Exposure

by Askew, Kim

  “Look at those two,” Tess said, taking a break from tying knots in her straw wrapper. “They look deranged.”

  “That’s our future Prom King and Queen?” Cat said. “Do they even make straight jackets with sequins?”

  Cat had a good point. Beth and Craig were both trying to pretend like it was business as usual, but everyone in school had figured out by this point that they were seriously jacked-up. Beth ambled around school like she was sleepwalking and Craig now sported a hair-trigger temper. He’d gotten detention three times in the last month for mouthing off to teachers. “Do you know who I am?” he had demanded of Principal Schaeffer just last Wednesday. “My father could buy this school.”

  Driving home that afternoon that stupid song Kristy had been singing at lunch was still stuck in my head. I flipped stations on the car radio in the hopes of finding another tune to dislodge this one from my brain. All commercials. Figures. Kristy wasn’t the only person at school who seemed excited that Duff was homeward bound. In his first three years at East Anchorage, he had enjoyed an unparalleled popularity. Yes, he was good-looking and one of the cool crowd, but it was more than just that. He was the king of afterschool activities, playing on the hockey team, starring in school plays, helping tutor remedial freshmen, planning “fiestas locas” with the Spanish club. He even used to turn up at Jenna’s sparsely attended environmental pep rallies. He’d positioned himself as a good-natured, charismatic everyman, and I’d never heard anyone badmouth him. Now, people were getting stoked about his return. From what I’d been hearing today, he had completed his schooling in Scotland and was coming home so that he could participate in the end-of-year seniorpalooza with the rest of us. Kristy had accused Beth of being behind Duff’s exile, but whatever had prompted him to be shipped off in the first place didn’t seem to be much of an issue now. Or was it? Kristy’s boyfriend was coming back, just like the song said. And as the lyrics cautioned, I wondered if trouble could be far behind.

  I pulled into my driveway, wishing I could swing by Ollie’s daycare and pick him up early. Too bad I didn’t have his car seat. The weather was still so beautiful that I considered walking over with his stroller to get him. Before making my way to the front door, I stopped to check the mailbox. It was jammed full. Catalog, catalog, bill, junk, junk, bill…. University of Southern California? My heart stopped. It was a thin envelope. My heart sank. Oh well, there are still my Plan Bs, I reassured myself. I stuck the rest of the mail under my armpit and ripped open the letter. My heart soared:

  Dear Ms. Kingston:

  We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the undergraduate program at the University of Southern California. Based on the strength of your SAT scores, combined with your high school transcripts and application essay, we believe you would be an asset to the USC Trojan family. We are prepared to offer you the Julia Ann Fowler Women in Fine Arts Scholarship, in the hopes that you will very seriously consider USC as you weigh your college options.

  A packet of materials will be mailed out to you in the next several weeks with more detailed information.

  Our very best wishes to you for a successful collegiate experience, and I sincerely hope you will be joining us in the fall.

  Sincerely,

  Joanna Nussbaum

  Admissions Officer

  P.S. We were particularly impressed by the photography submissions included in your application.

  Certainly, there would still be some numbers to crunch, but all at once my college dream was suddenly within reach. Remember in The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy was having a tough time of it, but she finally caught her first glimpse of The Emerald City and everything was sunshine-y and cool? That was me right now. Then again, meeting the Wizard didn’t exactly solve all of Dorothy’s problems, did it?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Why Do You Dress Me in Borrowed Robes?

  I RANG THE DOORBELL AT MOM’S CONDO TWICE before her roommate, Margot, finally answered. Her hair was wrapped in a fluffy green towel, and she was wearing jeans and a ratty old CBGB T-shirt. She was twenty-five years old, and Mom had found her on the college’s housing message board. I’d met her twice before, briefly, but this was the first time I’d actually visited their apartment. I was there because Mom had promised to take me shopping for a prom dress. I’d put it off as long as possible, and Leonard had finally given up on harassing me about it, but now that it was the weekend before prom I knew I had to get it over with or risk having to wear a duct tape dress to the big night.

  “Come on in,” Margot said, leading me down the long hallway decorated with framed punk records from the seventies and into the living room, which was cozy in a haphazard, lived-in way: mismatched furniture and a shelving unit shoddily constructed out of two-by-fours and cinder blocks. A rats’ nest of power cords and cables dangled from behind the makeshift entertainment center, which consisted of an ancient-looking TV and CD player. I recognized the patchwork quilt hanging over the back of the couch; it was the one that had always been draped across the bottom of the bed in my parents’ room.

  “Your mom should be back from the Laundromat any minute,” Margot explained, motioning me toward the couch. It was so weird that she was closer to my age than my mom’s. I was again reminded of the fact that my mom was living a completely different life than the one she’d had when we were still a family, as if she was trying to reclaim her youth and pretend to be some cool college kid. A scary thought, and one that made me yearn for the “good old days,” as imperfect as they’d been. Sometimes when I thought about the future, I couldn’t picture anything at all. It was like stepping off a space station and floating away into nothingness.

  Margot pulled the towel off, tipped her head, and starting drying the roots, which were purposefully darker than the rest of her hair. She had an edgy cut that really suited her. Great to see Mom had traded me in for this more compelling counterpart. I accepted Margot’s offer of soda, and while she went to get it, I took the opportunity to check out the large oil painting hanging over the brick fireplace.

  It was a riff on the classic American Gothic painting of the grumpy, hayfork wielding farmer and his equally stern wife. Only in this image the weathered man in the portrait was holding a whaling spear. When I was twelve, I’d seen the original masterpiece up close at the Art Institute of Chicago while visiting my grandparents. Mom’s father was a professor of art history and his docent friend had given us a private tour of the museum. Gramps never passed up an opportunity to educate us and had also used the painting as a way to bring up his favorite topic, small-town mentality, which always seemed to upset Mom. He was a third-generation Chicagoan and didn’t understood why his daughter had chosen to make her life in what he saw as a backwoods village with virtually no culture or real opportunity. In his eyes, Dad was to blame because he’d gotten one of those lucrative-but-dangerous fishing jobs here in the summers to pay his way through college. He’d quickly fallen in love with the vast open spaces and quirky types who call Alaska home. When he and Mom got married the summer after college, they moved to Anchorage, promising to reevaluate after three years. Of course, they never left.

  “Like it?” asked Margot, interrupting my reverie.

  “Yeah, it’s intense,” I said, taking the Diet Coke from her, “and really powerful.” Oh god, could I sound any more lame?

  “It was a class assignment.” She settled down on the opposite end of the sofa, tucking her bare feet with black-painted toenails up under her knees, cross-legged.

  “You painted this?” I had assumed that Margot was in pre-med with my mom. It had never occurred to me that she was an artist.

  “Yep, I’m an art major,” she explained. “Last semester we had to reinterpret a famous painting. I’ve always loved the original, so I decided to do an Alaska riff on it. It was either that or Munch’s The Scream, but I thought that would be too ‘junior high,’” she said.

  “I like the way you think,” I said with a laugh.


  “Your mom says you’re going to study photography?”

  “Sort of. I got into the University of Southern California….” Then I blurted out something I’d been thinking about since I received the acceptance letter.”But I don’t know if I should go … with everything going on. My dad and Ollie need me.”

  “Did you talk to your parents about this?” From anyone else, this might have sounded pushy and condescending, but I could already tell that Margot had a knack for not sounding preachy.

  “No.” I shook my head reluctantly. “But they would just tell me to go.”

  “You’re lucky they’re so supportive,” Margot said. “Everyone in my family is some sort of professional — doctors, lawyers, engineers, you name it. I decided to rock the boat and become a professional artist. I may as well have told them I was going to be a trapeze artist. Needless to say, they were not enthused.”

  “I know someone who is going through the same thing,” I said, thinking of Craig and his dad.

  “Hey, girls!” Mom came into the living room and plopped her heavy load of laundry down the on the couch. She looked exhausted but she had an enthusiastic smile on her face. “Skye, are you ready for some shopping? My treat, you know.” She put her arms out for a hug and for the first time since she and Dad had broken the news to me, I actually gave her one.

  • • •

  Three hours later, I’d tried on just about every dress at three different department stores, to no avail. Everything either looked like something straight out of Tacky Bridesmaid magazine or it was way too short for my tall frame. I found two that might have actually worked, but once I’d glanced at the price tags, I pretended, for her bank account’s sake, that they were the ugliest dresses on the planet.

  “Are you sure, honey? It’s actually quite becoming,” Mom had said as I halfheartedly modeled a silver sequined cocktail dress with a plunging neckline in back.

  “No, it’s too glittery. I look like a deflated disco ball.”

  The light FM music being piped into the too-small dressing room was not helping the situation, and Mom was out of ideas. I texted Kaya for help and she suggested Savvy Seconds, assuring me that if there was still a decent-looking prom dress left in this city, the consignment shop would have it.

  As we drove across town I crossed my fingers that the perfect dress would be waiting there for me. I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter, but who was I kidding? I couldn’t help but get into the spirit of the whole thing. I’d seen all the movies: Never Been Kissed, Pretty in Pink…. Any kid with an ounce of cultural awareness knew the precedent for prom night. I was supposed to magically evolve from ugly duckling to glorious swan, making jaws everywhere hit the floor. But I didn’t really care what anyone else thought. Only Craig. Even as I told myself I was completely over him, I wanted him to regret that he’d ever chosen Beth over me.

  “Honey.” My mom interrupted my Craig reverie. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Uh oh. What now? Was she planning to marry a twenty-year-old? Or a fifty-year-old? Would I have stepbrothers?! Would she honestly expect me to be her maid of honor? I glanced outside the passenger window so she wouldn’t have to see my face if I started to bawl.

  “I overheard what you said to Margot about Dad and Ollie, and I need you to know something. A big part of the reason your dad and I split up was because of me.”

  “Duh, Mom, that’s pretty clear.” I said. She was having an affair and she was going to marry some jerk who’d want me to call him Dad. I just knew it.

  “But maybe you don’t understand why.” You bet I understood. Late night study groups. Footsie underneath the table. Next thing you know, a family is completely destroyed.

  “Your dad and I dated all the way through college. He was my first love,” she said. “Right after we graduated, we moved here, and within a few months, I had you.”

  “Mom, I know all this. What’s with the history lesson?” I rolled my eyes. I knew I was acting like a brat, but somehow I couldn’t seem to stop punishing her, and she wasn’t ready to stop me.

  “I know you’re thinking about staying in town to look after us,” she said.

  “I meant Dad and Ollie.”

  “I know you did.”

  Mom pulled into the mini mall parking lot and parked in front of Savvy Seconds. She shut off the engine and turned to me.

  “Skye, you might not know this, but I had dreams, too.” She put her hands in her lap and looked down at them thoughtfully. “From the time I was six years old I wanted to be a doctor. A surgeon, in fact. As I got older, I knew I was meant to save lives. In high school and college I took the most difficult science classes, and even though it didn’t always come easy to me, I did really well.”

  “Yeah, so.”

  “So … your dad … you know how much he loves it here. From the first moment he saw it, he loved it down to his bones. I never did. I came here for him, and when he wanted to have a family, I chose to give up my dreams for a while. We decided I’d be a stay-at-home mom and be there for my girl when she came home from school.” She reached out and took my hand.

  “I love you, honey,” she said, “but a part of me has always been missing. Now I’m doing what I’m meant to do.”

  “But didn’t you want to have me?” My upper lip quivered. Here we go again, I thought. It seemed like I spent half the time on the brink of tears these days. Would things ever get better or was it always going to be like this?

  “Of course, honey! I wanted you, and I wanted to be home with you.” She sighed. “But there were other things I wanted, too. Your dad never understood. He thought I could just be happy with the way things were, the way he is. But I’m not that way. I need more. But this isn’t about me. What I’m trying to say is, you need to follow your dreams. Do what your gut tells you, or you will resent your dad and Ollie…. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to them.” I opened the glove box and found a box of tissues. I handed one to Mom and took one for myself. The sound of us both sniffling into our Kleenex made me giggle and after a second Mom started laughing too.

  “Mom, everything is going to be okay,” I said reaching over to give her a hug. “It really is.”

  “I know, kiddo,” she said, reaching for the door handle. “Now let’s go find you a dress that will knock Craig’s socks off.”

  “Am I that obvious?” I said as I hopped out of the car.

  “I notice more than you think I do,” she said giving me a strange look that made me wonder if she was referring to more than my gigantic crush. Nah, she couldn’t be….

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Stands Not Within the Prospect of Belief

  MONDAY MORNING FOUND ME IN THE DARKROOM completely immersed in my end-of-year photography project, when Leonard tapped on the door. As usual he was sporting business casual attire: khaki pants, an argyle sweater vest, and an oxford shirt. Oh no, I thought, what now? Would he want to discuss pre-prom dinner options or — quelle horreur! — the after party? I was totally ready to stop him then and there with a not-so-gentle reminder that — as far as he knew — my curfew was still midnight, no ifs, ands, or buts, when I realized he was looking a little less confident than usual.

  “Um, Skye,” he said uneasily. “I was hoping to find you here. We need to talk.”

  “What’s up, Lenny?”

  “I was just wondering if you’d purchased your prom dress yet.” Oh god, what was it with the cummerbund obsession?

  “Yes, I got it this weekend, but — ”

  “Oh. That’s too bad.” He looked down at the floor, shuffling his loafers against the cracked linoleum. “I know you were never that excited about prom to begin with….” he trailed off. “And you said that if I changed my mind — ”

  “Lenny, what’s going on?” I glanced at the nonexistent watch on my wrist.

  “Well, the thing is …” He paused again, infuriatingly. “Megan kinda sorta asked me to the prom over the weekend.”

&
nbsp; “Oh.”

  “So, I didn’t think you’d mind so much if I went with her instead. But since you’ve already got the dress….”

  “No, sure, Lenny.” Free at last, I thought, but not without a twinge of … something. Was I actually disappointed now that I was finally off the hook? I felt a lump forming in my throat, possibly more from embarrassment than anything. “That’s okay, I can use the dress for lots of things: weddings, funerals, bat mitzvahs. It’s really not a problem. You should go with Megan. You two will have a great time.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” Lenny breathed an obvious sigh of relief. Jeez. Nothing like feeling as though you’re a pair of heavy iron shackles on someone else’s social life. Was I really such an inferior second to Megan?

  “Thanks, Skye, I really appreciate it,” he said holding out his hand. I put mine out and he gave it a shake as though we were business partners coming to an agreement. “No hard feelings?”

  “None.” I said, feigning enthusiasm. “Well, see you around.”

  “At the editorial meeting this afternoon, right?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

  Rejected by Leonard Livermore. That’s what I’d gotten for being so cocky these last few weeks. Now I had a gorgeous dress, but no date. Oh well, I’d probably have a better time staying at home with Dad and Ollie on prom night. Lord knows the last time I’d attended a party I’d lived to regret it.

  • • •

  “Look, it’s your senior year,” said Tess, popping open a can of contraband soda, which recently had been outlawed, along with the once-ubiquitous candy machines, after the PTA got all riled up over an article about poor school nutrition in the New York Times. “You’re sort of obligated to go. It’s a ‘rite of passage.’” Her silver bangles jangled as she formed quote marks with her hands.

  Cat and Kaya nodded in agreement. Apparently the allure of prom had rubbed off on them in spite of their devil-may-care attitude about most school-related activities. As for my lack of a suitable escort, the girls couldn’t have cared less. In fact, they insisted that going with a date was “patriarchal” and “sheep-like.” As a matter of course, they were all going together. For the last couple of months I’d been sitting with them during lunch and had long since stopped feeling like the proverbial third, or in this case fourth, wheel. As much as I prided myself on my independence, it was nice to have a group of friends to rely on, and it didn’t hurt that they actually seemed to appreciate my self-deprecating humor.