I was standing in the group photo, but I didn’t know anyone’s name — graduation photo

On the third floor of our school, in the hallway in front of the library, there’s a low bookshelf. It’s right next to the copier, so when students line up during breaks, they sometimes pull something out to kill time. A few old graduation albums are tucked there, their covers worn and the plastic sleeves inside layered with fingerprints. People flip through them briefly, saying things like, “Was this teacher here even back then?” or “Wow, what’s up with that senior’s hair,” before closing them again. That’s what graduation photos are for. Looking at them now, the awkward old uniforms and stiff expressions stand out first, making the viewer smile.

I’m not unfamiliar with that feeling. When I see myself in a photo, I notice right away if my bangs are split strangely, or if my expression looks stiff. That’s why I don’t like graduation photo ghost stories much. When you’re searching for something odd, you end up staring at your own face longer too.

In the literature club notebook, it was written: “Graduation photo, back row. Far right. Not our class.” Below that, in smaller letters: “Do not zoom in.”

At first I thought it was a joke. Stories about strangers appearing in graduation photos