e x p o s e d

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Liz is Photogirl—sharp, focused, and confident in what she sees through hercamera lens. Confident that she and Katewill be best friends forever. But everythingchanges in one blurry night. Suddenly,Kate is avoiding her and people are look-ing the other way she passes in the halls.As a startling accusation rips through Liz’sworld, everything she thought she knewabout photography, family, friendship, andherself shifts out of focus.

Darkroom Photography, First Period

I am the first one here.

Viewing negatives on the light table,I find one and itchto open the chamberthat leads to the darkroom.

Soon, others stroll in:Javier, the Hoopster.Nathan, the Nuisance.Brenda, star of The Brenda Show.

The bell rings as Mrs. Prattbreezes through the door,clapping her handsto get everyone’s attention.

Everyone’s attention,I should say,but mine.

Because nobody needs to tellElizabeth Grayson,Photogirl,to focus.

1

Bringing to Light

I slip the photo paperinto the developing solution,sway it around with black plastic tongsand wait.

The hum of air from the overhead vent,the swish of chemicals,and the sucking in of my breathare the only sounds shiftingin the dim light of the darkroom.

I’m alonebut not for long.As white turns to gray,Kate is with me.The background of the dance studio blurredso the focus is all on her—legs extended in a perfect, soaring split.

The straight line to my squiggle,my forever-best friend.

2

In the Hallway, After Last Bell

“Boo!”

The word bursts from my mouthat the same moment my fingers pokeinto each side of her from behind,and Kate’s books drop with a thud.

She whips around in an attemptto elbow her attacker,but I’m prepared and jump backout of her way.

“Liz!” she yelps , then laughs,waving her hands at my face,before we reach to re-gather her booksaround and between Friday’s fleeing feet.

“Just trying to keep you on your toes,” I say,touching her shoulder until it relaxes,until she gives me a forgiving grin.

“I’m on my toes enough,” she says,and I can’t help but smileat this pointed comebackfrom the Mistress of Modern Dance.

3

“I developed a shot of you dancing today.”

Kate shakes her head.“I can’t believe I let you takepictures of me sweating.”

But I tell her my begging paid off,that this shot is going in my portfolio.

She zips her booksinto the safety of her backpack,scrunches her forehead,and says I may want to rethink that—that she would hate for her ugly selfto be the reason I don’t get into art school.

I take in her perfect, china-doll complexion,look straight into her blue-green eyes,and tell her, “Art schools now requireapplicants to submit photosof the ugliest person they can find.So you don’t have a thingto worry about.”

4

Friday Night at Salvatore’s

We’re at our favorite cheesy pizza place:plastic-coated, red-checkered tablecloths,Leaning Tower painted on one wall,a vineyard, maybe Tuscany, on another.

Sal, behind the counter,white mustache curled in handlebars,huge belly threatening to burstthrough his grease-splattered apron,singing along to piped-in Italian music.A walking cliché.

Amanda piles onParmesan cheese and hot-pepper flakes.Dee Dee blots off extra oil with her napkin.Kate uses a fork and knifeto cut her slice into bite-sized pieces.

By the time my three friendsare finished preparing their meals,I’m ready for dessert.“What time should I come by tomorrow?”Kate asks as we leave.

“I’m staying on the Vineyardfor a few hours after work,” I tell her.

5

“How about seven?”

“Sounds good,” she says,closing the dooron Sal’s serenade.

6

Work

Most of the kids who workfor the Martha’s Vineyard Ferry Service,in the parking lots, at the ticket booth,or in the concession standson the boats, like me,work during the high season.A cool summer job.

But keeping my Saturday 8–2 shiftyear-roundgives me spending moneyand the chance to stay on the islandand hitch a later ferry home to Shoreview.

“See ya, Lizzie-Lou!” my father calls from the bridgeas I make my way down the ramp.

He’s just Dad to me,but to everyone else he’s Cap.Captain Robert Grayson,King of the Ferry,Noble Seaman of Nantucket Sound.

7

Photo Op

I get on my bikeand pedal right out of Vineyard Havenuntil I’m winding down country roadslined with old stone walls and grazing horses.

I lean my bike against an oaktinted with autumn’s promiseand raise my camera to catch a shotof a wistful woman,gray hair in a long braid down her back,patting sweat from her neckwith a green bandanaas she pauses atop her ride-on mowerand stares out across her big yardat all the grass yet to be mowed.

8

Saturday Night Slumber

I peel off Kate’s Sweet Berry facial maskand she peels off mine.We scooch, fresh-faced, onto the couchand paint each other’s nails.

Cotton Candy’s what I choose for herand she, with graceful strokes,applies a coat of Call Me Crimsonto the tips of my stubby fingers.

When Brian—mmm, Brian—calls from the diner on his break,he doesn’t ask to see me later.He knows what night it is:

Saturday Night Slumber.A Kate and Liz tradition.Our once-a-month sleepover,where nothing comes between us.

9

PMS

We pull photo boxesonto the den floorlooking for picturesworthy of a placein my college portfolio.

We start a YES pile,a pile for MAYBE,another for NO.

Kate holds a photo gently at its edges.“You had really bad PMS that day,” she says,and we both laugh, knowing PMShas nothing to do with my menstrual cyclebut everything to do with my“Preparing My Shot” mood,where everything goes quietand I turn in on myself, camera poised,waiting for the perfect momentto click.

10

The Gift

My brother, Mike,bought me my first camera—a gift for my twelfth birthday.He’d seen me eyeing itin a Hallmark storeat the Cape Cod Mall.

Mike didn’t knowI was staring at the camera—on a shelf beside the scrapbooksand photo albums—not because I wanted to take picturesbut because it was lilac,my favorite color,and because it had a butterfly on it,right beside the lens,made of tiny rhinestones.

He wrapped it himselfwith the sports sectionof the Boston Sunday Globeand looked down at his feetwhen he handed it to me.

The first photo I ever took,with my very own camera,

11

I took of Mike that day—his mouth open wide,tongue stuck out,displaying the remainsof his slice of my cake.

12

Kate’s Passion

We’re munching on popcornas Kate flips channels,stopping at a documentaryon World War II.

“I think I’ll major in history,” she says.

“Huh?” I must have heard her wrong.She’s always gotten A’s in social studies,but Kate was born to be a famous dancerlike that Twyla Tharp ladyshe gushes about nonstop.

“It’s so cool to learn aboutwhat makes the world tick.”

The Dance Express has beenKate’s second home since she was four,and Carol and Steve have rolled outa bunch of dough from their bakeryto support this love of their only child.

I can’t believe, with the way she moves,that she would want to do anything but dance.“But you’re the Mistress!” I remind her.“You could be a star!”

13

“I still love to dance,” she says.“I just don’t want to do it professionally.”

I think about all her trophieslining the antique white bureau in her room.“You’re just scared you can’t make it, but you can.”It’s the same thing we always fight about.

“I don’t want to make it,” she tells me,shaking her head and takingher toothbrush from her makeup bag.“And I won’t be able to dance forever.”

I follow her into the bathroom off the den.“You’re taking something you loveand putting a time limit on it!”

“Well, some things are time-limited,” she says,squeezing toothpaste from the tube,turning the faucet on.

She looks at my scrunched-up facein the bathroom mirror,crosses her eyes to lighten the mood,and adds, in a booming announcer-type voice,“But history—everything lives on through history.”

14

Snapshot

We fold out the couch,tuck in the sheets,while I searchfor a more convincing argument.

Kate’s cell phone ringsand she leans over,fishes for her baghidden under crumpled jeans.

“Hey! We’re just hangin’.Yeah, Saturday Night Slumber.”She rolls her eyes, then says,“Love you, too.”

I pretend to yawn,rest my head on the throw pillowas if Trevor has put me to sleep.

She comes around the couchand rips the pillowout of my hand.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says to him,“as soon as I get up.”She rolls her eyes again

15

and flips the phone shut.

“How’s Mr. Whatever-You-Want?” I ask,having settled on my latest nickname.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means he’s whipped,” I say.“He does whatever you want to do.”

“That’s not true.”

Everyone knows and loves Trevor—solid basketball player,funny, all-around great guy.

But not everyone knowsthat Trevoris pretty much a doormatwhen it comes to Kate.

“Why don’t you just break up with him?”

She tells me, “He’s a nice guy. And he loves me.”

“Yeah, and there are no othernice guys in the world.That’s it! Stop dancing!Marry Mr. Whatever!”

16

I’m half joking, but she glares at me.

“You know what?I hate when you make upstupid little names for people.It’s not funny.”

She used to think it was funny.

I throw a blanket over the sheets.“I can’t believe you’re mad at me,especially when you’re the onewho rolls your eyes at everything he says.”

“I do not!”She puts the phone in her bag,clenches the pillowwith both hands.

“Yes, you do, Kate.So what do you expect me to do?Say nothing? Be like Trevor?‘Whatever you say goes, sweetie.’Take a chance for once!”

“Just because he might not be your idea of Prince Charming,just because I don’t want to dance professionally,just because my plan for my life isn’t your plan for my life—that doesn’t mean I’m afraid to take a chance.”

17

“Well, I would never let anythingget in the way of me taking pictures.”

“Yeah,” she says.“That’s because you can hide behind your camera.”Her words are like a jab to my gut,and I want to hurt her.

“That’s funny coming from someonewho wants to major in the pastbecause she’s afraid of the future.”

She looks like she’s about to whip the pillow at mebut then she relaxes her grip and exhales,tells me I’ll never understand.

I’ve gone too far and I know it,but she pushed me there.“Listen—” I say, about to apologize.

She says, “I don’t want to hear it,”puts down the pillow.

I’m mad that she cut me offand I don’t want to say I’m sorryanymore.

So I tell her I’m going to my room to read.

18

She gets into bed,says, “Fine by me,”leans overand turns out the light.

19

Sticks and Stones

I’m in my roomby myself.

I left her downstairsto mope alone,to sleepalone.

Why should I alwaysapologize first?

I throw my book on the floor,flip my pillow to the cool side,and wonder how she can get mad at mefor calling people names.

She always saidshe loved the wayI could sum someone upin a snapshotor just a few words.

She asked me to come up with a namefor Kevin Foster last year (Boycreep #1)when I saw him kissing some skankthe day after he dumped her.

20

She loves itwhen I call her the Mistressand whenever I tell hershe’s my forever-best.

Okay, calling her boyfriendMr. Whateverwas going a bit too far.But I call ’emlike I see ’em.

21

Morning

I look for Kate, but she’s gone.She left, taking my nasty words with her.I didn’t mean to hurt her.I didn’t want her to leavewithout giving me a chanceto take the words back.

22

The Call

There’s a lump in my throatthe size of Cape Cod Bay.I know I’ve got a big mouth,but nothing I’ve said beforeever made her leave.

“I’m sorry, call me,”I say to the machine.Then I call Brian.

“I’ll pick you up after my shift,” he says.“And make you forget all about Kate.”

23

Oh, Brother

I’m fishing socks out of the dryer an hour laterwhen Mike comes into the laundry room.

“Hey, Lizzie,” he says,and I catch a whiff of stale beeras he dumps his clothesout of his gray duffel baginto the washing machine.

“When did you come home?” I ask,handing him the box of detergent.

“Late last night.”He doesn’t use the measuring cup,pours in too much soap.

“After a party?”

“How’d you guess?”

I hold my nose. “Ever hear of toothpaste?”

He cups his hand in front of his mouthand inhales his own breath.“Ahh, you don’t like Michelob mouthwash?”

24

I hate to admit—as he puckers his lipsand pretends to try to kiss me—that I miss these deep discussions.So instead I say,“Hope you don’t try to kiss other girls, smelling like that.”

25

Thoughts

When Mike left for collegea month agoI thought we’d stay close—maybe even grow closer.

I thought he’d call me upand invite me down for a visit.I’d pack a bagquicker than I could click my cameraand off I’d goliving a college lifeif only for a weekend.

I thought when he’d come home to visitwe’d hang out by the docksand make up boat stories like we used to do—who’s stowing away,who’s sailing off with someone’s stolen loot,who’ll wind up on a tropical islandor in a shark’s bloated belly.

But I thought wrong.

He hardly ever calls me.The one trip I tookto Millbrook U

26

was when I helped lug stuffinto his dorm before Labor Day.

And I only see him nowwhen a pile of faded jeansand smelly running gear comes homecrying to be cleaned.

And I don’t want to miss him.But I do.

27

I Call Again

Carol answers the phone,tells me Kate came home at dawn,that she felt sickand didn’t want to wake me.

And I feel sickknowing she’s not.

28

Bright Penny Beach

“She probably has the flu,so stop worrying,” Brian saysas we pull off our shoes and sockslater that afternoonand walk along the water’s edge.

I love the beach in the fall—no crowds, no searing heat,no worrying about howmy bathing suit looks.

I worry less about Katewhen Brian findsa long, weathered stickand carves I love Lizinto the cold, wet sandon Bright Penny Beach.

As the tide rushes inand, with each ebb and flow,smooths the surface of his words,I imagine that Neptune himselfis sending our loveon a current from Cape Codall the way to Tahiti.

29

The Travel Channel saysTahitiis the most romantic place on earth.

But I stop believingwhen Briankisses me on the shoreof Bright Penny Beach.

30

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are theproduct of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2011 by Kimberly MarcusJacket photographs (clockwise from top): © Mike Meskin; © Royalty-free/PT Images/Jupiterimages; © Royalty-free/Fancy/Jupiterimages; © Westend61 GmbH/Alamy

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’sBooks, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataMarcus, Kimberly.Exposed / by Kimberly Marcus. — 1st ed.

p. cm.Summary: High school senior Liz, a gifted photographer, can no longer see thingsclearly after her best friend accuses Liz’s older brother of a crime.ISBN 978-0-375-86693-7 (trade : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-375-96693-4 (lib. bdg. : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-375-89724-5 (ebook)[1. Novels in verse. 2. Rape—Fiction. 3. Photography—Fiction. 4. Guilt—Fiction. 5. Best friends—Fiction. 6. Friendship—Fiction. 7. High schools—Fiction. 8. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title.PZ7.5.M37Ex 2011[Fic]—dc222009051545

Printed in the United States of America

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First Edition

Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

FREE SAMPLE EXCERPT ONLY—NOT FOR SALE

A Conversation withKimberly Marcus

What moved

you to tackle the

challenging and

sensitive subject

of rape in your

debut young

adult novel?

I met an editor at a writer’s conference years

back, when I was focused on writing picture

books but contemplating trying my hand

at writing a novel. We started up a conversation

in which I mentioned that I was a therapist,

with a particular interest in trauma work. She

said to me, “If you ever decide to write a book

about rape, I’d love to see it.” I’d worked with

rape victims, and the idea of tackling this topic

intrigued me, so I thought I would give it a try

and see where it might lead.

You chose to tell the story in Exposed

through a seldom seen third party per-

spective. Exposed focuses on the ripple

effect that this incident has on Liz, her

relationships, and her convictions. What

made you decide to tell this story in Liz’s

voice?

The story didn’t originally start out as Liz’s

story. The story, at fi rst, belonged to Kate.

I wondered how she might try to work through

her pain if it were compounded by the fact that

she was best friends with the sister of the

person she was accusing. But the more I wrote,

the more I wondered how Liz herself would

handle what happened. So, for a while, it was

told in the alternating voices of both girls. Liz’s

voice started taking over though. Perhaps this

was because I knew how I wanted to resolve

Kate’s story, but had no idea how Liz would

work through her experience, so I wrote

in her voice more and more to fi nd that out.

And I came to a point where I considered that

the victim’s story had already been done so well

in other books, especially in the novel Speak by

Laurie Halse Anderson, so I let Liz have this

story all to herself.

As a social worker, you specialize in the

treatment of childhood and adolescent

trauma. How have your professional

experiences shaped and contributed

to writing Exposed?

To be totally honest, while my background

as a therapist served as a catalyst for the

original idea in Exposed, it was my memories

of things I struggled with as a teen myself—

trying to fi gure out relationships with

my friends, who I wanted to be, and how

I fi t in the world—that guided me most

in the writing of this story.

There is no happy resolution in your book.

What made you choose to end the story

in the way you did?

As much as I would have liked to have things

all tied up in a neat and pretty bow, I know that

real life rarely works that way. With that said,

although they don’t go skipping off into the

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.

A Conversation with Kimberly Marcus continued

sunset together, I would like to think that read-

ers are left with a sense of hope for the futures

of the characters I’ve created.

As we’ve discussed, your career is in

clinical social work. At what point did you

know that you also wanted to be a writer?

And a writer for teen readers?

I’ve always loved to write, and wrote poems

from a very young age. But it wasn’t until

my own children were in preschool that

I considered trying to write for publication.

I especially loved reading stories with rhythm

and rhyme to my kids, and wanted to see

if I could write some of those myself. At that

point, I went back to school to learn about

writing picture books. I found that I loved

writing them, and still do. After a few years

of writing, and having stories rejected, I fi nally

sold my fi rst picture book. By that time I had

become part of a wonderful community

of children’s writers, many of whom wrote

books for teens, and I became intrigued

with the thought of stretching a character

and story over the course of a novel. And I’d

worked with teens, and I like teens,

so I thought it was worth a shot.

You’ve made several unique choices

in Exposed, with one of the most

intriguing being your decision to write

it in verse. What went into your decision

to use this format rather than prose?

Are there certain advantages you found

in writing in verse?

As I mentioned earlier, this story did not

start out from Liz’s point of view. It also did

not start out in verse. While writing it in prose,

there came a point when I was stuck on a scene.

A friend of mine, who knew I loved poetry,

suggested I try writing the scene in verse,

as an exercise to get unstuck. It worked. I then

started using verse to fl esh out future scenes,

and soon found myself telling the whole story

in this fashion. For me, one of the advantages

to writing in verse is that I get to play with

words, and I love the feeling that comes when

I fi nd the exact word or phrase that shoots

to the heart of what I’m trying to say. And

this form demands that be done, so it’s one

that constantly keeps me on my toes. Also,

I’m terrifi ed at the thought of writing an entire

novel in prose! Perhaps I will someday but,

for now, this form seems to sit best with me.

You’ve worked with a countless number

of teens in your career and confronted

many issues with them. Are there other

issues today’s teens face that you antici-

pate tackling in subsequent novels?

There are defi nitely other issues that

I plan to take on in other novels. In fact, I’m

working on my second novel right now—with

ideas for more swirling around in my brain—

so stay tuned!

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