Exposure (23 page)

I walked over to the glass door and peered inside. All the lights were on, but I didn't see anyone working at the counter. Maybe they'd simply forgotten to turn the sign off? I pulled at the door, half expecting it not to open, but it did, and so I walked into the brightly lit but quiet lobby.

“Craig,” I said, my voice echoing back as if from the bottom of a well. The doors leading into the screening room were closed, but I could hear the sound of a movie playing inside, so I slipped in quietly and shut the door carefully behind me so as not to disturb the other filmgoers. Up on the screen, I recognized the face of James Dean. I'd never seen this film, but based on the iconic red jacket and white T-shirt he wore, I figured it must be the teen tragedy,
Rebel Without a Cause
.

I peered into the darkened theater and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. There didn't seem to be anyone here, but then I had the strange sensation that I wasn't alone … someone was standing very close to me in the dark. I knew instinctively that it wasn't Craig, and I took a step back and reached my hand out, feeling for the door behind me. “Who's there?” I asked.

“Wait,” said an assertive female voice from the dark. “Don't leave.” Thank god; it was only Beth. Wow, I thought. Her uncle is making her clean the place on prom night? That's harsh. But then another thought occurred to me: How awkward would this be once Craig showed up to meet me? Granted, he would need to have it out with her at some point, but tonight didn't seem like the most opportune moment to let her know she was officially being replaced by yours truly. Easy was right: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and when that woman was Beth Morgan, look out. Maybe if I thought quickly, I could head him off before they ran into each other. But how was I supposed to explain to her what I was doing here in the first place?

As Beth drew closer I realized she was still wearing her prom dress, though it was ripped at the bottom, and Craig's tuxedo jacket was draped around her thin shoulders. Of course! It hadn't occurred to us that Beth might have taken the coat with her when she left the dance like a bat out of hell. Her face was streaked with tears and makeup and glowed pale and ghostlike from the dark. With her black gown blending in with the dark of the theater, her head — still topped with the garish crown — looked eerily unattached to her body. On-screen, James Dean's character was crying to his parents:
“We're all involved, Mom! A boy was killed! I don't see how we can get out of that by pretending it didn't happen!”

“Beth! I didn't realize you'd be — ”

“Don't talk. You've done quite enough already tonight, as it is.” She reached up to her head and pulled off the tiara. Part of her blonde hair snagged on the plastic comb, forcing her to wrench it off her head violently.

“May as well give this to you, too,” she said. “You've taken everything else from me, after all.”

“I'm not sure what you — ”

“I said,
DON'T TALK!
” she screamed. Her eyes could have burned holes through my skull the way she was looking at me. She grabbed my hand forcefully and pulled me along behind her toward the movie screen. Her hand felt cold and clammy against mine and I fought the urge to pull away, knowing it would only anger her even more. My skin crawled with something akin to instinctual fear, but I pushed it down. Beth could be intimidating, but she wasn't anything I couldn't handle.

Standing by the second row of seats, Beth now pointed to the seat closest to us. Draped over it was her prized cheerleading jacket. “You saw it, didn't you?” she said. “You know it's there.” I knew she was talking about the spot on the jacket. This was getting weirder by the minute. On-screen, the actors' faces looked ten-feet high and were, from this angle, eerily distorted. “The blood.” She was almost hissing now. “You see it, too! I know you do.”

“Beth, what's going on?” I asked, trying to remain calm. I was relieved when she let go of my hand and I quickly folded my arms against my chest. Alone with Beth in a darkened movie theater, the last thing I wanted to talk about was the damning speck of blood on her jacket. Just thinking about Beth's role in Duncan's death made my own blood boil, but I feigned ignorance.

“You know
exactly
what's going on,” she said, ignoring my dumbfounded stares. “You've had it out for me from the beginning.”

“But I didn't!”

“Right. This is
all
because of you. You loathed me for taking Craig away from you, and you wanted payback. You were going to steal Craig back from me.”

“What?!”

“I knew it. I knew it by the way he looked at you, by the way he talked about you … and Duff and Duncan didn't want me, either. No one wanted me.” She broke down into heart-wrenching sobs and I couldn't help but feel pity for her. She was obviously still having some psychological issues.

“Beth, it's okay,” I said, reaching over to pat her awkwardly on the shoulder.

“Don't touch me,” she said, jerking her arm away. She pointed again at the cheerleading jacket. “This is your fault. I never would've went for Duncan if I hadn't thought Craig would leave me. I had to take drastic measures.”

“So it's true?” I asked, trying to keep my voice ambivalent. “You made a pass at Duncan?”

“So what?” she said. “Craig was cheating on
me
… if not physically, at least mentally.”

“Craig never cheated on you,” I said. Still, Craig's acceptance speech earlier tonight was proof enough, in Beth's mind, that she was right all along. I couldn't exactly deny that — nor did I want to, if truth be told. But it was no crime.

“It's all your fault,” she repeated again. “You made me do it.”

“But — I don't understand.”

“Once I saw the way Craig was looking at you at the party that night, I knew I was losing him. I had to give him a reason not to leave me.”

“How can you blame me?” I was almost shouting. “You're the reason Duncan didn't survive. Why didn't you let someone know what happened right away? Why did you make Craig promise not to tell anyone?”

“You knew all along.” Her eyes narrowed into ferocious slits. “Were you spying on us? Or let me guess: your little Craigiepoo made you a heartfelt confession? How much did he tell you?”

“Craig didn't tell me anything.”

“Yeah, well he doesn't have to live with what I have to live with. I'm the one who — ” she stopped herself. “But it doesn't matter.”

“How can you say that?!” I said. “If you'd been honest that night, someone could have gotten to Duncan. He was still — ”

“Alive? Craig and I both saw him go in that icy water. There was no way we could have known he'd somehow manage to pull himself out. He was as good as dead when we left him.”

“And it was your idea not to tell anyone. I heard everything when you were standing by the Jeep that night.”

“It was the only way.”

“No. I'm … I'm going to go get help,” I said, my teeth chattering as if I were there in the snow that dark night with Duncan. Just as I started to turn away, I froze. In her right hand, which peeked from beneath Craig's jacket, something shimmered. She turned toward me and I registered instantly the steel blade of the knife in her hand.

“Beth, don't,” I begged as I backed away, holding my hands in front of me. “You're not thinking straight.”

“If anyone is to blame for Duncan's death, it's you,” she said, inching closer. “I wouldn't have had to lie to Craig. He and Duncan wouldn't have fought. Duncan wouldn't have fallen through the ice.” She looked like a zombie. And what did she mean by “I wouldn't have had to lie to Craig?” Was she talking about lying to the police?

I stumbled over myself as I tried to back away from her. These
damn
heels! She grabbed my arm. I could barely tear my eyes from the glint of the knife in her other hand. When I looked up, Beth's stare was almost vacant.

“Beth, you don't want to do this,” I said, sobs choking my words. “I'm not going to say anything to anyone. Please. Don't!” I closed my eyes and tried to brace for the impending pain as she raised her arm over her head. I imagined her lunging toward me, and the next thing I knew I'd fallen to the ground, my head hitting the concrete floor. Lights blinded me and I shut my eyelids tight, afraid to open them. I could hear Beth's rasping sobs. And then I heard another voice.

“Skye! Are you okay?” I opened my eyes and saw Craig kneeling next to me, frantic. Easy had both of his burly arms wrapped around Beth, and the knife was about two feet away on the floor. Beth was squirming against Easy's grasp. I tried to sit up but I felt too dizzy and swooned against Craig. When I could open my eyes again, I glanced back at Easy. Beth now looked like an exhausted, limp ragdoll in his arms. She was weeping incessantly and her speech was incoherent.

“Is she okay?” I asked him, putting my hand up to touch the knot on my head. “What are you two doing here?”

“Ray, your cabbie, swung back by the Hurlyburly,” Easy answered. “Said he'd dropped you here, and thought it seemed fishy. Then Craig called me from home wondering if he'd left his phone at the bar. Realized he couldn't have sent you that message.”

“So, who…?” I trailed off, realizing it must have been Beth who'd texted me, pretending to be Craig. “I thought she was you.”

“I left my phone in the pocket of my tux coat,” Craig said, stroking my forehead lightly. “I bolted over here as soon as I got off the phone with Easy.”

“Even though I
told
you to sit tight and let
me
handle the situation,” Easy said, grumbling.

“Now what do we do?” Craig looked at Easy for help, indicating Beth with a nod of his head.

“It's up to Skye,” he answered. “Do you want to press charges?”

I thought about it for a second. She'd almost killed me. She'd known Duncan was still alive and had left him to die in the wilderness. But if I did turn her over to the police and Beth told her story, Craig would probably be arrested, too. And none of this would bring back Duncan. I thought about campouts and sing-alongs with Beth when we were both in Brownies together as little girls. Sure, she had changed plenty since then, but she was still that same girl, and I couldn't help but pity her, strange as it sounds. I decided I'd take my chances rather than put Craig in jeopardy.

“No,” I shook my head slowly. “But she needs help.”

“Her dad's an old buddy of mine. I'll give him a call to get over here … make sure he understands that she needs to see a professional,” Easy said. “I've seen this kind of thing before. She's in shock right now. You two should take off before she comes out of this and realizes what happened.”

Craig helped me up and we walked out into the lobby. He pulled me close, looking into my eyes, and said, “I'm so sorry this happened to you. I didn't handle any of it well. I feel responsible.”

“There's been enough blame thrown around tonight,” I said, wondering how much, if anything, he and Easy had overheard before Beth got all dagger-happy on me. He looked at me questioningly and I decided they hadn't heard much.

“You might have handled it better,” I admitted, squeezing his hand. “The public declaration probably wasn't your best idea ever, but I appreciate the gesture.”

“I don't know what I would've done if anything had happened to you,” he said pulling me to him. Who cares if Beth almost killed me tonight, I thought. At least now I could die happy.

DUNCAN WASN'T THE ONLY ONE FATED TO DIE my senior year at East Anchorage High. It was a sunny afternoon, one of our last days of the school calendar, and as a symbolic nod to the future, Old Burny was about to meet its maker. The entire student body gathered on the green grassy quad just after lunch to bid the ancient tree farewell. On a raised dais, Principal Schaeffer, the city's school superintendent, and various other local dignitaries sat on folding chairs in front of a microphoned podium, including Edward Shaw, Duncan Shaw's father, who was a member of the school board. I only knew his face from seeing him at Duncan's memorial service in the gym last fall. It seemed ironic that we were now holding a similar ceremony for a tree, of all things. Off to the left, an enormous yellow Caterpillar backhoe waited like a looming dinosaur, eager to get this show on the road.

The tree would be cut down in a few days, and the quad, in its entirety, would be demolished as part of grand plans for an impressive new addition to the school. The renovation had been seriously hyped for most of my four years here, but only recently were the architectural plans revealed in the
Daily News
, showing where a brand new state-of-the-art theater and auditorium would be built on the site of the current parking lot. The quad would be paved over for the new parking lot, and Old Burny — who had toughed out a ravaging wildfire more than a century ago, not to mention having endured bitter winters and plenty of teenage graffiti ever since — would be reduced to kindling.