Exposure Read Free

Leonard and I were ever going to end up in a state of couple-hood. Not even my pinky finger could dredge up any romantic interest in the guy. I mean, even the poor guy’s name was a turnoff. Since I couldn’t find my way to being cruel — the only thing it might take to get him off my back for good — I had to play the tactful Elizabeth Bennet to his sniveling Mr. Collins on more than one occasion. Painful, to say the least.
    â€œHey, Lenny, I was just on my way to — ” I stood up, peering around for the nearest exit and thinking of the best way to pull the ripcord on this conversation as quickly as possible.
    â€œSkye, I really need to talk to you,” he said, adding dramatically, “It’s important.”
    Oh no. I quickly did a mental thumb-through of the excuses I could use for the upcoming weekend like watching my baby brother, finishing my project for art class … oh sweet Jesus — my social schedule wasn’t exactly jam-packed.
    â€œCan we talk on Monday, Lenny? I really need to go develop this film.”
    â€œStill living in the Dark Ages?” He often recycled this lame joke, referring to my stubborn resolve to use my dad’s old camera instead of the digitals employed by everyone else in the free world. I loved the challenge of a 35-millimeter camera. Without the ability to review every shot, I had learned to trust myself. I treasured my time in the darkroom and the hands-on art of developing film. Granted, it took more effort to do it my way, but I was convinced that the results were worth it, even if it meant incurring the unbridled derision of everyone on the newspaper staff.
    Lenny didn’t wait for me to bat an eye, but instead took a deep breath and blurted out a phrase that still haunts my waking memory: “Will you go to prom with me?”
    I was dumbstruck.
    â€œBut prom is
months
away,” I said, stalling because I was utterly unprepared for this. “I can’t really think that far ahead. It’s only October!”
    â€œDid someone else already ask you?”
    â€œNo, but….”
    â€œThen you’ll go with me?” How was I going to get out of this one?
    â€œOh, Len, I’m way flattered that you would even think to invite me. But you know, you might change your mind between now and then. You might end up wanting to take some other girl, and, well, I’d hate for you to feel like you were already obligated to me.”
    Lenny examined me for a moment with a critical gaze. His frizzy, rust-colored hair sat like a molded Brillo pad on his head.
    â€œSo, presuming I don’t end up wanting to ask anyone else, which I won’t — duh! — then you’ll go with me?”
    â€œUh … maybe we should play it by ear.” It was hard to appear casual in the face of such a nightmarish scenario; still, I tried not to let him see the absolute look of unmitigated horror in my eyes. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, after all.
    â€œOkay, I’ll consider that a ‘yes,’ then, barring some unforeseen catastrophe, natural disaster, or change of heart on my part. Let me know what color dress you’re wearing so I can color coordinate my cummerbund.”
    Color-coordination? Cummerbund? I’d really stepped in it now. At least I had almost seven months to hatch an escape plan. I grabbed my belongings and hightailed it out of there while Lenny stood grinning at me.
    Letting the arena’s glass doors swing shut behind me, I slung my camera strap over my shoulder and started across the parking lot. People were still filtering back to their cars, walking swiftly to avoid the crisp October air. They traveled in segregated packs: giddy freshmen girls with long, stick-straight hair, all dressed virtually alike in jeans, fleece-lined boots, and orange and blue knit scarves; the skater kids in their sweatshirts and jeans; and the band geeks lugging cumbersome trumpet