Expelled(40)

37


I awake on a gazebo couch in the pink dawn, a ratty afghan tucked around me.

Someone’s snoring on the other couch, and someone else—Jude maybe?—is asleep on a lawn chair outside. Out on the deck are a few human-shaped lumps, cozily wrapped in sleeping bags they must have pulled from our old shed.

I step outside, rubbing my eyes. The deck is littered with Solo cups and chip crumbs. The pond is still and peaceful, but the birds are making a wild, chattering racket. The dawn chorus, my dad used to call it. We listened to it every morning we fished the pond, and hearing it now hurts.

“Good morning, sunshine,” someone mumbles.

I turn and see Jere7my coming out of the bushes. There are leaves in his hair, and a tattered blanket clings to his shoulders. “My mom is going to kill me,” he says.

“If you hurry, maybe you can get home before she wakes up,” I offer.

“That’d be no problem at all, assuming I could fly.” He brushes a twig from his sweater. “I lost my car keys.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I say.

“Not as sorry as I am,” he says grimly. “If I’m forced to engage in any more rituals of adolescent socialization and/or interpersonal connection, I’m going to break out in hives.” He crouches down and starts feeling around under the chairs for his keys.

“Do you want help?”

He shakes his head. “No, thank you. I prefer to suffer my humiliations alone, as usual.”

So I leave him to his search while I start gathering up the trash. I wave to two bleary-eyed sophomores perched in the grounded rowboat, who clearly didn’t even try to go to sleep last night.

There are still half a dozen cars parked in the field. A few of them seem to have people asleep inside. Parker’s pickup is still here, too, and as I walk closer to it, I see that the back gate is down, and there are sleeping bodies in the truck bed. Sticking out from underneath the blankets are two pairs of bare feet: one big and one tiny.

And lying in the grass nearby, tossed aside like an empty Solo cup, is a single gold high-heeled shoe.

I can feel last night’s alcohol dulling my thoughts. My heart, too, thuds dully. I’m exhausted and raw.

Sasha was wearing gold stilettos—those oppressive symbols of traditional heteronormative femininity—last night.

I hear Jude calling my name in an awkward whisper-yell. I ignore him. I walk to the side of the truck and peer into the bed. I see dark, tousled hair, a pale arm thrown across the broad golden chest of Parker Harris.

She was never yours, Theo, I think.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I realize I’m holding my breath. The air wavers in front of my eyes and the still pond seems to dance with sudden ripples.

“Sasha,” I whisper. “Sasha.”

She doesn’t move.

I stare at the thin, smooth shoulder, the long, white arm. Ever so gently, I reach out and touch her.

She murmurs in her sleep and turns over.

And it’s not Sasha.

It’s Parker’s ex, Hailey Page.

My knees go weak, and I hold on to the truck so they don’t buckle. I’ve never been so relieved in my life.

Jude’s walking toward me now. “Do you think Gold Star would deliver doughnuts if I begged? We could take up a collection.” He’s wearing just his tux pants and his bow tie now, and his hair’s sticking up like he’s been electrocuted by a malfunctioning set of novelty lights. He stops when he sees my face. “You thought that was Sasha in there, didn’t you? But it’s that viper instead.”

“Where is she? Did you see her leave?”

“I don’t know where she is, Theo! I don’t watch her constantly, okay? I’m not her babysitter or her parole officer or whatever that hot mess needs.”

“I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Do we really need to go over this again? Sasha Ellis can take care of herself. She always has. Now come here and give your best friend a hug, because we threw an awesome party. It’s going to be legendary.” He grabs me, squeezes me around the waist, and says, “Okay, that’s better. Now where the hell is the coffee?”

In the gazebo I find a hotpot, a tin of very old Folgers, and a handful of chipped mugs. I proceed to make what my dad used to call cowboy coffee, which is where the grounds just float around in the hot water and you have to strain them through your teeth. It’s terrible, obviously, but Jude and I both need the caffeine so badly we don’t care.

When our guests wake up, bedheaded and bloodshot, we offer them a swig of it and send them on their way. Parker and Hailey, who are a couple again, apparently, take the stragglers to IHOP. Pretty soon it’s just me and Jude and Jere7my, who still hasn’t found his keys.

“I don’t even care anymore,” he says grimly. “My mom grounds me—so what? I’m not allowed to go to all the parties I’m not invited to?”

Jude looks over at me. “Forget Breakfast Club. We should screen Revenge of the Nerds.”

“What’s he talking about?” Jere7my asks.

“Jude has a thing for movies that were made before we were born,” I explain.

“Classics!” Jude says. “But not boring ones, like Star Wars or 2001 or something. In Revenge of the Nerds, the nerds get revenge! I mean, the title says it all.”