down in front of Mirabel, pushing their abandoned board game aside to make room for his supplies.
“I might be able to do a portrait by memory,” he says, “I’m quite good at visualizing what everyone looks like, you know.”
“I’d be impressed,” Mirabel says. “Where’d you learn that?”
“My gift. When I shapeshift, I need to have a decent idea of what someone looks like. Not down to the fine details, but… the more accurate, the better.” Camilo lays the sketchbook on his lap and picks up a pencil. “You want to be drawn?”
“Yeah, go ahead,” Mirabel says. She thinks about what he explained to her. “I didn’t know that’s how your gift worked.”
She assumed it was more automatic than that. That he could transform into someone as long as he’s aware of which person he selects.
But then again, she doesn’t have his gift. She doesn’t have a gift at all. She wouldn’t know.
Camilo shrugs without looking up from his page and the sketch he’s starting. “Took me a while to get the hang of it. A gift is nothing without its user.”
“You don’t always shift into someone we know,” Mirabel states, on a further thought. “Sometimes it can be… a random baby,” she says vaguely.
Camilo laughs. “Yes. As I mentioned, I can be anyone. Even someone that doesn’t exist, as long as I know what I want the final result to look like.”
“Huh. That’s really cool, primo,” Mirabel says. “It sounds rather difficult, though.”
Camilo looks up at her to gauge her hair length for his drawing. He outlines it. “My gift is simply an ability. I’m still the one guiding it, choosing what I want to do with it. So it’s only as difficult as anything else in life.” He smiles. “If it was easy, I’d have no liberties. But I think you know that better than anyone else.”
Mirabel thinks about all the times she’s felt the need to make up for her lack of a gift. All the songs she’s sung to her neighbors. All the hours she’s spent embroidering her clothing, looking for skills independent of a gift.
“Maybe I do.”
Mirabel reaches out to snatch Camilo’s sketchbook from him. She flips to the next blank page and tears it out so she can use it.
Camilo gives her a questioning look when she hands the book back. “You're going to draw, too?”
“Yep. It’ll be a portrait of you. I think we ought to have a little competition, don’t you agree?” she teases, locating a pencil on the floor.
“Bring it on, Mira.” Camilo smiles when she gets to work. “We’ll see how it goes.”