Exposure (28 page)

I was already corralled in line behind the x-ray machines when I heard my name.

“Skye!” It happened all the time, thinking I'd heard my voice when in reality, it was only a stranger yelling “Hi” somewhere across a crowded room. And yet, it had distinctly sounded like … but of course, it couldn't be. My mind was only playing tricks on me, no doubt because I'd spent the better part of last night thinking about him. But then I heard it again: My name. His voice. This time it was unmistakable.

“Skye!” I craned my neck, but I couldn't locate him anywhere among the dozens of people standing in line behind me. I grabbed the handle of my rolling suitcase and began to worm my way back through the queue, hoping I didn't set off any terrorist sensors in the process. He was waiting for me at the entrance to security.

“Young man, I cannot let you through here without a boarding pass and ID,” said a militant TSA worker.

“It's okay, ma'am,” I said, grabbing Craig by the hand and walking him over to an empty ticketing counter. My mind reeled.

“I can't believe you're here,” I said, my eyes already starting to mist. He looked at me, and I could tell he was wondering if I meant that in a good way or a bad way. I'd grown used to the idea that it might be months, even years, before I'd see him again. After the plea agreement, he was pretty much under house arrest until he finished the terms of his lengthy community service. Craig and his family had been incommunicado during the last couple of weeks, but I wasn't surprised given the hounding they were receiving by the press. His dad had taken away his cell, and whenever I tried their home line I got a busy signal. I knew we'd talk at some point, I just didn't know when.

“I thought for a sec that maybe I shouldn't have come,” he said. “That maybe you didn't want to see me.”

“Are you crazy?” I scolded, wrapping my arms around his neck as he lifted me toward him in a bear hug. I held his cheeks in both my hands and pulled his face toward mine.

“Crazy? Yeah, a little,” he laughed as he set me down after our kiss.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, pulling away. “I'm surprised they'd let you anywhere near an airport!”

“My dad and Mr. Shaw talked to the judge and the parole board, and they've decided to allow me some leniency.” My eyes widened with incredulity.

“Okay, the parole board, I can understand,” I marveled, “But your
dad?
”

“Yeah, I know. You and me both.”

“But what do you mean, ‘Mr. Shaw talked to the judge?' Why would he do that?”

“The Shaws are incredible people.” Craig shook his head with an air of respect. “They said they discussed it and decided that they didn't want to compound the tragedy of what happened, well, …
that night
. Still, I don't deserve their mercy. Mr. Shaw had a long talk with my dad. Told him that there are things he wished he'd done differently with Duncan. Like not pushing him so hard with sports. The gist of it is that I don't have to go to law school anymore — not that I would've been accepted with my record, anyway. But can you believe my dad actually used the phrase, ‘You should do what makes you happy?'”

“Unbelievable!”

“No kidding. For some reason, he seems to have really lightened up about the whole art thing, too.”

“That's great!”

“I've been drawing a
ton
since I've been cooped up at home these past few months, and he thinks I should give it a go. So I'm thinking about trying to take some classes at the community college. Not USC like
you
, Miss Big Shot, but things are kind of working out.”

“
Kind of
working out? Are you kidding? This is better than we could have ever hoped for!” I expected Craig to seem as gleeful about this news as I was, but his happiness seemed more measured.

“None of this alleviates my guilt — not by a long shot. Every day I think about what happened and how I'll never be able to make up for it.”

“Flight two-twenty-three to Los Angeles boarding in thirty minutes at Gate C4,” said the announcer over the intercom. Craig and I both stared at one another for a moment, knowing our time was running out. Once again, I longed for that pause button on the remote control of life. The lump forming in the back of my throat was acutely painful.

“Well, I guess this is it.” Craig gently squeezed my hand.

“I don't want to leave you. Say the word, and I'll stay.” I put my arm around his neck and leaned in for another kiss.

“You're getting on that plane. This is the right thing for you to do.”

“How do you know?”

“Trust me. I just do.”

“What if you're wrong?”

“Remember what your mom told you?” he said with a sigh. “Why she and your dad split up?”

“Because she still needed to follow her dreams.”

“Exactly,” Craig brushed my hair from my forehead and kissed it gently.

“So I need to do this now so we don't have to break up later?”

“Yep. That's exactly why.”

“That seems ass-backward.”

“Nonetheless….”

“When will I see you again? My parents can't afford to fly me home for the holidays.”

“I wish I knew, Skye,” he said. “I've still got months of community service ahead of me … by the time I can visit, if I'm even allowed to visit, you may not want to see me,” he trailed off.

“That's an impossibility,” I argued. “I will always,
always
want to see you.”

“The minute I can visit, I will. I'll find a way,” he said hoarsely, pulling me to him for one last kiss. He practically suffocated me with a hug, but I didn't care. I never wanted to let go. “You'd better go, Beanpole,” he said, holding me even more tightly. “You'll miss your flight. I love you. Oh! And here….” He dug into the front pocket of his jeans and brought forth the faceted prism, dangling from a platinum chain. “So you don't forget.”

Ding. The seatbelt sign switched off. I brushed a tear from my cheek and blew my nose with an Alaska Airlines napkin, then looked down at the crystal in my lap. It reminded me of the Crystal Gallery of Ice I'd seen last Christmas — a bittersweet thought. I hoped those ice sculptures — beautiful, but melting — wouldn't serve as a metaphor for my relationship with Craig. Would we be able to survive the distance? After everything we'd been through together, would time, space, and separate lives prove to be more than we could conquer? I felt like my entire senior year had been an emotional battle, and I still wasn't sure whether I had lost or I had won.

It felt scary to be hurtling forward toward the unknown, but Craig was right. I needed to do it on my own. As a stewardess walked down the aisle handing out headphones, I lifted the chain and put the crystal charm around my neck, tucking it away, inside my blouse where I could feel it always next to my skin.The plane kicked into full speed taking me farther away from home and toward my new life in California.

IT WAS AFTER THREE IN THE MORNING when Skye finished her story, only to be met with a disturbing silence. She wondered if she'd bored her roommates to death — or at least to sleep — when suddenly the room erupted with a flurry of questions and comments.

“No way. Did he really turn himself in?”

“I wouldn't have. I'd have gone to Mexico, first. They'd have to catch me. I'd go into hiding … live in a shack on the beach.”

“Right,” said another. “I'd love to see you trade in your gourmet coffees and weekly manicures for that.”

“But how could you just let that crazy bitch get away with it? Not to mention trying to filet you with a knife?” wondered the first.

“I don't believe it, anyway. You made the whole thing up, Skye.” The skeptical voice from the bunk below Skye's retracted her comment after dodging a pillow lobbed in her direction. “Okay, okay, I believe it,” she said, “but you have to admit it's pretty wild. If we knew you were chock full of
this
much drama, we'd be begging you for bedtime stories every night!”

“I wouldn't blame you for not believing me,” Skye said. The glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling above her bed had long since faded. “Sometimes it still doesn't seem real to me. Not any of it.”

“Do you think you'll ever see him again?”

Skye rolled over and said to the wall, “Nevermind. It's late … or early. Let's get some sleep.” She tugged her covers up over her head and pretended to sleep. She didn't want to talk about Craig anymore. It hurt too much.

After briefly shuffling in their respective sheets, Skye's roommates yielded to silence, and she eventually heard the even tempo of their breathing as they slipped one by one into slumber. She marveled at how she'd gone from being her dorm room's pariah to its celebrated phenom in the course of one long night. A year ago, she'd never have been able to reveal so many personal facets of her life to people she barely knew, people who might easily judge her. But now that she had laid all her vulnerabilities, triumphs, and heartbreaks out on the table, she suspected that her three roommates would be a little more approachable from here on out. Maybe they'd even grow to be friends.

Skye lay awake, watching the moonlight (or, more likely, the light from the megawatt streetlamp outside their dorm) refracted by the crystal she'd hung in front of the window on the day she moved in. There was only an hour's time difference between Los Angeles and Anchorage. Was Craig still awake and thinking about her, she wondered? Doubtful. They hadn't managed to find time to talk much and she'd finally stopped obsessively checking her phone for his texts. What was there to say? He was busy with community service and trying to figure out what he was going to do with the rest of his life. She was taking a full load of courses and completely immersed in her new world. Maybe it was for the best, she thought, as she punched her lumpy pillow into submission and rolled over, preparing to count sheep if that's what it took. Glancing down at the nightstand to check the time, she noticed the green light emanating from her phone. Reaching down, she picked it up and punched in her passcode. It was a text from Cat:

“Guess who I ran into today? Your favorite Prom King. My latest prediction: You're going to be receiving a visitor very soon. Just be sure to use your charms wisely!”

Leave it to Cat to be ambiguous with her advice — or was it another prophecy? It didn't really matter, Skye mused. Whatever the future held, one thing was certain: she wasn't afraid.

Copyright © 2012 by Kim Askew and Amy Helmes
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

Published by Merit Press
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
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Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

www.meritpressbooks.com

ISBN 10: 1-4405-5261-4
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5261-8
eISBN 10: 1-4405-5262-2
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5262-5

This e-book edition: April 2013 (v.1.0)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

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