Expelled(33)

Jude doesn’t turn around. “What do you mean?”

I set the phone down and prop it against some art stuff so we’re both in the shot. If I can’t film any answers, I guess I can at least film my struggle. “If I can’t prove we’re all innocent,” I say. “If I can’t make this whole nightmare go away.”

“News flash: we’re not all innocent,” Jude says.

“Right, I know. Parker’s guilty of being a stupid drunken idiot. So really—maybe he’s not such a superhero after all.”

“Maybe Sasha’s attracted to his dark side.”

“Please. Even Parker’s dark side is boring jock stuff. He secretly can’t really bench 210. Oh, no!”

“God, dude, you are relentless. You know what? I’ll bet you a million dollars that Sasha took the soda money.”

Sucker punched again. “What are you talking about?”

“Troubled little rich girl,” he says. “It’s so cliché.”

“Sasha isn’t a cliché!”

“Your love for her is getting embarrassing. Look, she’s brilliant, possibly insane, and she works a shitty job when she doesn’t need the money—which, okay, is mildly interesting. She’s gorgeous, she has buckets of charisma she couldn’t hide if she tried, and she makes all the boys fall in love with her. That sounds like Manic Pixie Dreamgirl territory, my friend—which, news flash again, is a cliché.”

“None of this has anything to do with the soda money. What makes you think she took it?”

“I’m an artist. I see into people’s souls.”

“You are so full of shit!”

“She’s guilty.”

“How can you say that about her? Where’s your evidence? You hear her jangling when she walks?”

“She’s not dumb enough to go around with pockets full of quarters, Theo. God.”

“I can’t believe you’d just accuse her like that. You’re worse than Palmieri. You have no hard evidence—just one of your feelings. You’re sick of the uncertainty, so you just want to have a solution to the problem and a neat little end to the story.” I’m stomping around the garage by now—screw staying in the shot—but Jude’s still painting like nothing’s going on at all. “Meanwhile, look at you! You act all innocent, but it’s your damn mascot head in the photo! Maybe you’re the guilty one.”

Jude jabs his paintbrush into the canvas. “Yeah, and maybe you posted the photo—on your stupid Twitter account!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Why are you being such a dick?”

“Why are you being such a whiny little shit?”

I clench my fists. “Do you want to turn around and look at me when you say that?”

Jude takes his brush, dips it in black, and just like that, the face that was supposed to be me is an ugly dark blob.

“Go home,” he says. “I’m working.”

And since it’s either that or get in fisticuffs with my best friend, I do what he tells me.





31


After the fight with Jude, I only want to be alone, but when I get home I find my mom sitting on the porch with a glass of iced tea and a bag of Cheetos.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt.

“I live here,” she says, smiling.

Barely is the word I quickly stop myself from saying.

She squints up at me. “Is something wrong?” she asks.

“No,” I lie. I try to slide past her, but she pats the other Adirondack chair.

“Sit. Have a talk with your old mom.”

I know that’s my cue to say You’re not old, but I keep my mouth shut. I can’t cheer her up today. I just don’t have it in me.

“I took the rest of the day off,” she says. “I thought I’d cook, and then we could have a nice dinner together.”

“You left work before noon just so you could make dinner?”

She smiles. “I’m rusty in the kitchen.”

No shit, I think. My body is basically 98 percent frozen burrito.

“I guess it’s kind of silly, but seriously, hon, who knows how long spaghetti and meatballs might take me?” She gives a little laugh. “What do you think? Does that sound good?”

“Sure.” Though after what just happened with Jude, I’m finding it hard to feel enthused.

My mom sighs and runs her hands through her hair. “Okay, Theo, full disclosure.”

I promptly sit down. Full disclosure? What are the chances of me liking whatever’s coming next? “Go on,” I say.

“I told myself that I was going to clean out your father’s things today. That’s why I came home early. And I started. But, God, it was so hard.” She shakes her head. “I picked up the sweater I bought him the Christmas before last. That nice green wool one—do you remember it? I don’t know if he ever even wore it. It was such a beautiful sweater. And I was holding it and then I just started screaming, Theo. I screamed like a crazy woman. ‘How could you do this? How could you leave us?’” She wipes tears away from her eyes. “It’s a miracle the neighbors didn’t call the cops on me.”