Exposure (25 page)

Cameron said, “Well, to begin with, his arrest made the news. TV and newspapers and online. Then Braddock suspended him because your dad called and had a total fit—said Anthony’s dangerous to all us innocent girls—as if anyone in the Upper School is innocent, right? Amber Hartfield, maybe, with her violin and all that acne. Anyhow, your dad told the news that, too. They quoted him as ‘the victim’s father’ without naming names. And oh, man, at school—”

“Oh my God,” Amelia said, horrified at her father’s actions. It was all she could do not to glare at him as he followed her mother into the kitchen. She turned away from them, going into the pantry as if she’d planned to get a Milk-Bone for Buttercup. “At school?” she prompted, needing to not think about her father just now, or what might she say to him in her anger? And then he’d send her to her room again and forbid Cameron’s visit. No Cameron equaled no Anthony.

“A lot of the kids are talking shit about Anthony, like they always knew he was a perv and they’re glad he’s in trouble, and some of the girls are saying he propositioned
them
, or they’re claiming to be the unnamed victim so they can get all the attention.”

“Who’s doing that?” Amelia said. Buttercup trailed her into the pantry and sat down expectantly. Amelia found the Milk-Bone box and took out two biscuits.

“Camilla Duffy, for one. That’s no surprise, right? Our gang knows what’s really up—and nobody’s telling, I made them all swear on their lives. Officially you still have mono, but you’re getting better and hope to be back after Thanksgiving. Anthony is supposed to be able to come back after his case is settled, but …”

“But?” Amelia set the biscuit on Buttercup’s nose, then gave her the signal to toss and catch it. Buttercup was her single comfort these days.

“But, some other stuff has happened, and his first court date got delayed—did I tell you that already?—and he’s just really pissed. But—a better ‘but’—he’s really, really happy about coming to see you tonight, so I have a plan and all you have to do is say I’m coming over for help with my English paper—and make sure we can be in your room. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, already feeling the heat of nerves and anticipation rising from her collar and coloring her neck. “See you soon.” She stayed in the pantry and fed Buttercup a second biscuit, hoping a few deep breaths would relieve the flush.

When she left the pantry, her parents were still hovering in the kitchen, something they never did when they weren’t suspicious of her every move and word. She squatted down to pet Buttercup, telling them, “Cameron’s on her way over.”

Her father frowned. “I’m thinking you might’ve asked us first.”

“It’s
Cameron
. You don’t believe me? Check the caller ID. She needs help with her English paper, and I told her she can sleep over.”

“Oh,
you
told her, did you, without—” her father began, before her mother put her hand on his chest and said, “I’m sure it’ll be fine, it
is
fine for Cameron to come and sleep over.”

Amelia stood and faced them with arms crossed protectively. “She said Anthony’s arrest was all over the news.”

The guilty looks on her parents’ faces confirmed Cameron’s story and their own deceit. Of course they’d deceived her. They were her captors, and she was at the mercy of their whims. They would feed her only the information they wanted her to have. After all, why upset poor, misguided little Amelia with the information that the man she thinks she loves is now infamous—thanks very much to her father? Why tell her that the whole population of central North Carolina likely now believes he is, as Cameron put it, a perv? An informed prisoner is a difficult prisoner.

If this was how it was going to be, they’d be better off giving her a lobotomy.

“Thanks again,” she said, softly, “for screwing up both our lives.”

“Amelia—”

She ignored their responses and walked off for added effect. It was, in part, an act. She knew she couldn’t lay all the blame on them. She’d been stupid to forget her computer last Monday, stupid not to do a better job of hiding the things she didn’t want found. Or maybe she shouldn’t have tried to keep her love for Anthony secret until she turned eighteen. If she had been straight with her parents right from the start, and brought Anthony around so that they could get to know him, maybe none of this would have happened.

Yeah, right. Wishful thinking. She was getting really good at that.

From upstairs, Amelia heard the doorbell signaling Cameron’s arrival, but couldn’t make out the conversation when her father answered the door, only the sounds of his voice, deep and curt, and Cameron’s, brassy and unremittingly cheerful.

Cameron was a pixie of a girl, barely five feet tall, with long, untamable copper hair and a spray of freckles across her cheeks and nose. She was so energetic and whimsical that if she’d sprouted wings and begun to fly like a fairy, it would not have surprised Amelia in the least. In fact, she wished Cameron would do exactly that, and grant her another wish or two while she was at it.

“Thanks, Mr. Wilkes, but I know the way,” Amelia heard, followed by the sound of tennis shoes bounding up the wooden stairs.

Amelia waited at the top of the stairs, and when Cameron appeared in her usual jeans and hoodie and black-sequined high-tops as if nothing in the world had changed, Amelia felt tears threaten again. Tears, when it used to be that the main emotion Cameron evoked was mirth.
Okay God
, she thought,
it’s enough already. I
get
it
.

Cameron slung an arm around Amelia and pulled her along to Amelia’s room. “Your dad’s in a mood. He asked me—politely, but I could tell there was only one possible answer—to leave my phone with him until I go.”

“He did not,” Amelia said. “He wanted your phone, really?”

“Mm. So I gave it to him, hoping to heaven he wouldn’t ask to search the
bag
,” she said dramatically. “Which he didn’t. He got the phone, so he’s happy
—ish.
”

Cameron dropped her book bag onto Amelia’s bed, a four-poster with pale green brocaded curtains gathered at each post and a canopy overhead. “Jesus, you look terrible. Your hair’s a mess. Ever hear of a shower?”

“I showered yesterday,” Amelia said, going over to shut the door. “I’m pretty sure, anyway. Do I really look that bad? Do I have time, before—?”

“He won’t care, and no, you really only look tired and stressed out.” Cameron squinted, assessing her. “Okay, you could brush your hair.”

Amelia went to her mirror. She did look bad. Bloodshot, bruised-looking eyes, hair that was as listless as she’d been lately. Without the routine of school and dance and voice lessons, without the regular interaction of her friends and their dramas and their joys, without Anthony’s regular presence, she was adrift. She missed his humor and affection. She missed the companionship she’d grown so comfortable with. Before, she might not see him alone for more than a few minutes in a given day, but they were in touch endlessly, perpetually. He was always at the other end of an email, a text message, a phone call, a glance across a classroom, across a stage. Having him, his steadiness, his certainty that life was a glittering gem and every facet hers to explore, had been like water and sunshine to a wilting plant. His absence was a drought, and her parents, she thought, indulging another metaphor, were like blazing-hot dual summer suns that refused to set.

“I’m not sleeping much,” she said, turning to Cameron. “They act like everything is completely fine. They haven’t told me anything.”

Cameron stood up and climbed onto the bed’s footboard, balancing by holding on to the canopy rail overhead. “Here’s what I know,” she said. “He goes to court again a week from Tuesday. Since it’s a misdemeanor and he’s never been in trouble before,
probably
the worst that’ll happen is he’ll get, like, probation and community service.”

“And a record.”

“So? Lots of people have them. It’ll just make him seem dangerous and more exciting,” Cameron said, waggling her eyebrows.

Amelia sat down on the floor, her back against the wall and her legs extended, bare feet turned outward in ballet’s first position. She pulled a section of hair in front of her face and held it up to the light, examining it for split ends. “But what if it means NYU won’t let him in? And if they won’t, no other place worth going will, either. There has to be some way to fix this mess. Wait—did you say a week from Tuesday?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Nothing.” She let go of the hair and pulled up another section to examine. “We were supposed to be in New York doing evaluations that day, is all. Do you know if he rescheduled?” She desperately hoped so, and hoped she’d be able to as well, if she ever got a chance to contact the program. Maybe Cameron could do that for her.

Cameron said, “I don’t know if he has or not.”

“When will he be here?”

“God, it’s all Anthony, Anthony, Anthony,” Cameron complained, tossing her hair dramatically. “You sure know how to make a girl feel welcome.”

“I’m sorry, Cam.”

“And I’m kidding, okay? Lighten up. Eight o’clock, and I brought this,” she said, hopping down and unzipping her book bag’s main compartment, then tilting it so that Amelia could see inside.

“What is it?” Amelia asked, unable to make sense of what appeared to be a coil of gray cable.

“Fire escape ladder. My dad just put one of these in all our second-floor bedrooms. ‘For an emergency only,’ of which this is clearly one.”

Amelia heard a noise outside her door. She jumped up and hurried over, ready to throw it open and catch her parents spying—but when she opened it, there was Buttercup standing at the door with hopeful eyes and a low, wagging tail. Amelia leaned down and kissed the dog’s muzzle, then checked the hallway and peered into the nearby rooms with Buttercup following her. When she was satisfied that the noise had come from the dog only, she and Buttercup returned to her room.

“No one there but the dog,” she said, then pointed at Cameron’s bag. “That ladder? I can’t leave, they check on me too often.”

“No
problemo
. It’s for him to come up.”

“Suppose he doesn’t show?”

“He will.”

“Is he on his way?” she asked, taking her spot on the floor again. “Did you check before giving up your phone?”

Cameron pursed her lips, then said, “I didn’t want to tell you before, in case you freaked and your parents heard, but he’s phone-less himself. The thing is, the cops came and confiscated it, and all his electronics, probably to try to catch him on other charges.”

Amelia thought of what the police were going to find if they searched his things. “Oh God,” she groaned. “If my Dad finds out …” She shook her head. “This just gets worse and worse.”

“What, don’t tell me you guys made a sex tape.”

“No,” Amelia said. “Give me
some
credit.”

“Credit,” Cameron squeaked.

“Anyway, never mind. It’s done now. Maybe they’ll just see that it’s all him and me, and that will prove his story, and they’ll leave it at that.”

Cameron frowned sympathetically. “I hope. So, I talked to him a little while ago, before he left his house, and he was definitely planning to be here. I can’t think much of anything would stop him.”

“After what my father’s done to him, I wouldn’t blame him if he decided to cut me loose, go find some girl who won’t get him arrested. Go find some other girl, period.”

Cameron squatted down and put her hands on Amelia’s face, then pressed her nose to Amelia’s. “Hel-lo? This is Anthony Winter we’re talking about. The guy who’s insanely crazy about you, remember? He’d die first.”

Amelia pushed her away. “I don’t deserve him.”

“Whatever,” Cameron said, sighing. “Shape up, or he’s not going to feel very welcome when he gets here.”

Amelia’s first sight of Anthony was his hopeful face looking up at her as he climbed the rungs of the narrow, slight ladder. Cold air rushed in through the bathroom’s window, cooling her cheeks, slowing her heart rate. He’d shown up. He wanted to be with her. He loved her, still.

The relief on his face before he wrapped her in his arms was her undoing; she started to cry. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her tears wetting his collar. “How awful—”

“Shh.” He leaned back to look at her face, then gently wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. “It’ll be okay.”

“I tried to stop my dad,” she said, forcing herself to speak slowly, to think each word and then say it. “I did everything I could.”

“You don’t think I blamed you?”

She shrugged. “I hoped you didn’t,” she said, and looked up at him.

“We’ll get through it. Where’s Cam?”

“Keeping watch.”

“Ah.” He tilted her chin upward and kissed her, softly at first, and then, as she pulled him closer, the kiss became more than a comfort. When they eased apart, she nodded toward the wide, sea-green cotton rug that covered the middle of the tiled floor.

“Right now?” he said.

There was plenty of room, and if they were quiet, not even Cameron would hear them. “Do you want to?”

“Of course I want to, but—”