Exposure Read Free Page B

it.”
    Part of me always knew that first summer with Craig was too good to be true, and of course, I was right. Beth Morgan sunk her talons into him on the second day of school sophomore year, and there was no turning back. My dream scenario of being Craig’s reason for living vanished overnight. I got demoted to the gawky “kid sis” while the marauding Miss Morgan was granted saliva-swapping privileges.
    At first, I hated Craig for being blinded by the allure of the popular crowd. He was so much more interesting, so much smarter than they were! But we’re all human, I suppose, and had Duncan Shaw deigned to show me any interest, I guess I would have followed as if he were the Pied Piper, too. It simply was never an option for me, but I couldn’t exactly blame Craig for accepting his free passage into the cool clique.
    â€œIt’s freezing out,” he sighed, shoving his hands deeper in his jacket pockets.
    â€œWuss,” I chided. “If you think this is bad, you’ll never survive January.”
    We continued our pilgrimage diagonally across our school’s quad, which was usually more tundra than lawn during the school year. We hadn’t yet had our first big snowfall of the season, but the cold ground still felt like cement under our feet as we crunched over frosty remnants of grass. Anchoring the center of the quad was an immense spruce tree long known to students and alums as “Old Burny,” allegedly because it was one of the few trees in the area to survive a devastating forest fire sometime back in the late 1800s. Wondering how far Craig intended on tagging along with me, I figured I ought to let him off the hook before things got too weird.
    â€œOkay, well I’m going to go develop this film.”
    â€œCan I come?” I was more than a little surprised by his request.
    â€œIt’s kind of a laborious process. Besides, aren’t you going to the Hurlyburly?”
    â€œThey can spare a half-hour without me.”
    â€œSuit yourself.”
    To Craig’s credit, he had never dissed me completely once he embarked on his upward social trajectory. He usually managed to offer up the perfunctory high-five in the hallway between classes or a cool “What’s up, Beanpole?” when I passed his table in the cafeteria. We both recognized that he’d be risking social suicide to venture anything chattier than that. But occasionally, when he wasn’t under the watchful eye of his gorgeous girlfriend or their rarified circle of friends, he and I could cut the bullshit and confide in each other again. It was almost like getting my old Craig back. Friends on the sly, you might say. If it bordered on pathetic that I cherished these brief encounters, so be it. I would take what I could get.
    We made our way in silence to the school annex that housed the art lab. I could see a sliver of light coming from behind the industrial metal double doors. Pushing one door open and entering the room, I let out a small gasp of fright.

CHAPTER TWO
I Dreamt Last Night of the Three Weird Sisters
    THE ART ROOM WAS EMPTY save for the three masked figures crouched in the middle of the fluorescent-lit room. Each wore an oversized head of papier-mâché: one featured a bulbous nose, beady black eyes and bushy eyebrows made of fake fur; one looked like a demonic raven with a twelve-inch pointed red beak and streaming feathers of dark red raffia; the final mask had a gaping mouth, protruding cheeks, and large hypnotic eyes.
    The ghastly creatures were convulsing, hysterical with laughter. I immediately recognized the demonic raven thanks to the long dark, perfectly straight hair that cascaded over her shoulders.
    â€œCat, what are you guys
doing?
”
    â€œOh hey, Skye,” Cat Ayuluk tried to collect herself as she cast off her mask. She was bright red from laughing and had to catch her breath. The streak of platinum blonde threaded through her dark hair