Expelled(46)
I don’t know what to say. But Felix goes, “That is some sophisticated criminal thinking for a shorty.”
Hailey shrugs. “I’m not as dumb as you think I look.”
“I never said—” Felix starts.
“So they sent you home,” I say.
“Yep. But don’t tell my parents the truth. It’s a secret.”
“Hailey, I’m filming,” Felix says.
“Oh, yeah.” She looks at the camera. “Shit.” Then she grins. “Maybe I am a little dumb.”
“Well, if I can’t figure out who framed me, no one’s going to see this at all,” I say. “Thanks for talking to us, Hailey. Is there anything you want to say to Jude before we go? Any amends you want to make?”
Hailey thinks for a second. And then she smiles her bright cheerleader smile again. “I’m sorry, Jude,” she says to the camera. “No hard feelings, okay? I had to get out of that place. You were just… what’s the phrase? Oh, right: collateral damage.” She shrugs, then waves and turns away.
Those phrases roll around in my head.
I had to get out of that place.
You were just collateral damage.
Suddenly I have a totally new idea about who was the Picture mastermind. And as impossible as it seems, I don’t think I’m wrong.
44
Here’s one question for you: Why would someone who seems to have it all just not want it?
And now another: What would I do with movie-star looks and athletic prowess and girls tripping over themselves to date me?
I don’t know—it’s hard to imagine a transformation that radical—but it’s pretty safe to say I would not just throw it all away. Here I am, with barely more than nothing, and I’m still holding on to it with all my might.
So what the hell is wrong with Parker Harris, and why did he toss a metaphoric grenade into the middle of his perfect life and blow it all to pieces?
That afternoon, I grab Felix’s GoPro and walk over to the nice side of town. A few blocks away from Sasha’s house, I stop in front of a big Tudor with an American flag on the lawn, window boxes full of flowers, and an oversized, overpolished SUV parked under a brand-new regulation basketball hoop. It’s basically Hollywood’s idea of an all-American family home. And it’s where Parker Harris lives.
I kick a basketball out of my way as I walk up the driveway. Adrenaline is coursing through me. I don’t know what I’m going to do or say yet, but I’m not about to let that stop me. I pound on the front door. Nothing happens. I pound again, louder this time, and after a few seconds it swings open, and Parker looms in the doorway in a Seahawks jersey.
“Yo,” he says. “What are you doing here?”
“Come outside,” I say. “I need to talk to you.”
Like some giant Labrador, Parker follows me down the front porch steps and stands there while I set the GoPro on top of his SUV. With its wide-angle lens, it can get me and the guy I once called the Abominable Bro-man in the same shot.
Parker stuffs his fists into his pockets and shrugs and goes, “So? Dude?”
I take a deep breath. And then I pull back my right arm, and with every ounce of strength I have in my body, I haul off and punch Parker in his chiseled jaw.
He stumbles backward in surprise, and his left hand goes to his cheek. “What the fuck?” he exclaims.
“You did it,” I yell. “You posted the picture!”
Parker clenches his other hand into a fist. I think I hear a growl coming from his throat. I take a step back. I poise myself to run, because he looks like he wants to pound me into the dirt. But I can’t leave yet.
“You lied to all of us!” I yell. And suddenly I’m so pissed I don’t care if he throws a punch at me. I don’t care if—
Parker swings, hard, but by some miracle I dodge it and his fist slams into the roof of the SUV. The camera wobbles, then falls onto its side.
“Fuck,” he says, clutching his knuckles.
“You want to try again?” I ask. There’s so much adrenaline in my blood I probably won’t even feel the blow. “Come on, bro!”
But Parker shakes his head. “Fuck you,” he says. His voice sounds tired.
“Just admit it,” I say, pressing him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Parker says.
He’s not taking another swing at me, though, and that’s how I know he’s guilty. Everyone knows the story: If you throw two men in jail, and one of them is guilty and one of them is innocent, guess who sleeps through the night? The guilty one. Because he knows he’s where he belongs.
“You wanted to be expelled,” I accuse him. “I don’t know why you wanted out, but you did. So you made the whole thing happen.”
Parker watches me as I pace before him, trying to decide whether or not I want to hit him again, even if he’d finally be pissed enough to pummel me. His cheek’s red now, angry looking. But he doesn’t say anything. He just turns and starts walking away.
I grab the camera and hurry to catch up to him. “Don’t you have anything to say? Are you going to deny it?”
Parker’s shoulders are hunched and he’s stalking up the street. He wants me to leave him alone, but I refuse to.
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