Expelled(51)

When it looks like he just can’t stand it anymore, I hit Stop.

“God fucking damn it,” he says, but softly, to himself. He stands and looks me dead in the eye. “You’re worried about a stupid false expulsion when there’s a potential doping scandal on the horizon? Do you have any idea what this means?” For a second it looks like he’s going to punch the wall, but then he just throws up his hands. “If this gets out, it could destroy the entire school.”

I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want Arlington to go down in flames—but I guess I don’t want a bunch of jocks walking around with injection abscesses and ’roid rage, either.

Palmieri jabs a knuckly finger at me. “If this is your idea of getting back at the administration for expelling you, you’d better figure out a different plan.”

“I don’t have a plan,” I say. “I just want… justice, I guess.”

“Fine. You’re readmitted. The board will quietly acknowledge that the expulsions of you and Jude were made in error. You don’t even have to show up for the rest of the week. Take your finals from home, open book. Next fall, you’re seniors in good academic standing.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. It’s all over. Provided you keep your mouth shut. About everything.”

“Keep my mouth shut? But people deserve—”

“Who’s to say what anyone deserves, Foster?” Palmieri hisses, leaning forward. “Do you really deserve a public proclamation of your innocence? You did have a secret, anti-school Twitter account, let’s not forget. Does Jude deserve to be back in school? I didn’t hear Parker say anything about his lack of guilt. Does the football team and the entire school deserve to suffer because of the story of one ex-student?”

“What are you saying?” I ask. I’m completely confused.

“I’m saying what’s right in the moment isn’t always what’s best in the end, Mr. Foster,” Palmieri says. “That’s something I expect you’ll learn as you mature.”

My surprise turns to anger. “Really? Is moral decay something I ought to look forward to when I’m old?”

Palmieri puts his big meaty hands down on the desk and grips it until his knuckles go white. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, you smart-ass little twerp. I liked you. Believe it or not, I was against your expulsion. But if you can’t understand that I need this handled in a responsible way, then you’re not as clever as you pretend to be.”

“But you can’t keep it a secret,” I say. “I’ve got it on camera.”

“So you think people are automatically going to believe a bitter ex-jock?”

“We’ll drug-test him. We can test the whole team.”

Palmieri laughs. “First of all, we will do no such thing. But even if we did, most anabolics are out of the blood in a month. Other PEDs are gone in days. It’s not football season now, remember? Anyone tested will read clean. There won’t be any real proof.”

I realize that Palmieri has a point, and my heart sinks. I stand up to go before he thinks again about calling the police.

At the door, though, I turn back around. I’ve realized something else.

“You don’t need real proof to punish someone, Mr. Palmieri,” I say. “You of all people should know that.”





49


Back at my house, I put Felix’s GoPro on a tripod and sit down across the table from it, like the camera’s a friend I’m having dinner with.

“Guess what I’m eating?” I ask it. “My ten-thousandth Ana Maria’s chicken burrito.” I slowly rotate it in front of the lens. “Exhibit A. A miracle of food technology, the frozen burrito was invented in California in 1956, and were it not for the cheapness and deliciousness of this log of beans and processed cheese, I would have been dead a long time ago.” I pause then, like I’m expecting the camera to laugh or something.

This is so pitiful. I put the burrito back on its paper plate. I’m not even really hungry; I’m just totally confused. What now? Did I just lose my chance at clearing my record and being readmitted to school? Did I just shoot my future in its face?

I have absolutely no idea.

I turn back to the camera. “When I first thought about making this movie,” I tell it, “all I cared about was proving that I was innocent. Yeah, I wanted to prove Jude was innocent, and Sasha—but if I’m honest, it was mostly about me. I guess I felt like I’d better take care of myself because no one else was doing it. No offense, Mom.” I offer the camera a small smile. “And it’s pretty corny, but trying to make a documentary taught me a lot. I learned about clip mics and GoPros, and about how people who wouldn’t give you the time of day in real life will talk your ear off if you’re carrying a camera.” I pick a stray bean from the plate and pop it into my mouth. “And I learned that people lie a lot. And that nothing is uncomplicated. And that you can wish for a simple, happy ending, but it doesn’t matter—you can’t make life into a Disney movie.” I laugh self-consciously. “How’s that for a news flash? Oh, and the hero isn’t dashing and handsome, and he doesn’t get the girl. And the girl, by the way, is batshit anyway.” I poke at my sad burrito, growing cold on its plate. “I don’t think trying to make a movie made anything better. Maybe I won’t fail out of school completely—I guess there’s still a chance of that. But the Property will still be sold, and my dad will still be dead.” I put my face in my hands. “Shit,” I say.