Rules Of Attraction (27 page)

“Stop fighting, you two,” I tell them. “Carlos, you can’t just order

Tuck to leave.”

“Not even if I’m going to ask you to Homecoming?”

I bite my bottom lip. He’s definitely not serious. He can’t be.

There’s no way he can take me to Homecoming when just three days

ago he was barely able to move. I see him fighting the urge to wince

every time he has to bend to get books from his locker or sit in a chair.

He told me the doctor said he should move so he doesn’t get stiff, but

he’s not superhuman, even though I think he wants to be.

Tuck motions to the floor. “Are you gonna get on one knee? ’Cause

everyone is already staring at you guys. I could take a pic on my cell

and send it to the yearbook committee.”

“Tuck,” I say, looking up at my best friend. “Beat it.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll go eat by Jake Somers. Who knows, maybe I’ll be

inspired by Carlos and gather up the nerve to ask him to Homecoming.”

Carlos shakes his head. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were

datin’ him.” When Tuck is gone, Carlos pulls up a chair next to me. I

notice he holds his breath as he bends to sit down. He’s doing a good

job of trying to hide his pain, and I don’t think anyone else notices. But

I do. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a Homecoming ticket. “Will

you go to Homecoming with me?”

He’s focused only on me, not caring who may or may not be watching

us. I, on the other hand, feel all eyes on me as if they’re darts. “Why

ask now, in the middle of lunch?”

“I just bought the ticket five minutes ago. Let’s just say I was

anxious to make sure you’d still go with me.”

Ever since he got beat up, he’s been really vulnerable and insecure.

It makes me nervous, because I never know if he’s going to end up

pushing me away again. I can get used to this Carlos, the one who isn’t

afraid to tell me how much he wants to be with me. But it also makes

me emotional, and the more emotional I get, the harder it is to control

my stuttering.

“You can hardly m-m-move, Carlos. You d-d-don’t have to do this.”

“I want to do it.” He shrugs. “Besides, I can’t wait to see you in a

dress and heels.”

“W-w-what are you going to wear?” I ask him. “A suit and tie?”

He shoves the ticket back in his pocket. “I was thinkin’ more like

jeans and a T-shirt.”

Jeans? T-shirt? Besides being totally inappropriate for the

homecoming dance . . . “We won’t match. I can’t pin a boutonniere on a

T-shirt.”

“Boutonniere? What the hell is that, and why would I want you to

pin it to me?”

“Look it up in the dictionary,” I tell him.

“As long as you’re at it, amigo,” Tuck says as he creeps up behind

Carlos, “you might want to look up the word ‘corsage.’”

FORTY-FIVE
: Carlos

‘cor·sage (kôr-säzh,-säj) n. A small arrangement of flowers worn on

the wrist or pinned to the shoulder.’

That’s what the dictionary says. REACH has a small room they call a

library with a bunch of self-help books. I got lucky and found a

dictionary, and the first thing I did when I got here was open it. I’m

sure Kiara would be surprised that I did look it up. So now I’m

wondering how I’m gonna find something decent to wear for

Homecoming. Equally frustrating is what to do about getting one of

these corsages.

Before Berger starts our little therapy session or whatever

politically correct name they’ve come up with to call our group of

fuckups this week, Zana and Justin come up to me.

“What happened to you?” Justin asks. “Get run over by a truck

numerous times?”

Zana, wearing another skirt so short it might get her sent home

from school, bites into one of the brownies set out for us. “Rumor has

it you got jumped by some gang members fighting for territory.” She

says it softly, so Berger can’t hear.

“You’re both wrong.” I slide into a chair and hope Berger doesn’t

grill me about the fight. Hell, I finally got Alex to stop grilling me. I

told him to back off, and promised to tell him if Devlin or his guys

contact me again.

Again, I don’t believe in promises. Why are people such suckers?

When Keno walks in late, I notice immediately he’s ignoring me.

Normally I wouldn’t even notice, but everyone else is staring at me

wide-eyed as if my face has been taken over by an alien life-form. Glad

they weren’t with me on Sunday. I look a helluva lot better now. Berger

walks into the room, takes one look at me, and walks back out. Sure

enough, after a minute Kinney and Morrisey appear.

Morrisey points to me. “Carlos, come with us.”

Both Kinney and Morrisey escort me to a little room off to the

side. It’s like a room at a doctor’s office, complete with those needle

disposal boxes hangin’ on the wall. There’s one difference, though. A

toilet is in the corner, with a small privacy curtain hanging off the

ceiling.

Morrisey points at my face. “Your guardian called you out on

Monday and Tuesday. He said you were in a fight. Wanna tell us about

it?”

“Not really.”

Kinney steps forward. “Okay, Carlos, here’s the drill. From the look

of you, we suspect you’ve been under the influence in the past week.

Fights usually go along with drinking and drugs. We’re giving you a urine

test. Go wash your hands in the sink over there.”

I want to roll my eyes and tell them that getting your ass kicked

doesn’t mean you’re a druggie, but instead I just shrug. “Whatever,” I

say, after I wash my hands. “Just give me a cup so I can get it over

with.”

“If you test positive, you’re expelled,” Morrisey says as he opens

one of the cabinets and pulls out a urine cup. “You know the rules.”

I reach for the cup, but Kinney holds his hand up. “Let me explain

what you need to do. You’ll have to strip down to your underwear in our

presence, then go behind that curtain and urinate in a cup.”

I toss my shirt on one of the chairs, then shrug out of my jeans. I

hold my arms out wide and turn around. “Happy now?” I ask them. “I

don’t got any contraband on me.”

Morrisey hands me the cup. “You have four minutes or less. And

don’t flush the toilet, or we’re going to do this all over again.”

I go behind the curtain with the cup in hand and piss. I’ve got to

admit, it’s humiliating having Morrisey and Kinney listening to me piss,

although this is just routine for them. When I’m done and dressed, I’m

instructed to wash again and head back to the group. They won’t have

the results until tomorrow, so I’m off the hook until then. When I walk

into the room, everyone is staring at me except for Keno. They

obviously know the routine and probably figured out I’d just been

tested.

“Welcome back,” Berger says. “You’ve obviously had a rough week.

We missed you.”

“I was kind of laid up.”

“Want to tell us about it? Whatever gets shared in this room, stays

in this room. Right, guys?”

Everyone nods, but I notice Keno mumble under his breath and still

avoid eye contact with me. He knows somethin’, and I need to find out

what. Problem is getting him alone, ’cause after every meeting he books

out of here.

“Let someone else talk,” I tell her.

“He’s dating Kiara Westford,” Zana chimes in. “I saw him with his

arm around her in the hallway at school. And my friend Gina saw them

at lunch together and heard him ask her to Homecoming.”

That’s the last time I’m doin’ anything in public. “Don’t you ever

mind your own business?” I ask Zana. “Seriously, don’t you have any-

thin’ better to do than gossip with your stupid friends?”

“Fuck you, Carlos.”

“Enough. Zana, we don’t talk like that in here. I won’t tolerate

profanity. I’m giving you a warning.” Berger takes her pen and writes

shit down in her notebook. “Carlos, tell me about Homecoming.”

“There’s nothin’ to tell. I’m goin’ with a girl, that’s all.”

“Is she someone special?”

I look over at Keno. If he knows Devlin’s crew, he might give them

info. Is Berger that naive to believe what’s said in our little group

therapy sessions is actually gonna stay in our group therapy sessions?

As soon as we’re out of here, I guarantee Zana is on her cell sharing

with her stupid friends every bit of info she can squeeze out of us.

“Kiara and I are . . . complicated,” I tell the group.

Complicated. That seems to be the theme of my life lately. The

rest of the group session is concentrated on Carmela, who complains

that her dad is so old-fashioned he’s forbidden her to schedule a trip

to California with friends for winter break. Carmela should have

parents like the Westfords, who believe everyone should set their own

path and make their own mistakes (until you get beat up, then they’re

all over you and won’t leave you alone). They’re the opposite of

Carmela’s parents.

When we’re let out of REACH, I follow Keno as he leaves the

building. “Keno,” I call to him, but he keeps walking. I curse under my

breath, then jog to catch up with him before he gets into his car.

“What’s your fuckin’ problem?”

“I don’t got one. Now get out of my way.”

I stay between him and his car. “You work for Devlin, don’t you?”

Keno looks to his right and left, as if he suspects someone’s

watchin’ us talk. “Get the hell away from me.”

“No way, man. You know somethin’—that means you and me are best

friends. I’m gonna ride your ass until you give up any info you have on

me or Devlin.”

“You’re a pendejo.”

“I’ve been called worse, man. Don’t test me.”

He looks a little nervous. “Then get in the car, before someone sees

us.”

“The last time someone told me to do that, I got my ass kicked by

five pendejos.”

“Just do it. Or we’re not talkin’.”

I have the urge to jump through the window, but then realize only

Kiara’s car has a stuck door. Keno drives out of the lot. Alex is waiting

for me at McConnell’s. I have no doubt he’ll end up sending the cavalry

if I’m not there, so I call him.

“Where are you?” my brother asks.

“With a . . . friend.” He’s not really a friend, but there’s no need to

send up a red flag. “I’ll meet you later,” I say, then hang up before he

can give me any shit. Keno doesn’t say anythin’ until he parks at a small

apartment complex out of town. “Follow me,” he says, then leads me

into the building.

Inside, he greets his ma and sisters in Spanish. He introduces me,

then we head to the back of the apartment. His small bedroom feels

oddly familiar. I could probably spot a Mexican teen’s bedroom from a

mile away. The creamy white walls have family photos pushpinned to the

wall. The Mexican flag attached to the wall and the green, white, and

red stickers on the desk gives me a sense of comfort, even though I

know I have to be on alert around Keno. I’m just not sure what his game

is.

Keno pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “Want a smoke?”

“No.” Never was my thing, even though I was brought up by a bunch

of smokers. Mi'amá smokes, and so did Alex until he started dating the

beauty queen. Right about now if he offered me a Vicodin or two I’d

probably take it. I’ve pretty much been in bed since Sunday night and

my body is still stiff.

Keno shrugs and lights up. “Morrisey gave you a drug test today,

huh?”

I guess we’re gonna bullshit around before we get to the real

reason he brought me here.

“Yep.”

“Think you’ll pass?”

“I’m not worried.” I lean on the window ledge and watch as Keno

sits in his desk chair and blows out smoke. The guy doesn’t look like he

has a care in the world, and right about now I’m jealous.

“Berger just about had a coronary when she saw you today.”

“You can speak in Spanish to me, you know.”

“Yeah, well, if I speak Spanish my ma will know what I’m sayin’. It’s

better when she’s clueless.”

I nod. It’s always better when parents are clueless. Unfortunately,

I had to call my uncle Julio yesterday and give him a heads-up on what’s

been goin’ on. He promised he would make sure Luis and mi'amá had

protection, and would try not to alarm them unnecessarily. He wasn’t

too happy with me for gettin’ messed up with Devlin, but he pretty

much expects me to be a fuckup, so he wasn’t surprised.

Makes me want to prove I’m not totally useless, but that’s not likely

to happen. Being a fuckup is what I’ve done best my entire life. It’s

comforting to know that Kiara and her parents believe everyone can

wipe the slate clean at any point.

“So you’re datin’ that Kiara chick, huh?” He blows out smoke. “Is

she hot?”

“Smokin’,” I say, knowing that Keno has no clue who she is since he

doesn’t go to Flatiron. Thoughts of Kiara in her ‘DON’T BE A WIENER,

CLIMB A 14’ER’ shirt run through my head. I’ve got to admit, Kiara’s

not the type I’m usually attracted to, and I’m certain Keno wouldn’t be

attracted to her, but lately I can’t think of anything sexier than a girl

who knows how to solder wires together and bake stupid-ass cookie

magnets. I need to stop thinkin’ about her so much, but I don’t want to.