Exposure by Kim Askew Read Free Book Online Page A

“Can you be ready at eight thirty?”
    â€œOf course! See you guys then. Can’t wait!” Before I turned jauntily on my heel I saw Beth shoot Craig one of her furrowed brow specials.
    â€¢ • •
    My dad chopped organic carrots for Ollie’s baby food while I sat at the kitchen counter, a dozen lipsticks pilfered from my mom’s makeup drawer arrayed in front of me like pirate booty. She was working the late shift at the Regent, the oldest and best of Beth’s uncle’s movie theaters and the only one that showed classic films like
Philadelphia Story
and
Casablanca
. When Craig first moved to Anchorage, a noir film series was in full swing and we spent hours, elbow to elbow, in the darkened theater watching sultry scenes between Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly. I could hardly believe the guy I shared Red Vines with back then was the same person who had so grimly accepted my ostensibly bold R.S.V.P. hours earlier.
    I carefully applied a cherry-red shade using the silver toaster as a makeshift mirror and was relieved to notice that the zit-zapper cream I’d been applying all week had finally destroyed most of the freakishly large pimple sitting rakishly astride my left nostril. Despite this glimmer of good news on the complexion front, I was not in the best frame of mind to take advice — especially from my dad, who I was fairly certain had absolutely no clue what it was like to be me. If the ink-filled pages of his yearbook were any indication, he’d spent the better part of high school basking in the unadulterated admiration of everyone from fellow jocks to drama geeks. He and my mom, former high school sweethearts, were always after me to be myself. I know they meant well, but really, how cliché can you get? It’s easy to be yourself when everyone thinks you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread.
    â€œSkye, I know I’m not supposed to say this,” Dad said, “but when it comes to teenage boys, I think you shouldn’t be above playing hard-to-get.”
    Sometimes I appreciated the fact that my dad was comfortable enough to talk to me about anything — and I mean
anything
. This was not one of those times. Now that I had to face the repercussions of my inspired lunchtime performance, I could feel my confidence take a slow dive. It was going to be a long and trying night for me, and I was attempting to shore up my tough-girl exterior to hide how terrified I really felt. I looked up at my dad and scoffed.
    â€œFirst of all, like I’ve told you a couple million times already, Craig and I are just friends. And secondly,” and here’s where I really screwed up, “why don’t you try taking your own advice for a change?” Dad looked stricken and Ollie, as if in protest, began to howl.
    It was a low blow and I knew it. My mom had recently gone back to school to study medicine and my dad had become a veritable Mr. Mom, taking care of Ollie and the house when he wasn’t working as the manager at a hardware store. I helped out too, when I could spare the time from school, homework, and the paper. At first it seemed to be working out great, but then Mom started clocking more hours with her study group. Between that and her part-time job at the Regent, she was spending less and less time with us. The harder my dad tried, the farther away she seemed to get. When I slammed the front door shut on the way out an hour later, I was still giving Dad the silent treatment as if he’d actually done something wrong, rather than the other way around.
    Beth didn’t even attempt to push her seat forward as I squeezed in behind her and tumbled into the back seat of Craig’s Jeep Wrangler. Ever in a state of denial, Craig tried to pretend like the situation was one hundred percent normal. At least Beth had the dignity to be honest about her feelings. She certainly didn’t attempt to veil her