Expelled(30)
“Hey, F,” she says, fluffing her hair as she comes out. Then she sees us and her face twists in confusion. “What are you guys doing here? Aren’t you, like, expelled?” she asks.
“Yeah, but—” Jude begins.
“We have some questions for you,” I say.
Felix adds, “And I’m just gonna film it—that cool?”
Hailey’s lipsticked mouth immediately forms a sexy little pout as she turns toward him. She’s one of those pretty girls who love a camera and know it loves them back.
“It’s about Parker Harris,” I say.
“Oh, God,” Hailey says, rolling her eyes. “Please don’t mention that name in my presence.”
“I know you guys split up a few weeks ago,” I say. “And rumor has it he broke your heart.”
Her bright smile falters. She gives her head a little shake.
“Hailey?”
Her expression is serious now. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Please,” I say. “I’m just trying to figure some things out—like how that picture of him ended up on my Twitter, because it wasn’t me who posted it. I thought maybe you could help.”
Her eyes narrow. “So wait—you think I had something to do with it? Like I wanted to get him back or something?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Did you?”
“As if! I wasn’t even at that party, or whatever you call it when idiots get shit-faced and take off their clothes in front of the football field.”
“Someone could have texted you that picture,” Jude points out. “And then maybe you got it posted. A revenge—served-cold sort of thing.”
Hailey sniffs. “I wouldn’t bother.”
I decide to try a different tack. “Okay, maybe you didn’t do it. But how’d you feel when the picture went public? Were you… I don’t know, happy?”
“No, I wasn’t happy. But Parker got what was coming to him,” she says. “He’s not who he pretends to be.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean you can’t just hurt people like that,” Hailey says heatedly.
Then Drew Portman comes out of the room and he slides his arm around Hailey’s shoulders. “These dicks bugging you, babe?”
Hailey shakes her head. “I’m fine. They’re just acting like the freaks they always were.” She turns to Felix. “Except for you; you’re all right. I saw your new video—the one where you fake-fall off your skateboard into traffic? That was totally brilliant. Let me know if you ever need an extra, because I’m available. I’ve been trying to build up a musical.ly following, and I don’t know, we could, like, collaborate or something…”
Drew and Felix both look confused by this conversational turn. Felix sort of mumbles, “Yeah, sure,” as Drew steers Hailey back into the classroom. I’m trying to figure out if I’ve learned anything or not when Jude elbows me and hisses, “Mosher at six o’clock.”
And I don’t even look up—I just start running, Jude tight on my heels.
Either Mr. Mosher’s feeling particularly lazy this morning or luck seriously smiles on us for once, because we make it through the halls of Arlington without being caught. We stumble, laughing, into the gray morning, just as the piercing ring of the last tardy bell goes silent.
29
“Can I borrow Zelda?” I ask Jude once my heart’s stopped pounding from our narrow escape.
“It’s barely past 8 a.m.,” he says, “and any sane man would go back to bed. But obviously you don’t fall into that category. What do you need her for? Do you have an early tee time or something?”
“Yes, I’ve become an avid golfer in the last thirty-six hours,” I joke. “My caddie says I’m still a bit of a duffer, though.”
Jude narrows his eyes. “I can read you like a book. You want my car so you can go see Sasha.”
He’s right—but then again, it’s not like it’s that hard to guess. “I can drop you off?” I say hopefully.
Jude sighs and agrees, and twenty minutes later I’m pulling up in front of Sasha’s house, just in time to see her come out her front door looking only half awake, her Matheson’s apron tucked under her arm.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, squinting at me in the gray light. Her hair’s pulled away from her face to reveal her tiny, perfect ears, with a pearl teardrop earring dangling from each tiny, perfect lobe. I’ve never seen Sasha’s ears before, and as weird as it may sound, I have an almost overwhelming desire to kiss them.
That would probably get me killed—by her dad or by Sasha herself, take your pick.
“I came to apologize for being a dick yesterday.” I reach down and pick up the roses, which are still on the corner of her porch. “I brought you these,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow, because by now they’re so totally wilted they look like used Kleenex on stems. “I mean, I brought them last night. They looked better then.”
“Thanks,” she says. “Should I put them in a vase?”
I shrug. “Or the compost pile, whatever. Anyway, I was hoping I could give you a ride to work,” I say.
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