The first time it happened was in Class 2. They call it Grade 2 now. The greying German on squeaky swivel chair wielding blinding white umbrella magic. Probably some cheap 250 Watts. Thank-god my mom didn’t have to dress me. Everyone wore their school uniforms. Boys Grey. Girls Blue. There we sat in our lines. One by one staring at our palms and dusty hall floors while Mrs Sparrow called our names. Brauteseth! She had a list. I was next on the list. I was always next on the list. I braved a half-toothy grin for god knows how long. POP.

6 weeks later it arrived. A brown envelope of stacked prints back to back. Eight 3x4s, Four 6x4s, Two 8x10s. I think mom got the family discount package. You had to cut them out one by one. And there it hung in golden framed innocence, my Portrait on the Wall. Of course I was the youngest, so I was under Janine and Clare and next to Bronwen. My three older sisters. There we hung staring over the family for an unchanging 10 years. From time to time, re-aligned. But there we were. On the wall. The photographed four.