Expelled(44)

I will love you forever, from wherever I’m going.

Being your father was the greatest joy of my life.

I know, I said that three times already.

That’s because you truly must remember it.

All my love,

Dad



It’s hard to read the end of the letter through the tears. I fold it up and I slip it into a drawer.

I sit there, for an hour or more, just wrecked. And then I wipe my face and go outside.





42


Jude’s on his front lawn, his easel set up to face the street. “I’ve never painted en plein air before,” he says as I trudge up. “It’s novel and everything, but bugs keep landing in the wet paint.”

When I don’t say anything, he squints at me. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say. “I just want to not think for a little while.”

Jude’s brow furrows. “Is it Sasha?”

“No.” I lie down on the warm grass near his feet. I’m trying to keep it together.

“Well, that’s different.” Jude peers down at me. “I get it. You want me to do the talking. You want me to distract you. Okay.” He pauses. Inhales. “Here goes. My mom chewed me out about the roses, which was unsurprising, but get this: my dad was stoked. Says he’s always hated roses and that he much prefers lilies.” Jude pops the end of a paintbrush into his mouth and gazes thoughtfully at his canvas. I can feel his attention turning back to his art.

“Please keep talking,” I say.

“Sorry. Hmm. Alfie humped a hole in Sex Pig and now its stuffing is coming out. A little needle and thread, though, and he’ll be as good as new. Keep going?”

I nod.

“I just read an article about a guy who paints with his penis. He calls himself Pricasso. Apparently he makes bank.”

I’m barely listening; I just let Jude’s words wash over me. The sun feels good on my face, and the air smells like flowers. I’m trying not to think about my dad or Sasha or my ruined future.

“I heard that Hailey Page and Parker Harris aren’t actually a couple again. Supposedly she’s got a dick pic and is threatening to disseminate it—pun intended. Although that could be a lie. You really can’t trust that girl.”

“What did she do to you anyway?” I ask, just to keep him talking.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jude says.

“Come on, it can’t be that bad. You guys were, like, ten.”

“No.”

“Jude, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it, okay? Tell me a story.”

Jude sighs. “Fine. It was at summer camp. You know I never liked camp—not the crafts, not the singing, not the swim lessons, nothing. And Hailey and her little friends knew it, and they decided to make things even worse for me. They did a lot of petty shit first—salt on my corn flakes, whatever. But the big thing was the spider.” Jude kicks me lightly but resentfully in the leg. “I can’t believe you’re making me relive this. Anyway, they got this giant rubber spider, tied some fishing line to it, and then draped it over a rafter right above my bed. After lights out, they snuck outside and grabbed the other end of the fishing line, which was hanging out the window. So there I am, just lying in my cot, wishing I was back home in my four-hundred-thread-count sheets, and Hailey drops this cold dark nightmare of a spider right toward my face. I scream bloody fucking murder, because it looks big enough to eat me alive. And everybody wakes up and runs outside in their underwear, scared shitless. And they blame me for scaring them. For their half-naked humiliation. It was awful.” Five years later, his cheeks still flush at the thought.

I can see how that could be kind of scarring. “Did she get caught?”

“Yeah, she got sent home. Served her right, shifty pigtailed bitch.”

I finally sit up. Brush the grass trimmings from my shirt. “If she’s that devious, maybe she really did post the picture to my Twitter,” I say.

“She said she didn’t,” Jude reminds me.

“Yeah, I know, and Sasha said she didn’t take the quarters. So obviously we’re dealing with some less than perfectly honest people.”

“Are we going to have to go interview her again or something?”

“Look, I’m sorry if you’re bored with the movie, Jude. I’m sorry if you don’t care anymore what happens to us because you’ve got some great plan for yourself. I still care. I’m not going to stop asking questions until someone gives me a decent answer!”

Jude’s shoulders slump. “I do care,” he says. “And I need answers, too. For a while I thought I didn’t, but I do.”

I sit up. “Did something—”

“I got rejected from the summer program at Interlochen, which is basically a world-class arts camp,” Jude says. His expression is dark. “They said that ‘in light of my recent disciplinary action’ they felt I wouldn’t be a ‘positive influence in their artistic community,’ or some bullshit thing like that. Theo, Interlochen was a rung on the ladder. Interlochen summer program this year, then next year CalArts, then I’m off to fucking RISD or Yale. I missed my rung! What do I do now?” He kicks at his easel leg. “Shit. Another goddamn fly in the paint.”