A/N: This is my entry for the one-shot competition for the Wattpad novel "Jefferson Lake" by knightsrachel. I choose to personify the character McKenna Scott, and this piece takes place before the book was written. I hope I was able to give justice to the raw beauty of this book through my own personal writing. I apologize for the length, and any errors you may find. Thank you for reading, and enjoy!

Jefferson Lake One-Shot: McKenna's POV

A camera is like a time machine.

It possesses the special ability to capture a moment in dimensions the human eye could never see, granting the photographer to be born again with a renewed perspective. An individual is bestowed the gift of being able to behold the moist crust of the Earth beneath them and the blue-as-day blanket enclosing the atmosphere above them as if it were for the first time. The world stops spinning on its axis, clouds seize to drift across the sky like sailboats across a still, calm sea at rest, and the autumn leaves stained with the colors of the sun flying off their branches like baby birds leaving the nest dangle in midair.

It allows people to travel back to that one moment frozen in time in their life, weaving a story with each crisp image, watching your life flash before your eyes like a movie.

It was one of the largest reasons I used to love photography.

Before Elizabeth.

As I hooked the large hoop earring to my earlobe--the finishing touch to my outfit--my gaze fell upon my Canon Rebel XS.

Every inch, every curve of the camera's shape was forever etched in my memory. Reaching out to touch its natural presence with my fingertips would have been too easy, and it's familiarity would feel like coming home. My hand started to move towards it before stilling hesitantly.

I couldn't.

It was a gift from my parents for my fifteenth birthday. It had been my dream camera ever since I had committed to photography, but I knew better than to expect such an expensive present. I was ecstatic when I peeled away the wrapping, and the camera was permanently attached to my neck for weeks after to ensure I never missed a perfect opportunity to use it.

I would later discover that it was Elizabeth who planted the seed of the idea of buying the camera for me in my parents' mind, that it was Elizabeth who encouraged them to splurge part of her savings on my surprise present. She was the biggest supporter of my passion, always coaxing me to push the limits and boundaries with my pieces. She acted as my model for a majority of my shots.

Although, just as the camera suspended happy memories through its glass vision--it held a piece of Elizabeth hostage inside of it too.

A small ping from my phone dazed me out of my trance, causing my arm to retract quickly as if the camera was contaminated. I picked up the light weight in my hand, reading the message from someone asking me when I would arrive at the party. I quickly replied I was on my way, and picked up my purse. I ran through my doorway, and down the stairs where my parents were sitting silently at the kitchen table with the television on mute.

"Mom? Dad? I'm going out. I'll be back by curfew."

Their lifeless eyes fell on me, and the anguish and despair marking their faces made me wince, forcing me to divert my gaze. I could feel them analyzing me--the ruby red four-inch heels suffocating my feet, the coats of make-up masking my face, and the tight black dress clinging to my body flashing my assets. I looked back up at them, waiting for something--anything. All I saw was pain. Dad meekly nodded at me, and my mother sighed loudly.

I was never enough for them.

I wanted to scream for them to look at me, to see that I was right here and could be Elizabeth for them. I could be their perfect daughter, and fill the hollow hole in their hearts--if only they would let me.

I bit my tongue, and fled to my car.

At the party, people crowded the front lawn. I stepped over people passed out on the ground, following the path to the entrance. A group of boys sat on the front porch, and at spotting me a frenzy of catcalling started. Whistling, laughter, shouts of what they wanted to do to me filled my ears. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, instead smirking through my red lipstick at them.

I went inside, and started to navigate my way through the throngs of people. I didn't make it far, stopped by a girl I couldn't place a name to. Her attire was similar to my own, and she brightened once she saw I was one of her kind.

"Hey, it's McKenna, right?" She yelled over the music, so loud my entire body was vibrating.

"Yup, that's me."

"I'm Victoria. You probably don't remember me, we met at a party a couple nights ago. Taylor's friend, remember?"

"Oh, Victoria--I got it. Do you know where I can find some alcohol in this place?"

I didn't remember her, but I've learned it's better to stick with someone than linger around by yourself at a party.

"Follow me," She beckoned with her hand, starting to blend with the crowd towards the kitchen.

I hurried before I lost her in the mob of drunks, stopping in the kitchen. She poured me a cup of beer, as well as one for herself. I downed it in one shot.

"Well fuck, I can already tell you're a hardcore drinker," She laughed, hiccupping.

"Thanks, I think."

"You'll have to bear with me, I'm the type of drunk that's annoyingly happy."

"I can tell," I laughed, watching her dissolve into a fit of hiccups causing her to giggle.

We started to talk, trading gossip together. It was refreshing to speak to someone who didn't seem to know who I was, who I knew their first impression of me would be free of prior judgment. But, unfortunately, Victoria would not be that person tonight.

"Have we met before that party the other night? You seem familiar."

"I doubt it," I sipped more of my drink, needing to feel the buzz it gave me.

"No, I've definitely heard of you before. What's your last name?"

"Scott. McKenna Scott."

"Scott--I know! You're the chick with the dead sister," She widened her eyes, proud of herself for figuring it out.

I froze, my stance stiffening tensely.

"Elizabeth, right, like the Queen of England? I knew her. That fucking sucks."

I stood perfectly still, the plastic cup being crushed in my grasp.

"Oh, shit--was that wrong to bring it up?" She asked with her eyebrows raised as she took in my obvious unease, "I thought you would have been over it by now, moved on already like everyone else."

Everybody else?

"N- No, that isn't me. Scott is a common last name, you must have mistaken me for someone else," I regained my composure, plastering a smile on my face.

"I need to find someone, see you later, alright?" I continued, retrieving more beer.

I needed more alcohol.

I needed to forget.

"Really? But, I thought-"

I couldn't make out the rest of what she was saying, too far away to hear.

I'm the chick with the dead sister.

The weight of the sentence pounded in my ears, stuck on repeat like a broken record.

I looked around before my line of vision landed exactly on the person I needed. I walked towards him, stumbling in my heels as my vision blurred slightly. I let my arms curve around the back of his torso, and I kissed his cheek as he turned to look at me. He was one of the boys on the porch earlier, and a grin spread on his face at the revelation that he was the lucky guy I had chosen to use tonight.

"Sorry, I hope you don't mind," I smiled my signature grin at the person he was talking to, who was looking at us blankly, "I'm going to have to steal him for a little while."

I led him to the center of the room, where people were dancing in their hazy phase. I let the music move my body, closing my eyes as I let loose. I could feel the boy I had pulled away dancing on me. I complied, following the role I was forced to play.

I was the invisible understudy in this theater, filling in for the main character Elizabeth was always destined to be.

I opened my eyes, blinking rapidly as my vision attempted to focus. In the corner of my line of sight, something caught my interest. I turned around, to be met with the cold, icy stares of a group of beautiful girls. They didn't look skanky, or trashy like I did; they embodied the picture of sexy, desirable women who were confident in their bodies. It hurt to look at them, to see Elizabeth in every single one of them.

They were her closest friends.

My lips parted in surprise, my breath catching, not having seen them since the funeral. I used to be almost as close with them as Elizabeth was; she made a point of always including me in their group. They attempted to get in touch with me multiple times, but I completely cut them off after her death. For days, I locked myself in the safety of my room, caged with questions I couldn't answer, and never would be able to. They had every single right to be angry, hurt, and confused--but, they weren't.

They were disappointed.

I could tell in the way their shoulder hung low in a slight hunchback, the way their lips tugged downwards, and the way their eyes crinkled at the sides as they stared into the windows of my soul, through my facade.

I wasn't enough for them.

It was the same exact way my parents had watched me leave, the same exact way everyone looked at me every single day.

At this revelation, something deep inside of me cracked.

I was done.

I didn't need them or their self-righteous pity.

"Hey, let's get out of here," I whispered in the boy's ear, causing shivers to run through his body.

"Say no more," He grabbed me by the waist, leading me out the door of the house.

Their eyes burned into my back as we left.

We ended up in the backseat of his car, pulling me onto his lap. Almost as soon as the car door closed, in our drunken state his lips collided into mine. It was sloppy, it was messy, but it was enough to be exactly the distraction I needed to maintain my sanity.

Until the flashback started.

A tragically beautiful, lifeless body collapsed on the bathroom floor in a puddle of misery.

I deepened the kiss, praying if I concentrated on this moment with this random stranger it would stop. He almost immediately responded.

An empty pill bottle on the counter.

His hand slid up my thigh, fingering the fabric of my dress.

A suicide note leaving more questions than answers, the ink blurring from tears.

I ran my fingers through his tousled curly hair, pulling the twirled strands hard enough to make him moan in pleasure.

A desperate, distressed phone call with a useless sister who wasn't enough for her best friend when she needed to be.

Our fingertips explored each others' body, creating incredible sensations with our touch.

A family forever scarred by the cuts from the shattered pieces of their broken daughters.

I pulled away instantly, anticipating what was to come, running out of the car. I disregarded his wounded face of confusion, unshed tears glazing my eyes. I couldn't let anyone see me in this state.

I was too weak.

A tragically beautiful, lifeless body collapsed on the bathroom floor in a puddle of misery.

I let myself mourn for her in a way like I couldn't for months.

I fell to the ground under the shade of a nearby tree, breaking into a sob. My whole body shook violently, my chest aching. My heart pounded against my ribcage, ready to burst, trapped in my body.

I sat there for what felt like forever, seconds turning into hours. I lost consciousness of time, shackled to the chains of bondage of my mind, forced to relive each excrutiating painful moment over and over again.

I couldn't pinpoint when, but the tears gradually stopped flowing. The gnawing sorrow in my chest slowly subdued to a point that was manageable. The images started to blur together bit by bit until they were undistingushable from each other, a tangled web of memories. Everything began to numb, and I returned to my guarded, impenetrable state of safety.

My body picked itself up off of the ground, instinct pushing my feet to move towards the direction of home. I left my car, nowhere near safe or alert enough to drive, silently vowing to retrieve it tomorrow.

At home, my parents barely acknowledged my presence. I entered my room, peeling off my clothes. I approached my mirror, starting to take my make-up off. I couldn't stop staring at the camera in my peripheral vision, no matter how much I tried to focus on removing the caked grease on my face.

Biting my lip hesitantly, I reached out to hold it in my hands. My fingers gravitated towards their appropriate positions, ready to steal a second in time.

Half of my face wore the painted mask feigning happiness while the other half was naked, bare, and exposing my sorrows. The photographer inside of me knew this was the perfect opportunity, the perfect photo. I raised the camera hesitantly, finally seeing the reflection in the mirror for what it was.

Maybe I didn't have to be Elizabeth.

Maybe I didn't have to be the chick with the dead sister.

Maybe I could be McKenna, the girl who traveled through time.

And that was enough for me.

Click.