Perfect Chemistry 1 (24 page)

relationship stood for . . . my weakness.

"I had sex with Mia," he blurts out. "This summer. You know, that

girl in the picture."

"You're saying that to hurt me."

"I'm saying it because it's the truth. Ask Shane."

"Then why did you come back here and pretend we were still the

Golden Couple?"

"Because that's what everyone expected. Even you. Don't deny it."

His words sting, but they're the truth. Now I'm done playing the

‘perfect’ girl and living by everyone else's rules, including my own.

It's time I start getting real. The first thing I do after Colin and I

part is tell Ms. Small I need to take time off from poms. It feels like a

weight is lifted off my shoulders. I go home, spend time with Shelley,

and do homework. After dinner I call Isabel Avila.

"I should be surprised you're calling me. But I'm not," she says.

"How was practice?"

"Not great. Darlene isn't a great captain, and Ms. Small knows it.

You shouldn't quit."

"I'm not. I'm just taking a break for a little while. But I didn't call

to talk about poms. Listen, I wanted you to know I broke up with Colin

today."

"And you're telling me because . . ."

That's a good question, one I normally wouldn't have answered. "I

wanted to talk with someone about it, and I know I have friends who I

can call, but I kinda wanted to go to someone who wouldn't gossip about

it. My friends have big mouths."

Sierra is the one person I'm closest to, but I lied to her about

Alex. And her boyfriend, Doug, is best friends with Colin.

"How do you know I won't blab?" Isabel asks.

"I don't. But you didn't tell me stuff about Alex when I asked, so I

figure you're good at keeping secrets."

"I am. So shoot."

"I don't know how to say this."

"I haven't got all day, you know."

"I kissed Alex," I blurt out.

"Alex? !Bendita! Was that before or after the Colin breakup?"

I wince. "I didn't plan it."

Isabel laughs so hard and loud, I have to take the phone away from

my ear. "You sure he didn't plan it?" she asks once she can get words

out.

"It just happened. We were at his house and then we were

interrupted when his mom came home and saw us--"

"What? His ma saw you guys? In his house? !Bendita!" She goes off

in Spanish, and I have no clue what the hell she's saying.

"I don't speak Spanish, Isabel. Help me out here."

"Oh, sorry. Carmen is gonna shit a brick when she finds out."

I clear my throat.

"I won't tell her," Isabel is quick to say. "But Alex's mom is one

tough woman. When Alex dated Carmen, he kept her far away from his

mama. Don't get me wrong, she loves her sons. But she's

overprotective, just like most Mexican mothers. Did she kick you out?"

"No, but she pretty much called me a whore."

More laughing from the other end of the line.

"It wasn't funny."

"I'm sorry." More laughing. "I would have loved to be a fly on the

wall when she walked in on you two."

"Thanks for your compassion," I say dryly. "I'm hanging up now."

"No! I'm sorry for laughing. It's just that the more we talk, the

more I see you as a totally different person than I thought you were. I

guess I can understand why Alex likes you."

"Thanks, I think. Remember when I told you I wouldn't let anything

happen between me and Alex?"

"Yeah. Just so I get my timetable straight, that was before you

kissed him. Right?" She chuckles, then says, "I'm just kidding,

Brittany. If you like him, girl, go for it. But be careful, because even if

I think he likes you more than he'll admit, you should keep your guard

up."

"I won't stop it if something happens between me and Alex, but

don't worry. I always have my guard up."

"Me, too. Well, except for the night you slept at my house. I kinda

fooled around with Paco. I can't tell my friends 'cause they'd give me

shit."

"Do you like him?"

"I don't know. I never thought about him that way before, but

being with him was kinda nice. How was the kiss with Alex?"

"Nice," I say, thinking about how sensual it was. "Actually, Isabel, it

was more than nice. It was fucking incredible."

Isabel starts laughing, and I laugh right along with her this time.

THIRTY-FOUR : Alex

Brittany flew out of school today, following Burro Face. Before I

left I saw them together in an intimate conversation by the back field.

She picked him over me, which really shouldn't surprise me. When she

asked me in chemistry what she should do, I should have told her to

dump that pendejo. Then I'd be happy instead of pissed off. Es un

carbon de mierda!

He doesn't deserve her. Okay, so I don't, either.

After school, I hung out at the warehouse to see if I could get

information about my dad. It was no use, though. The guys who knew mi

papa back then didn't have much to say except he never stopped

talking about his sons. All conversation stopped when the Satin Hood

sprayed the warehouse with gunfire, a sign they're out for revenge and

won't stop until they get it. I don't know if I should be thankful or

worried that the warehouse is in a secluded back lot behind the old

railroad station. Nobody knows we're here, not even the cops.

Especially not the cops.

I'm resistant to the Pop! Pop! Pop! of gunfire. In the warehouse, at

the park . . I expect it. Some streets are safer than others, but here,

in the warehouse, rivals know it's our sacred turf. And they expect

retaliation.

It's the culture. You disrespect our turf, we disrespect yours.

Nobody was hurt this time, so it's not retaliation against a killing. But

there will be retaliation. They expect us to come. And we won't

disappoint them.

On my side of town the circle of life is dependent on the circle of

violence.

Taking the long way home after it's all clear, I find myself driving

past Brittany's house. I can't help it. As soon as I cross the tracks, a

cop car stops me and two uniformed guys step out.

Instead of informing me why I'm being pulled over, one of the cops

orders me off my motorcycle and asks me for my license.

I hand it to him. "Why am I bein' pulled over?"

The guy who has my license examines it, then says, "You can ask

questions after I ask mine. You have any drugs in your possession,

Alejandro?"

"No, sir."

"Any weapons?" the other officer asks.

There's a slight hesitation before I tell the truth. "Yes."

One cop takes the gun out of his holster and points it at my chest.

The other one tells me to keep my hands up, then orders me to lie on

the ground while he calls for backup. Fuck. I'm busted, big time.

"What kind of weapon? Be specific."

I wince before saying, "A Glock nine millimeter." Thankfully I gave

Wil the Beretta back or I'd be caught double-strapped.

My answer makes the cop a little nervous and his trigger finger

shakes a bit. "Where is it?"

"On my left leg."

"Don't move. I'm going to disarm you. If you stay still, you won't

get hurt."

After he removes my gun the second cop puts on rubber gloves and

says to me in an authoritative voice Mrs. P. would be proud of, "You

have any needles on you, Alejandro?"

"No, sir," I say.

He knees my back and handcuffs me. "Get up," he orders, hauling

me to my feet, and makes me lean over the hood of the car. I feel

humiliated as the guy pats me down. Shit, as much as I knew getting

arrested was inevitable, I'm not ready for it. He shows me my gun.

"You can assume this is why we pulled you over."

"Alejandro Fuentes, you have the right to remain silent," one of the

officers recites. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a

court of law. . . ."

The holding cell smells like piss and smoke. Or maybe the guys who

are unlucky enough to be locked in this cage with me are the ones who

smell like piss and smoke. Either way, I can't wait to get the hell out of

here.

Who am I gonna call to bail me out? Paco doesn't have any money.

Enrique put all his money into the auto shop. My mother will kill me if

she finds out I was arrested. I lean my back against the iron bars of

the cell, thinking, even though it's close to impossible in this stinkin'

place.

The police call it a holding cell, but it's just a glorified way of

saying ‘cage.’ Thank Dios it's the first time I've been here. And, damn

it, I pray it's my last. Lojuro!

That thought is disturbing because I've always known I've

sacrificed my life for my brothers. Why would it matter if I'm locked

up for the rest of my life? Because deep down I don't want this life. I

want my mother to be proud of me for being something other than a

gang member. I want a future to be proud of. And I desperately want

Brittany to think I'm one of the good guys.

I bang the back of my head against the steel bars, but the

thoughts won't go away.

"I've seen you around Fairfield High. I go there," says a short

white guy, about my age. The dork is wearing a coral-colored golf shirt

and white pants, as if he came from a golf tournament with a bunch of

senior citizens.

White Guy tries to look cool, but with that coral shirt. . . man,

looking cool is the least of his problems.

The guy might as well have ‘another rich kid from the north side’

tattooed on his forehead.

"What'cha in for?" White Guy asks as if it's an ordinary question

between two ordinary people on an ordinary day.

"Carryin' a concealed weapon."

"Knife or gun?"

I shoot him a glare. "Does it fuckin' matter?"

"I'm just trying to make conversation," White Guy says.

Are all white people like this--talking to hear what their voice

sounds like? "What are you in for?" I ask.

White Guy sighs. "My dad called the cops and told them I stole his

car."

I roll my eyes. "Your old man put you in this hellhole? On purpose?"

"He thought it would teach me a lesson."

"Yeah," I say. "The lesson is that your old man's an asshole." The

dad should have taught his son how to dress better instead.

"My mom'll bail me out."

"You sure?"

White Guy straightens. "She's a lawyer, and my dad's done this

before. A few times. I think to piss off my mom and get her attention.

They're divorced."

I shake my head. White people.

"It's true," White Guy says.

"I'm sure it is."

"Fuentes, you can make your call now," the cop on the other side of

the bars barks out.

Mierda, with all of White Guy's blabberin' I still haven't decided

who to call to bail me out.

It hits me like that big, fat red F on my chemistry exam. There's

only one person with the money and means to get me out of this mess--

Hector. The head of the Blood.

I've never called in a favor from Hector. Because you never knew

when Hector would call in a favor of his own. And if I owe Hector, I

owe more than money.

Sometimes in life there are no desirable choices.

Three hours later, after a judge lectures me until my ears almost

bleed then sets my bail, Hector picks me up from the courthouse. He's

a powerful man, with slicked-back hair darker than my own and a look

about him that says he takes no shit.

I have a lot of respect for Hector because he's the guy who

initiated me into the Latino Blood. He grew up in the same town as my

dad, had known him since they were kids. Hector kept an eye out for

me and my family after my dad died. He taught me new phrases like

‘second generation’ and sprouted words like ‘legacy.’ I'll never forget it.

Hector thumps me on the back as we walk to the parking lot. "You

got Judge Garrett. He's a tough son of a bitch. You're lucky the bail

wasn't higher."

I nod, wanting nothing more than to go home. When we're driving

away from the courthouse, I say, "I'll pay you back, Hector."

"Don't worry about it, man," Hector says. "Brothers help each

other out. To tell you the truth, I was surprised it was your first time

getting arrested. You stay cleaner than anyone in the Blood."

I stare out the window of Hector's car, the streets as calm and

dark as Lake Michigan.

"You're a smart kid, smart enough to move up in the Blood," Hector

says.

I would die for some of the guys in Latino Blood, but to move up?

Selling drugs and guns are a few of the illegal dealings going on at the

top. I like it where I am, riding the dangerous wave without actually

plunging headfirst into the water.

I should be happy Hector is contemplating giving me more

responsibility in the LB. Brittany and all she stands for is a fantasy.

"Think about it," Hector says as he pulls up to my house.

"I will. Thanks for bailin' me out, man," I say.

"Here, take this." Hector pulls a pistol out from under his car seat.

"El policia confiscated yours."

I hesitate, remembering when the police asked me if I had any

weapons on me. Dios mio, it was humiliating having a gun pointed at my

chest as they removed the Glock. But refusing Hector's gun would be