Expelled(8)

But Jude doesn’t pay attention to Parker. “It’s about these five kids who are in detention together, but they have nothing in common,” he says. “Sort of like us, right? Just because we’ve all been expelled doesn’t make us best friends.”

“No shit, Tigger,” Parker says and tosses back another eight ounces of jock shake in one gulp.

Of course in the movie the kids do all become friends. They discover the meaning of life and the meaninglessness of stereotypes or whatever. But there’s no point in mentioning that—it’s not going to work that way for us.

“You at least got a PS3 out here?” Parker asks.

“Sorry, bro,” I say. There’s a heavy dose of irony in my use of the word bro, but I don’t think Parker hears it. I truly can’t understand why Sasha ever dated him, and I don’t get how she can tolerate him now.

Sasha turns to me, blue eyes flashing. “I took all the money from the Coke machines,” she says.

I say, “What?”

“You asked me what I did to get expelled. That’s what they said I did.”

“How’d you do it?” Jude asks. “Hit ’em with a crowbar? Let me see them arms, girl.”

Sasha dodges so Jude can’t check her biceps. “I was student treasurer, so I had the keys. I was supposed to clean out the change and restock the sodas, which I did. I left the money in a locked box in the student council office, and the next morning it was gone.”

“Did you see anything suspicious the night before?” Jude asks.

“Are we on True Detective or something?” I say.

Jude grins. “I always thought I had a certain Colin Farrell je ne sais quoi.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Sasha says, suddenly sounding angry. “All I know is that I don’t need to steal eighty pounds of quarters!”

“Yeah, since your dad’s wallet is a never-ending supply of twenties,” Jude says, sounding wistful.

“I have a job,” Sasha snaps. “My dad has nothing to do with it.”

“Wow, okay,” Jude says. He puts a placating hand on her knee, but she shakes him off. “So the takeaway here,” he says slowly, “is that Parker’s the only guilty one.”

“And somehow the only one still in school,” Parker says.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Parker picks up a doughnut, sniffs it longingly, and then puts it back down again. “I’m going to Chase Academy.”

“You’re kidding,” Jude says. “How the hell did you pull that off? Can you actually read?”

“It’s called writing a fat check,” Parker says. “Probably your parents can’t do that.”

“They can,” Jude says. “It’d just bounce.”

I clench my hands into fists. I can’t believe it: the only person who’s actually guilty is the only one who isn’t getting punished.

“Private school’s fancy,” Jude muses. “I wonder if they make cravats for necks as thick as yours.”

“Proud to say I don’t know what a fucking cravat is,” Parker says.

The day’s just getting worse and worse. I throw the rest of my doughnut into the weeds; let the goddamn squirrels have it.

Then Sasha stands up and brushes the crumbs off her dress. “Well, you guys, it’s been real, but I have to get to work. Parker, you coming?”

Parker’s on his feet in a hot second. “Later, bitches,” he says.

Bitterly I watch them go. Right before she gets into the car, Sasha turns around and winks at me—a gesture I find as confusing as her tolerance of Parker Harris.

“I really don’t get it,” I say as they pull away.

“Sasha Ellis has always been a mystery to you,” Jude says. “Why would today be any different?”

“I don’t know. Shit changes,” I say.

“And the more shit changes, the more it remains the same.”

Maybe. But I have to say, the way my life’s been going, it seems to me that shit doesn’t remain the same.

It just gets generally worse.





8


Early Monday morning, when I should’ve been on my way to the soul-sucking boredom of homeroom, I go to Five Points Coffee instead. It’s right across the street from Arlington, which means I can torture myself by watching the approximately 1,196 kids who didn’t get expelled make their way into school.

I mean, just because school sucks doesn’t mean I don’t want to go.

As I scan the crowd filing in through the big double doors, I wonder: Did one of those people post the picture? If so, what was their motive? Did someone want to get me in trouble, even more than Parker? Do I, as Palmieri asked, have an enemy?

If I do, then my high school social strategy has been a bust. I spent three years trying to be Switzerland: neutral, and maybe just a little bit above it all. I wanted to be somewhere between inoffensive and downright nice to almost every single person in that institution.

But obviously I went wrong at some point. I have the expulsion to prove it.

Larry the barista eyes me darkly from behind the counter, and I throw him a half wave as I put a dollar in the can for the self-serve house coffee. Larry’s not one for niceness; when Mike, the owner, comes in, he’ll give free coffee to anyone who can make Larry smile. As far as I know, only Jude and I have ever been able to do it. We save up stupid jokes to tell him when we’re broke.