Expelled(55)

52


Jude wants to hit the Hamburger Inn to celebrate the Higgins take-down, but I need some time to think. I have him drop me off at the Property because it’s quiet. And because who knows how much longer it’ll be mine.

And is celebration really called for anyway? Maybe we’ll get a drug-pushing coach fired, but we didn’t get ourselves back into school. Our futures are still in question, and I’m starting to get really sick of the uncertainty.

“Do you think these are a good addition to the collection?”

I whirl around, and there’s Sasha, holding up a string of lights shaped like Japanese beckoning cats.

“Jesus, you scared me,” I say. “Where’d you come from?”

She smiles, dazzlingly, and suddenly I start to feel more optimistic. If Sasha Ellis is going to be part of my future, how bad can it be?

“I’ve been here all afternoon. You walked right past my car.”

I look where she’s pointing, and there it is, tucked in between two huge rhododendron bushes. “You camouflaged it,” I say defensively.

Shrugging, she says, “Surprise!”

“Where were you earlier? I thought you were coming to school. I thought you wanted to be a part of the grand finale.”

“You know me, Theo,” she says, winding the cat lights around the deck railing. “I’m not big on public displays of disaffection.”

“Very funny.”

“Felix texted me the assembly video,” she says. “It’s amazing. After you left, there was basically a riot. Everyone storming the podium, Palmieri running off with his tail between his legs… God, what an ending that’ll make.”

“Sure, if we ever put the thing together.”

Sasha looks surprised. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“I guess I don’t know what the point is now. The truth’s out, but it’s not going to change anything. Not for me, anyway. No one cares about the picture. They’ve moved on to what even I can admit is a larger problem.”

She puts her hand on mine. “Poor Theo,” she says. “Justice is never served.”

I slide my hand away. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not,” she insists. “I’m being sympathetic. I just… Oh, God, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.” She looks away, then back at me. “Can we go out in the boat?”

The rowboat leans against a tree, its hull still littered with cups from the Convict Prom. “Okay,” I say. I make a halfhearted attempt to clean them out, then flip the boat over and shove it into the water. I tow it alongside the dock, then climb in and fit the oars into their locks. “All aboard!”

Sasha steps carefully into the prow; the boat wobbles and she gives a little yelp. When she’s sitting down, I push off, and we glide through the water toward the center of the pond.

“We’re floating!” she says, sounding happy as a little kid.

“Yep. It’s all about Archimedes’ principle.”

“Whatever that is,” she says.

I can’t help a small smile. “I don’t need to explain my references to you, do I?”

“Nope.” She pushes playfully at my knee.

And I start to think about next year, when we’re both back at Arlington, however we get there. And how maybe on the first day of school I’ll see Sasha, reading in a corner of the cafeteria at lunchtime. And I’ll go sit beside her, and she’ll put down whatever work of classic literature she’s reading and start happily talking to me, Theo Foster. Because we’re friends.

Or maybe even more than that.

The thought of this makes me embarrassingly happy.

“Why are you super smiley all of a sudden?” Sasha asks. “Is it because you single-handedly ruined a championship football team? I mean, really, not many seventeen-year-olds can claim that.”

I don’t think I can tell her the truth—not yet. “Yeah, just when I was convinced my life would be a tiny, meaningless blip in the vast morass that is human existence, I saved a bunch of adolescent jocks from ’roid rage and raisin balls.”

Sasha laughs. “See? You just have to look on the bright side. But seriously—are you still bummed about school? Would you go back now if Palmieri said you could?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t you?”

She scoffs. “And once again rub shoulders with small-town half-wits so shortsighted they think a good goal for the future is hitting Pizza Hut on Saturday? Please.”

“You’re so mean,” I blurt. “I might be in love with you.”

Oh, God—did I just say that?

She stares at me with those big, glacial eyes. “What?”

My cheeks go hot. I can’t possibly say it again; I didn’t mean to say it the first time. So instead I lean toward her, almost helplessly, like she’s a magnet pulling me in. The boat rocks, and we both grab on to the sides to steady ourselves. She leans forward, too, and our mouths just sort of… bump together. It’s almost like it’s an accident, but it wasn’t—not for me, anyway. And suddenly here we are, kissing. Sasha’s mouth is soft and warm, and it opens to mine. I’m going to die of how good this feels. I let go of the boat with one hand, and I twist my fingers into her dark hair, hot and silky in the sun. She makes a tiny sound, a breath or a moan, and then she pulls away.