Exposure (18 page)

“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.”

“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.

“It's not an option,” agreed Cat. “You're hanging with us.”

“We hereby decree.” Kaya said.

“Okay,” I said, taking a bite of my apple. “Since I don't have a choice. But I'm going under duress.” I still felt a little awkward about the whole thing, but I realized
not
going meant Mom would have needlessly spent money on the dress. And besides, I think my mom was even more excited about the whole thing than I was.

“Now that that's settled, let's get back to where we left off yesterday,” Kaya said, leaning in closer and lowering her voice to a loud whisper.

“Where were you yesterday?” I said.

“Oh, don't worry, Skye … we'll get to you soon enough.” Kaya looked at me and giggled. “Cat, I believe it was your turn….”

“Yes, what will it be, Cat?” said Tess, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Truth or dare?”

“As if I would actually submit myself to another one of your wicked dares,” said Cat. “I still haven't emotionally recovered from the last mortification.”

“Oh puh-leaze … an ‘I Heart Fabio' poster taped on your locker — for one measly day — isn't even remotely the worst we could do.”

“In that case, I'd much rather reveal a deep, dark secret this time around.”

“Excellent,” Kaya said.

“Okay, so you know Nick?” Cat said.

“Nick Horne?” I said, “Sure, he's on the hockey team.”

“Yep,” she said, pausing to make sure we were all attentive. “Well, I ran into him over the weekend at the video store.”

“And?” Tess waved her hand in a get-to-the-point fashion.

“Well, turns out we were both looking for the same movie. You wouldn't know it, but Nick is quite the cinefile.”

“That's your secret?” Kaya scoffed. “That doesn't count. If that's your secret, it's entirely unacceptable. You're going to have to do a dare instead.”

“Wait,” said Cat. “That's not it. My
secret
is that I kind of like him.”

“Nick?” Kaya said, stunned, “Wait, what? A jock?”

“So what? He's more than a jock.”

“Okay, tell us everything,” Tess said. “When did you start liking him?”

As the girls whispered excitedly to one another, I grew lost in thought. It was my turn next. Would I choose a truth or a dare? Dares were out of the question. I couldn't stand to make myself vulnerable, possibly opening myself up to ridicule. But ‘truth' was just as dicey. Although … maybe this was my last chance to finally let someone in on my truly deep, dark secret. If I told the girls what I'd overheard the night of Duncan's death, maybe they might have some good advice. At the very least I could get it off my chest, which would be a colossal relief. But what would they think of me for remaining quiet this whole time? Was it fair to burden them with what I knew?

“Skye,” Kaya said, interrupting my train of thought. “We still have five minutes left before fifth period. Your turn.” The girls looked at me expectantly.

“Actually, there is something I've been keeping from you,” I said and inhaled deeply. “But this isn't a game, and it really — ” Before I could finish the sentence, Kristy bounded up to our table and grabbed a chair next to Cat. I realized I was shaking slightly. I'd gotten so used to holding onto this secret that the thought of actually telling it was terrifying.

“Girls,” Kristy said, “I just wanted to remind you that Duff and I are running for Prom King and Queen, and we'd really appreciate your vote.” As if we could forget, I thought to myself. For weeks the halls and communal spaces had been plastered with candidate posters, and Kristy's were a blindingly hot pink.

“Actually I was planning to write in ‘Marge and Homer Simpson,'” joked Cat, brandishing her soup spoon decisively in the air.

“Cute,” Kristy said, not letting it sway her. Truth be told, I was almost beginning to like Kristy, when before I'd often wondered what a nice guy like Duff saw in her. She could take a joke at her own expense, and — in spite of her obsession with the trappings of popularity — she was clearly smarter than she let on. Ever since our chat the night of the party, she'd actually acknowledged me around school, which is more than I could say for most of the people in her social stratosphere. “Well, I'm just saying keep us in mind.” She stood up to leave, but added, “Skye, the lip gloss looks great.”

“Thanks,” I said, still inwardly freaking about what I'd almost revealed to the girls. The clatter of a lunch tray crashing to the ground made us all start and crane our necks to the front of the cafeteria. An irate Beth stood screaming at Craig as they stood in the cafeteria line.

“
Goddammit, Craig
. Will you wake the hell up? This sweater is cashmere! You think ketchup just washes out, no problem? It's ruined!” Craig looked annoyed as he handed money to the cashier. “Get some napkins,” Beth said.

“I'm not your freakin' personal assistant. Get them yourself!” Craig grabbed his tray from the counter, headed over to a table, and sat down with his back to Beth.

“I've never seen two people more destined to be King and Queen,” Kaya said.

“They are seriously royal pains in the ass, and utterly perfect for each other,” Tess said. Then, after getting a raised eyebrow from Cat, she added apologetically, “Sorry, Skye.”

“That's okay,” I said, hoping I sounded appropriately nonchalant “I couldn't care less. And you're right. They're totally a match made in hell.” Just then the fifth bell rang out, and my friends started stacking their lunch trays and gathering up their belongings.

“Looks like you're saved by the bell, Skye,” Cat said. “But don't think you're off the hook.”

“SKYE, JUST RELAX,” Margot said as she aimed a mascara wand toward my left eye. “Look over my right shoulder and try not to blink.”
Blink
? The left side of my face was spazzing out of control and I had to fight the urge to run screaming from the room like the totally mental wife in
Jane Eyre
.

The way my mom and Margot were acting, you'd think they'd been living for this moment their entire lives. All of their combined beauty products were arrayed on the bathroom counter, and Mom was waving a hot curling iron in the air as she danced around singing — no, make that shouting — along to Aretha Franklin's “Respect.” Margot wiggled her butt to the chorus and I was terrified she'd poke my eye out.

When Mom had called to suggest that I get ready for prom with the two of them, I'd protested. I normally spent all of two minutes in front of the mirror, and that was when I remembered to brush my hair. But Mom was as persistent as the girls had been in convincing me to go in the first place, and Dad said he had to agree with her. Prom was making fools out of us all, I thought, giggling.

“So, honey,” Mom said, putting the curling iron down and rifling through a selection of eye shadows. “What's the deal with this Craig guy? Has he wised up yet?”

“It's so over, Mom….” I said with a sigh. “It's so over, it never even started.” For once, I decided to stop pretending that I didn't care. It was exhausting keeping up a show of indifference and, with Mom at least, it wasn't working anyway.

“Well, you never know,” Margot said. “Strange things can happen on prom night.”

Mom nodded her head in agreement.

“I doubt it,” I said. “His girlfriend wouldn't let him out of her sight. She's hellbent on their getting crowned Prom King and Queen, and I'm sure she'll be dragging him on the campaign trail up until the very last second.”

“Who needs him, then?” Margot said. “I think it's great that you're going to the prom on your own. I guarantee you'll have more fun that way.”

“Hear, hear,” Mom said. “I am so proud of you! I only wish I'd been confident enough to do the same thing. Before I started dating your dad in high school, I ended up taking this guy named Marcus Finkey to the Christmas formal my sophomore year.”

“Really?”

“He was my friend's younger cousin, and he had breath that could wilt flowers. He wore a purple tux, and he kept wanting to slow dance. I spent half the night in the bathroom trying to avoid him!”

“Oh god, that sounds like a nightmare,” I said with laugh. “But hey, it's not like I'm the Joan of Arc of high school formals fending off paramours with a shield and sword. My options were limited.”

“Some girls would spend the night moping in their room,” said Mom, “But not my Skye-bear.”

“What do you think,” Margot said, turning to my mom. “Cream blush or powder?”

An hour later, I shimmied gingerly into the sapphire, almost-new gown that the manager of Savvy Seconds had brought from the back room for us the weekend earlier. Looking into the full-length mirror hanging on mom's bedroom door, I seriously felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. The dress hugged my frame in all the right places, almost as if it had been made for me. I turned and peered over my shoulder to check out the plunging back. Mom had pinned a white orchid to the side of my head, and my hair cascaded down in smooth waves. I could've sworn I'd been magically transformed into some sort of Pre-Raphaelite princess. It's amazing what a little makeup, a curling iron, and one hell of a dress could do, I decided.

I practically floated back to the bathroom where my fairy godmothers were waiting and had Margot zip me up. They fawned over how much bluer the dress made my eyes look, and we made goofy model poses as Mom snapped some candid shots with her phone. If prom itself was even half this fun, it was going to be an incredible night, date or no date.

We were interrupted by the doorbell.

“Aha, our special guests have arrived,” my mom said as we traipsed back down the hallway to the living room — me wobbling in a new pair of three-inch heels. Mom opened the door to the apartment and revealed Dad and Ollie.