Expelled(50)

“I mean about Parker,” I say.

“I get it,” she says.

“What do you mean?” Jude asks.

She wraps her hands around the mug as if to warm them. “I mean that I understand your life feeling like something you can’t control anymore. I understand the impulse to just blow the whole damn thing up.”

“So you’re not mad at him for lying? For ruining my high school career?”

“What good would being mad at him do?” she asks. “Parker’s always been a self-centered oxygen thief, and nothing’s going to change that.”

“Well, he’s going to get what’s coming to him,” I say. “I’m going to talk to Palmieri, and I’m going to get my name cleared. I’m going to get Jude’s name cleared, too. Maybe we’ll get to go back to school for the last few days. Then we can take our exams and not fail junior year.”

“What if Parker tries to deny it?” Jude says.

“He can’t,” I say. “I got it on camera.”

“But what about the doping?” Jude asks. “I mean, if you wanted to, you could bring down the school.”

I shrug. “I don’t want to,” I say. “But maybe Arlington is just collateral damage.”





48


Palmieri’s back is to the door when I stride into his office and deposit myself in the chair across from his massive desk. The pleather cushion gives a loud squeak in protest.

“I wasn’t aware that I had an appointment with anyone,” Palmieri says without turning around. “Tim,” he calls to his assistant, “did you put someone on the books?”

Tim materializes in the doorway, shooting me an evil look. “He walked right past me, sir,” he says.

Then Palmieri finally spins around and realizes just who’s come to see him. His hand reaches for his big black desk phone. “You are in violation of your expulsion,” he says. “You have ten seconds to justify your presence. After that, I’m calling the police.”

“I didn’t do it,” I say. “I know you’ve heard me say that before, and you’ve never believed me. But this time I have proof.” I hold up Felix’s camera and glance pointedly at Tim hovering in the doorway.

“It’s fine, Tim. You can close the door,” Palmieri says.

“I have a recording of Parker Harris admitting that he posted the picture on my Twitter account.”

I expect Palmieri to look shocked. To hold out his hand for the camera. To at least be ready to hear what I have to say. But instead he leans back in his pleather chair and crosses his arms. “Parker Harris? That’s not possible,” he says. “This is a joke.”

“I’m not joking. I’ve been telling you the truth the entire time!”

Palmieri shakes his head at me, like I’ve disappointed him yet again, and then he picks up the phone and starts dialing. Any minute he’s going to have me hauled out of here in handcuffs.

I have no choice: I press Play.

“Because I felt trapped,” Parker says through the phone’s tiny speakers. “Because I hated where I was, and I hated what I was doing.”

Palmieri slowly puts the phone back in its cradle, and I stop the recording. “He wanted to get kicked off the team,” I say.

Palmieri takes a deep breath and then lets it out in a long, slow exhale. He does that three more times before he speaks in a low, steady voice. “Was Parker actually the one to post the picture to your Twitter account?”

“No, he had someone else do it.”

“Who? Who else are you trying to bring down, Mr. Foster?”

“I’m not trying to bring anyone down!” I yell. “I’m just trying to make sure the truth gets told.”

Palmieri’s eyes narrow. “What about your friend Jude? Does the recording prove his innocence?”

I pause. I hadn’t even thought of that. “No… not really.”

“So it helps you,” Palmieri goes on, “but not your best friend. And it brings further trouble to Parker Harris, who has already been punished—excessively, his father argues. This could even mean criminal charges, for him and whoever broke into your account on his behalf.” Palmieri lets this sink in before he goes on. “A student whose identity I can probably guess. A boy who has excellent computer skills but very few friends. A boy who has it rough already. Am I getting warm here?”

“Are you telling me that I should just keep my mouth shut?” I ask, incredulous. “Are you saying it’s better for everyone if I just pretend to be the asshole who posted a shot of shit-faced Parker and some poor girl’s breasts for the whole world to see?”

“Don’t think only about yourself,” Palmieri says. “Think about your school. The last thing Arlington needs is another scandal. Another reason for the TV cameras to be turned on us.”

Now it’s my turn to take a deep breath. I let it out slow and long. “Well, Mr. Palmieri,” I say, “if it’s bad publicity you’re worried about, you’re really not going to like what you’re about to hear.” I press Play again, and I watch as he listens to Parker’s explosive revelation about the football team doping.

Palmieri’s perpetually tan face gets very yellow.