Expelled(45)

“I’m sorry about Interlochen,” I say. “If it makes you feel any better, I got rejected from 7-Eleven.”

“It doesn’t,” Jude says.

“On the bright side, though, you can use the fly,” I say.

He stares at me. “Huh?”

“Call it a mixed-media piece.”

Jude’s face brightens ever so slightly. “Have you heard of the artist Chris Ofili? He uses, like, glitter and elephant shit in his paintings, and they’re worth millions.” I see him starting to smile. “You’re good, Theo. 7-Eleven doesn’t know what they’re missing.” He turns the painting toward me. “Voilà—Bug Graveyard #1: canvas, oil paint, fly carcass, mosquito wings.”

It’s an abstract swirl of color and line. It kind of looks like a six-year-old did it, but what do I know?

“Awesome,” I say faintly.

I thought I was going to tell Jude about the letter from my dad. But it turns out to be impossible. I can’t form the words.

I don’t think it’s true what Sasha said—that it’s our secrets that make us who we are. It’s our secrets plus our blind spots, our squashed hopes, and our endless small and daily failures.





43


But I can’t keep up the pity party, because I’ve got a movie to finish. So on Monday afternoon Felix and I go to Hailey’s house. (Jude claimed he had a dentist appointment, and I was nice enough to pretend to believe him even though it was Memorial Day.) I knock, and Hailey opens the door wearing a carefully ripped tank top and a miniskirt that’s barely wider than a belt.

“Not you again,” she says, sounding bored.

“Who is it, dear?” her mother calls. “Is it the cable company? For the last time, we are satisfied with our current provider.”

“No, it’s—” She looks me up and down and frowns lightly. But then she also sees the camera Felix is holding. “I’ll be back in a minute, Sharon,” she calls. She shuts the door and steps out onto the porch. “She hates it when I call her by her name.” A small, new smile plays across her lips. “Are you here to talk to me about Parker Harris again?”

“Sort of,” I say.

“And you’re filming?”

I nod. I watch her posture straighten, her eyes get brighter.

“You’re not going to put this online, are you?” she asks, but playfully—like she wants me to say yes.

I don’t answer, partly because I don’t know. If I never figure out the truth, then there’s no sense in broadcasting my failure. But if I do? Well, then I hope this’ll play on the Sundance Channel. Hell, I hope it gets an Oscar nomination. Best True Crime Documentary Directed by a Delinquent Teenager—do they have a category for that?

“Earlier you said you didn’t have anything to do with the posting of the picture,” I say to Hailey. “Do you stand by that statement?”

She giggles. “You sound like a lawyer.”

“Do you stand by your previous statement?” I ask again.

“Are you serious?” she says, no longer laughing. “What a stupid question. If I’d lied to you once, why in the world wouldn’t I do it again?”

“Humor me,” I say. “Did you have anything to do with putting the picture on my Twitter feed?”

She rolls her eyes. “I swear to God, I don’t know how anyone can stand to hang out with you. This investigation of yours is sooooo boring.”

This time I keep my mouth shut, and I motion for Felix to move in closer so he’s got a shot just of her face. In the sudden silence, Hailey sighs. Holds up her left hand, like she’s a witness being sworn in by a county court registrar. “I did not take the picture, and I did not post the picture. I do solemnly swear, so help me God, or however it goes.” Then she smiles, right at the camera. “If I really wanted to humiliate Parker Harris, I’d share the dick pic I made him send me.”

And when I see that gleeful smile, my heart sinks a little. Because I know she’s telling the truth.

“Yeah, Jude mentioned that,” I say glumly. “I guess you don’t need my Twitter feed to get back at anyone.”

“Where is your little sidekick, anyway?” Hailey asks.

“Licking old wounds, probably,” I say. “He told me what you did to him at camp.”

She dismisses this with a wave of her manicured hand. “That was six years ago.”

“Well, it was really mean.”

“Maybe it was,” Hailey admits, “but he should get over it. It wasn’t about him.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t about him? You scared the living shit out of him.”

“I hated camp,” Hailey says. “The food was disgusting, the lake smelled like dead fish, and no one wanted to be my partner for any of the activities. My parents wouldn’t let me leave early, so I… what’s the phrase? I took matters into my own hands.”

“Wait a second. You terrified Jude with a spider because you knew he’d tell on you and get you kicked out?”

She laughs. “No one had to tell on me, dummy. I admitted it right away. And like I said, it had nothing to do with Jude. It could have been anyone, as long as it would get me in trouble. Jude’s bed was just closest to the window.”