Expelled(6)

“No one ever said life was fair,” Jude says. “Look at us. I’m the one with the social charms and the excellent fashion sense, but somehow you have the looks. That’s not fair to me, is it?”

“I honestly don’t even know what you’re talking about.” I whisper this because now we’re creeping past his parents’ bedroom.

“Also, I have a car,” Jude says, “and you have only your legs and, like, a shitty ten-speed.”

“Zelda is a 1987 Chevette that tops out at forty-five miles an hour,” I point out. “It’s barely a car.”

“Zelda is a she, not an it,” Jude says. “And if you’re going to insult her, she won’t take you to tacos.” He grabs his keys from the kitchen counter. “Why should I spend my time solving quadratic equations or memorizing the preamble to the Constitution? That’s what the internet’s for. And you—you’re way too good for high school. Getting kicked out was the best thing that ever happened to us.”

He sounds so convinced that for one millisecond I almost believe him.

“This is going to be the summer of our lives,” he says. “Trust me.”

I want to. But I know Jude well enough to tell when he’s bullshitting. And I’m pretty sure that deep down inside he’s just as scared as I am.





6


A few miles outside of town, Jude makes a left, and Zelda bumps down a narrow gravel road, making me regret that last taco. The switchgrass and the wild sweet peas have gone crazy since I was last here, and they’re overgrown enough to brush against the car doors.

We drive another potholed half mile, and then we’re on the Property: the land my parents bought right after they got married. When I was a kid, I thought it was the most beautiful place in the world.

There’s a five-acre pond ringed by oaks and willows and cattails, a screened-in gazebo filled with ratty old furniture and a mini fridge, and a big weathered wooden deck that looks over the blue-green water.

My parents always talked about building their dream house out here someday. My mom wanted chickens, a garden, and a sunporch bathed in light. My dad joked that all he cared about was being able to walk out his front door and piss in the yard without any neighbors harassing him. But his plans were much bigger than that: at night he’d draw up sketches, each one more amazing than the last. Your room will be over the library, Theo, he’d say. You’ll have your own private second-story porch, right here on the other side of these French doors…

He was a dreamer, and I loved to believe his wild, wonderful ideas: a game room, a secret passageway between the living room and the library, a special cozy sunroom for my mom to call her own.

I don’t know what’s going to happen with the Property now that he’s gone. The dream house is out—that much is obvious. But what about the land itself, those acres of trees and meadow? What about the pond, where we used to fish?

I’m afraid these might be just more things I have to lose.

Jude opens a couple of lawn chairs out on the deck. It’s just after 8 a.m., and the air’s still cool and full of birdsong. Every once in a while a fish breaks the still surface of the water.

“Here’s the plan,” Jude says, settling into a sagging canvas lounge chair. “I’m going to paint all summer long. I’m going to paint so much and so well that I’ll be rich and famous by the time I’m eighteen, so it won’t matter at all that I was basically forced to drop out of high school.” He crosses his arms like this is a foolproof strategy as opposed to pie-in-the-sky fantasy. “What’s your goal?”

“I want to go back in time and make all of this not happen,” I say.

“I hate to break it to you, but that’s impossible,” Jude says.

“Not much less impossible than your idea,” I counter.

“Screw you for your lack of faith.”

“Screw you for being so optimistic about everything.”

Jude sighs. “Theo, the glass is half full.”

“Oh, sure,” I say. “It’s half full of shit.”

Jude throws up his hands. “Lighten up, Theo! It’s a beautiful day, and our stomachs are full of amazing tacos. Can’t you just enjoy this for a second?”

“Stop acting like everything’s going to be okay!” I shout. “What about college? Do you think Cornell University accepts kids who get kicked out of school? Do you—”

“Is that where you want to go?” Jude interrupts.

“I don’t know! I don’t know anything! Except that I know that I need a scholarship, and getting expelled has ruined my chances of getting one. And what about you? You think RISD’s going to be like ‘Oh, this Jude kid’s a decent painter, but what we’re really stoked about is his convict past’?”

“RISD’s school mascot is a giant penis named Scrotie,” he says.

I feel like pounding my head against the deck. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m just saying I wouldn’t want to be that mascot.”

“I don’t think you should act like everything’s fine,” I say. “Because it’s not. We are completely and totally screwed.”

Jude sighs. “I know, okay? But I’m trying to keep our spirits up. That’s a mascot’s job, remember? Go team!” He raises a halfhearted fist in the air. “Although we’re not even big enough for a team. We’re just a duo.”