I juggled the three smart phones in my hands as my friends gathered together and held their pose. 

                “Okay, I’m taking it!  One, two, three!”

                I repeated the process two other times with the other phones and then handed them back to their owners.

                “You should take a picture with us, too,” my best friend said with a frown.

                I gave her a small smile as I checked the image of my friends on my own phone.  “Maybe next time.”

                “You always say that.”

                My fingers instinctively went to the long scar that ran along my jaw line.  It was my complex – the feature on my body that I hated the most and made me unwilling to take pictures of myself or with other people.  I was thankful that no one made fun of me for it, but I could always feel people staring, as if they desperately wanted to point it out. 

                “I just don’t feel up to it.  The picture came out nice without me in it anyway,” I said simply.  “Let’s go.”

                I turned to leave when I suddenly crashed into someone, making us both drop the phones in our hands.

                “My bad,” the boy apologized.

                “It’s fine,” I replied, bending down and picking up the fallen item.  He did the same.

                “Well, see you around,” he said with a small wave before walking away.

                “Wasn’t that Ming Ming?” my friend asked excitedly when he was out of earshot.

                “Who?”

                “That cute guy in our grade with the nice arm muscles!”

                I rolled my eyes at her vague and superficial description. 

                “Let’s just go – we’ll be late for the movie,” I said, tucking the phone in my pocket.

                There was an unfamiliar song playing in my room as I got out of the shower that night.  It took me a moment to realize that it was my phone.  Did I mistakenly change the ringtone?

                I answered it without even glancing at the display.

                “Hello?”

                “Hello?” a male’s voice echoed. 

                “Uh, who is this?”

                “Ming Ming.”

                My eyebrows furrowed.  How did he get my number?  I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the screen.  There were very familiar numbers written out and it took me seconds to realize that I was staring at my own phone number. 

                “What?  How…” I wondered out loud.

                A murmur came from the receiver and I put it to my ear again.  “I think we switched phones when we crashed into each other earlier.  We have the same model so we could have easily mistaken them,” Ming Ming said.

                I bit my lip and quickly tried to remember if I had anything strange stored on my mobile.

                “Can you meet me tomorrow at the park so we can switch back?” he asked. 

                “Sure, but…don’t do anything weird when you have my phone.”

                He laughed at that.  “I should be saying the same to you.”

                We agreed on a time to meet and hung up. 

                With a sigh, I stared at the home screen.  He kept the background simple and didn’t have many apps.  As I moved to turn the device off, my finger brushed the screen and opened the photo gallery.

                “Oh, shoot,” I muttered under my breath as his pictures came onto the screen.  There were a lot of them, and almost half were self shots.  Unable to contain my curiosity, I began to flip through.  He was good-looking, and judging from the amount of pictures he’d taken of himself, he seemed to know it.  Again, my fingers found my scar.  I wished I had that kind of confidence.  With a sigh, I turned the phone off and collapsed onto my bed, drifting off to sleep. 

                The next day, I waited for Ming Ming at the mini-playground at the park, swaying absently on the small swing.  He appeared about five minutes later.  I stood and held out his phone, but he paused.

                “Can I ask you something?”

                “What is it?”

                “Why don’t you have any pictures of yourself?”

                I widened my eyes, surprised.  “You looked?”  I momentarily forgot that I had also seen his pictures.

                He blushed.  “I didn’t do it on purpose.  I kind of just…stumbled upon it.  So I wanted to know why.”

                I hesitated.  “I don’t think I come out well in pictures.”  My hands were itching to come up to my jaw.  “I have this complex.  About my scar,” I confessed. 

                His eyes flickered to it.  “Oh, that?  I didn’t even notice it until you told me.”

                “Really?”

                He smiled.  “Yeah.  You look pretty.”

                I felt my cheeks getting warm. 

                He let out an embarrassed laugh and my phone.  He stepped closer to me.

                “Here, let’s take a picture.”

                I opened my mouth to protest, but then Ming Ming put his arm around my shoulder.  I glanced at him and then smiled shyly for the camera.  Maybe I didn’t have to worry so much about my scar after all.

                Click.