Exposure (26 page)

“Ms. Kingston! Fancy seeing you here!”

Mr. Richter was stuffing a file folder into his beat-up leather briefcase. He ran one hand through his thinning blond hair and gave me an accusatory smile. One eyebrow was raised waiting for me to explain myself.

“How long have you been camped out in there?”

“Just for the last period,” I said, hastening to explain myself. “We were only playing with Slinkys in physics, so — ”

“
Slinkys
. Oh I see. Well, that would explain everything.” He gave me a wink to let me know he was just teasing. With only three days of school left, apparently he wasn't too concerned about whether or not I was skipping class.

“Working on anything interesting in there, or were you just catching some Zzzs?”

“Well, I was working on my senior project,” I said, fudging a little.

“And how's that going for you?”

“Mm. It's not.”

“The attempt, and not the deed, confounds you. I'm sure it'll be wonderful,” he said, making me cringe as I thought about my half-assed masterpiece. Mr. Richter held one of the heavy metal doors open and motioned for me to exit ahead of him into the bright sunshine. “If you're really stuck,” he said, “stand on your head.” I looked at him as if he'd just told me he liked to eat small children in his spare time.

“I don't mean literally. It's a little trick I have when I'm creatively blocked. I try to turn things upside-down, or inside-out in my head.”

“Uh, okay. Thanks.” Whatever.

“And, Miss Kingston?” he added, before taking his leave. “I know there's less than a week of school left, but don't let me catch you hiding out anymore.”

I meandered my way back into the main school building heading for my locker. Despite the energetic buzz from other students that was in keeping with the end of the school year, nothing else seemed particularly unusual. I wondered if Craig was being fingerprinted now, or getting his mug shot taken … staring blankly into the official police camera as the flash bulb exploded before his dazed and confused face. The thought filled me with intense sadness, but it also gave me an idea. With Mr. Richter's final warning echoing in my head, I ditched the heavy books in my messenger bag, grabbed my camera, and slammed my locker door shut. I dug for my phone in my bag and returned Tess's text.

“Need yr help ASAP for Richter project. Tell the girls.”

Glancing down the hall, I saw Brett Sanders and Kristy Winters milling around by the drinking fountain.

“Brett! Kristy!” As I hurried in their direction, the look on their faces made it clear they were surprised to be summoned by the likes of me. “I need your help. How good are you at taking pictures?”

“HOW'D MY PICTURE TURN OUT?” Lenny leaned past Tess and whispered to me as we waited in line to go onstage, his royal blue silk gown rustling in the light breeze that swept across the football field.

“You'll just have to see for yourself,” I said.

“But did it look good? I mean, I know
you
looked good, but I couldn't figure out if I was completely in focus or not on that antique camera of yours.”

“Shhh. Don't worry about it. Get back in your spot, it's almost time!”

“By the way, congratulations.”

“You, too, Lenny.”

“
SKYE KINGSTON
….” Miss Hen announced my name, so I climbed the risers and headed over to shake hands with Principle Schaeffer. He handed me an empty leather diploma case — the real certificate would eventually come in the mail, so this was just for show. Nothing is ever quite what it seems.

“Well done, Skye.”

“Thank you, Mr. Schaeffer.”

“
RYAN KOWALSKI…
.” I stopped at the designated spot in front of the American flag to get my professional photo taken, as if I really wanted a visual keepsake of myself in this elephantine gown and mortarboard cap.

“
GINA KRUGER
….” I craned my neck to see my parents, who were sitting in the grandstand with Ollie in the family section. Mom waved like a freak while Dad frantically snapped pictures on my camera.

“
TESS LITTLEFISH…
.” Tess beamed brightly as she, too, shook Principle Schaeffer's hand. She held her diploma case up in the air like it was the Heisman Trophy.

“
LEONARD LIVERMORE
….” Filing back down the stairs and into my row of seats, Cat looked back at me and gave a raise-the-roof gesture. She was already in party mode, and I knew she was just itching to whip out the can of neon orange Silly String she had hidden under her gown. Jenna was going to have a coronary, but oh well.

“
BREE LUNDQUIST
….” Before I had a chance to sit down, a wayward beach ball bonked me on the head. The crowd was getting restless. The speeches and award presentations had taken an hour, and now the calling of the names was dragging. Everybody was chatting and goofing off with friends, and nobody was paying much attention to the official proceedings on stage. At least, not until his name was called.

“
CRAIG MACKENZIE
….” Maybe I was just ultra-sensitive, but I thought I sensed a hush come over the crowd. Regardless, I was proud of him as he strode across the stage with his head held high. He looked hot, even with that dorky tassel swinging across his face. It was a minor miracle he was even here today — not that he was on Easy Street, by any stretch. There was still plenty of legal wrangling between the team of lawyers his parents had hired and the district attorney's office. But because he was cooperating with the police — and because Duncan's family had lobbied the school on Craig's behalf — he was allowed to walk at graduation with the rest of us. Innocent until proven guilty, after all.

Beyond paying him one brief visit at his folks' house (they were keeping him on a short leash, naturally), I hadn't had much opportunity to find out the latest. It hadn't made the local news the night he turned himself in. Not until the next morning did the
Daily News
report his name in connection with the case, and the local television news outlets had taken gleeful relish in the story ever since. He'd been arrested on the spot, and his family had immediately posted bail. There would eventually be a trial to decide his fate. Although he was likely to be charged with negligent homicide, I didn't know the particulars of his case, since it was all still being hashed out with plea agreements and lawyerly mumbo-jumbo. Various news outlets mentioned Beth in connection with the crime, and I was thankful that Craig hadn't thrown himself on his sword for her by taking all the blame. But it remained unclear what charges she would face for her part in the incident. After the night at the Regent, she'd been MIA, and I'd only recently heard reports that she'd been admitted to a psychiatric facility.

“
Am ok all things considered
,” was the first text Craig sent me the evening after his arrest. The Shaw family had reacted as you would expect — with outrage and bitterness — when they found out their son's so-called best friend had abandoned him to die in the woods. Several days later, it was still a mystery why they had made the request that Craig be allowed to attend the graduation. One last concession, perhaps, before he was locked up for decades?

When Craig returned to his seat, I leaned over and peered at him down the row. He was waiting for my glance, proudly grasping his diploma holder in both hands. I smiled back at him, but it was a bittersweet moment for us both. Even before the day he saved Old Burny, I'd had my private doubts about whether he and I could ever really have a future together. I was moving to California in three months, and he'd been groomed since birth to attend whatever prestigious East Coast college his father had ordained for him. At the time, I'd thought about the possibility of a long-distance relationship. We could try to make it work, but what were the odds? If the door had been only open a crack
before
he'd gone to the police, that door was officially now shut. And locked. And barricaded with heavy, immovable objects. I loved him, but let's face it: it was all over before it had even begun. He most certainly would
not
be headed to college in the fall as things now stood. He'd be lucky if he even got a cell with a window.

The ceremony finally concluded with the marching band's rousing (but semi-out-of-tune) rendition of “Pomp and Circumstance.” Even with the occasional miscues by the brass section, the song stirred up sentiments deep in my gut that I'd been trying to keep at bay all afternoon: feelings about a soulmate found and lost; parting ways with new friends; my parents' separation; memories of late nights with the newspaper crew; my reluctance to leave my baby brother; regrets that I was being forced to fly away, having only just tentatively broken through my shell.

Craig inched his way down the row of seats so that he was standing next to me. He grabbed me around the waist with one arm, and I hoped he couldn't see that I was on the verge of bawling. Apparently, he was feeling sentimental, too.

“We'll always have Paris,” he sweetly joked, reminding me of when we'd gone to see
Casablanca
at the Regent that summer before our sophomore year.

“Neither of us even have passports,” I ruefully pointed out.

“Okay, well, we'll always have the darkroom.” He gave me a quick peck on the cheek before Principal Schaeffer invited us all to let our mortarboards fly. I flung mine as far as I could into the sky.

“Hasta la vista, fugly hat!” I heard Kristy Winters scream from two rows behind us.

Students milled around on the fifty-yard line, celebrating and posing for pictures together as friends and relatives emptied out of the bleachers. Jillian was filling in Duff about the fact that she was going to journalism school at Northwestern University. Kaya was lifting the hem of her graduation gown to show off the four-inch platforms she was sporting.

“I
thought
you seemed taller!” I heard someone behind her squeal.

“So you decided to behave?” I asked Cat, nodding to where she might have hidden the Silly String contraband.

“Are you kidding?” she laughed. “The last thing I need is Jenna on my case, harping about the ozone.”

“You are a wise, wise woman.”

People seemed to be keeping their distance from my scandal-plagued beau, but then Duff walked over with Kristy, who graciously asked to take a picture of Craig and me.

“Is that
eye shadow
, Skye?” she smiled as she steadied her digital camera.

“Baby steps,” I said, my face reddening. One thing I would never need in my cosmetics bag was blush. A few more members of the cheerleading set skipped their way over to Kristy's side.

“I noticed Beth was a no show,” commented one overtanned and underfed specimen named Natalia Frantz. Beth hadn't been at school since my encounter with her at the movie theater, and some wondered aloud if she'd been “institutionalized” again. Duff glanced at Craig, but before anyone could answer further, another pom-pom princess interrupted.

“Oh my god, Kristy, your earrings are so rad!”

“Really? They're my great-grandma's from when she was, like, a debutante or something.”

As the girls delved into the finer points of their respective wardrobes and accessories, Duff and Craig had started talking about this season's hockey record. The topic of Beth had flown out the window, even though I, too, was curious as to her whereabouts. How ironic. Beth Morgan had officially been relegated to the one thing she feared most in this world: Obscurity.

Eventually, Craig gazed behind me about two feet above my head, his eyes expressing concern. I turned around to find my dad standing with Ollie perched on his shoulders.

“Hey!” I gave my mom a giant hug. Her eyes were misty.

“This one's been in Niagara Falls–mode for the last two hours,” said Dad, nodding toward my sniffling mom.

“Yes, well, my baby girl only graduates from high school once,” she said with a smile. “Besides, mister … I seem to recall you asking me to hand you a tissue or two.”

I still, for the life of me, couldn't understand why these two were getting divorced. They seemed to have more chemistry now than ever before. I guess it was one of those things that would always remain a mystery — but I was happy, at least, to see them finally getting along so well.

They both shifted their eyes expectantly toward Craig, who stood nervously beside me.

“Oh, Mom, Dad, this is Craig.” He cleared his throat and extended a hand toward my dad for a shake.

“Nice to meet you.”

“We've heard
so much
about you.” Uggh. Leave it to my mother to utter the most inappropriate string of words that could possibly have escaped her mouth.

“I've talked about you a lot,” I said, hoping he understood that they'd heard a lot about him from
me
, not from the nightly news.