Exposure (49 page)

“Bless your heart,” Amelia drawled in kind, taking a glass from Jodi. She drank deeply, then held the sweating glass to her forehead, saying, “My dad always used to do this with his beer, and he’d make a little hissing noise, like steam escaping.”

“Oh, that reminds me: your mom called while you were out at the truck. They’re stuck in traffic outside Newark, but she’s certain they will be here by dinner. Well, she said ‘supper,’ but, you know.”

“All right. That’ll give us time to organize things a little bit, and shower. Not that it’ll make them like this any better,” she added. Her parents had politely suggested that she spend her first year in a dorm, rather than renting a room from Jodi. She had thanked them for their suggestion, and then politely told them that they were crazy if they imagined she was going to waste a single minute living her life on anyone’s terms but her own.

Amelia finished the tea and set the glass on the counter. “Not bad for a first try. Double the sugar and you’ll be closer to what I’m used to.”

“Seriously? Oh well, what can I say, I was raised to know about Italian shoe designers and Swedish decorators. You’ll have to educate me on how things are done in the South.”

“If you want—but honestly, I’m hoping to leave all of that behind.”

The sound of footsteps outside the door made her turn. Anthony came through the doorway, saying, “I hope she’s not talking about me.”

“Puh-lease,” Jodi said. “Ego.”

“Because she
did
leave me behind, to try to find a parking spot, of which there are none in all of Manhattan. I had to sell the truck to get rid of it.”

He closed the door and came to join them in the kitchen. His limp, which had been very pronounced at first, was much less noticeable now. And when they’d been packing up her room and his, Amelia had observed that he used his left hand with confidence, the two missing fingertips, lost to frostbite, hardly a handicap.

Jodi gave him a glass of tea, which he downed in one long gulp. He held out the glass for a refill.

“Oh, is this how it’s going to be?” she said. “I knew I should’ve charged you more.”

“I can’t believe you’re charging us at all,” Anthony said with mock indignation. “What was it you told us when we were here last fall—something like, we could stay as long as we needed to?”

“But not for free,” Jodi said. “This is New York, kiddo. What, did you think you were somebody special?”

“Not a bit,” he said.

“Nope,” Amelia agreed, “he’s as ordinary as anyone who’s returned from the dead.”

Jodi said, “Exactly.”

“Except, you know, my eyes glow red in the dark. Oh—and I can fly.”

He joked, but the truth was not so far removed from what he was saying. He’d awakened from his coma nine days in, unable to speak at all—and then when his speech returned three days later, he discovered that he was, without effort, fluent in French and Spanish. He’d always been knowledgeable about music, but now his recall of songs, bands, dates, album names, and band members was just about instantaneous. In truth, this had intimidated Amelia at first, even as he’d struggled to regain his physical mobility. He’d helped her through it, though, downplaying the change, assuring her he hadn’t suddenly become a genius, joking that if they flunked out of college and couldn’t find work, he could keep them afloat by working as a DJ in Europe.

Jodi raised her glass and gestured for them to raise theirs. “A toast: to my lovely new flatmates, Anthony and Amelia, may they take NYU and then Broadway by storm—and cast me well when they do!”

They drank, then Anthony put his arm around Amelia’s shoulders and raised his glass again. “To belief,” he said, looking into her eyes.

Amelia smiled and nodded. “To perseverance,” she said, kissing him.

Jodi nudged Amelia’s shoe with hers. “I do believe it’s time for the two of you to ride off into the sunset. Roll credits!”

“Are you kidding?” Amelia said. “We’re just getting started.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It is my privilege and pleasure to once again be thanking the wonderful Ballantine Books team for shepherding what began as a seed of inspiration into a finished book. In particular, I’m grateful to my publisher, Libby McGuire, for her unwavering support, and my incomparable editor, Linda Marrow, for the expert ways she guides and shapes and sees and enables what it is I’m trying to do.

I’m pleased and thankful to be able to call Wendy Sherman my literary agent, my advocate, and my friend. Every author should be so fortunate. It’s my good fortune as well that Jenny Meyer is the agent championing my work with publishers abroad.

So many people work behind the scenes to get a book ready and into readers’ hands, and I’m grateful to all of them. In particular, however, Kristin Fassler, Kim Hovey, Susan Corcoran, Alison Masciovecchio, Junessa Viloria, Dana Isaacson, Laura Goldin, Kathleen Carter Zrelak, and Lynn Goldberg rate special mention.

I owe a lot to the amazing booksellers and librarians who are continually bringing readers to my books, and I want to extend a special thanks to my enthusiastic book-loving friends (especially Judy Lewis and Erin Hunter) and my enthusiastic readers who are doing the same. No author can succeed without people like these!

I appreciate so much the ongoing friendship and camaraderie of so many people, Pam Litchfield and Sharon Kurtzman first among them. The online writing community, which has embraced me and given me a spot at the water cooler, makes me happy to open my computer every day—and proves that the Internet is not entirely evil. (You guys rock!) And I’m thankful to have a family full of believers. It is a pleasure to be surrounded by such positive people.

My eldest son’s experiences inspired the story inside this book, and I’m grateful for his willingness to see it written. Both of my boys—and my stepsons as well—informed the story by allowing me inside the world they inhabit, a world that asks more of all of us nowadays than it did when I was a young adult. I’m forever thankful to have my boys’ love and support.

An author’s life is rarely glamorous, and never simple. We work odd hours, go around in dazes, want to talk “story” endlessly, and sometimes become more involved in the world of our characters than in our own daily lives. I would be far less accomplished if not for my awesome husband, Andrew, who is the efficient motor that keeps everything domestic in motion. More than that, he is my Anthony.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

In 2009, my son, who had just turned nineteen, found me sitting on the screened porch working on the book that was supposed to be my spring ’11 release. It was a warm day, sunny, as normal-seeming as any until I looked up from my laptop computer’s screen and saw my son’s expression.

“Mom,” he said, “I’m in trouble. I’m going to be arrested.”

When your child says something like this, time stops. Whatever you are doing at that moment, whatever’s waiting on your To-Do list, whatever you had planned for later that day/week/month/year, all of it suddenly belongs to
Before
. Before my son told me he was going to turn himself in to the police for a crime neither of us had ever heard of, I was considered unusual only for being a novelist. Before my son submitted to handcuffs and a long ride in a patrol car to the Wake County jail, he was unusual only for having become a volunteer firefighter as a high-school junior. Before his mug shot and name and address appeared in the papers and on the news, our family led a normal and comfortable life, not too different from that of anyone we knew. After, it was as if we’d grown third eyes on our foreheads, making us unsavory and suspect.

In the slow, fearful, uncertain months that followed my son’s arrest, when I was not supposed to talk about the case and was supposed to be finishing the book I’d been working on, my mind was cluttered with what-if questions. Some pertained to my son’s safety, some to his future, some to my family’s, some to my own. The story that unfolds in this book’s pages comes as a result of my following those questions down the rabbit hole, setting aside the book I’d been working on in order to write this one instead.

Doing so was not an easy decision. That book was under contract and had been through the editorial cycle once already. My agent, editor, and publisher were expecting me to turn in the polished manuscript by spring. But as Maya Angelou has said, there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you. I had to tell this one if I hoped to find some measure of peace. I’m grateful to everyone on my “team” (my husband and sons included) for supporting that choice.

This book is fiction, the characters drawn completely from my imagination. But the events that inspired this tale, and the emotions that color it—the reactions and fears and possibilities—are real.

Discussion Guide

1. Are you shocked by Anthony and Amelia’s intimacy and willingness to exchange such personal photos? Why do you think you feel the way you do?

2. Amelia hides her relationship with Anthony from her parents. Is she justified? What might have been different if she’d told her parents sooner?

3. Why do adults often dismiss young love as not being real or serious? What role, if any, should parents play in young adults’ romantic lives?

4. Was Harlan Wilkes’ reaction to finding the photos completely out of line, or is his position defensible? How might you have handled the situation differently?

5. Do you/will you allow your child to have an image-enabled and text-enabled cell phone? Knowing the potential consequences of kids’ shortsighted choices, will you change the way you supervise use of your child’s electronic devices?

6. Should teens who “sext” be punished? If so, what’s appropriate?

7. Kids are not the only ones sharing provocative and intimate images electronically; adults do this, too. Under what circumstances (if any) would you “sext?”

8. What role did the news media play in Anthony and Amelia’s situation? Does the news media have a responsibility to take an unbiased stance instead of a provocative one?

9. Consider Anthony’s actions: Why did he believe this was the only solution?

10. Was Kim somewhat culpable for what happened since she had knowledge of Anthony and Amelia’s relationship and kept it a secret from Amelia’s parents? Did you agree with Cameron’s mother’s involvement with the estranged couple?

11. Amelia is “daddy’s girl” throughout her childhood. Is this role a choice? Who’s to blame for Harlan’s naiveté about his teenaged daughter?

12. Do parents have the right to snoop through their children’s things? How would you react to your parents’ looking through your most secret possessions? Do you understand why a parent might cross that line?

13. In your view, does high school graduation signify the beginning of the future? Did you/do you find yourself longing for this day in the same way that Amelia does? Do you think that high school graduation changes parents’ perspectives about their children?

14. Are adults too conservative about sexuality, especially with regards to their children? How and why do views on sexuality change as people get older and/or when they have children?

15. Harlan has a clear-cut picture of what Amelia and her life should be like. Do you find that your parents are too hard on you? Do you ever respond to their expectations in a negative way?

16. Do you know kids who sext? Why aren’t teens more private and more careful, especially given how easily their photos can be shared and displayed publicly?

17. What would you think about your friends sharing provocative pictures of themselves? Would you warn them against doing so? What advice would you give to Anthony and Amelia if they were your friends?

18. How helpful would it be to have an open dialogue with your parents about relationships and sex? Would it help you to make better decisions?

19. Technology presents so many new risks and challenges. How can parents and teenagers jointly address these challenges and possibly prevent sexting-related crises?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

THERESE FOWLER is the author of
Souvenir
and
Reunion
. She has worked in the U.S. Civil Service, managed a clothing store, lived in the Philippines, had children, sold real estate, earned a B.A. in sociology, sold used cars, returned to school for her M.F.A. in creative writing, and taught college under-grads about literature and fiction writing—roughly in that order. With books published in nine languages and sold worldwide, Fowler writes full-time from her home in Wake Forest, North Carolina, which she shares with her husband, four amiable cats, and four nearly grown-up sons.

theresefowler.com