Rules Of Attraction (9 page)

Carlos.”

“So you know what happened?”

She nods. “Alex told your dad that Carlos keeps insisting the drugs

aren’t his.”

“Does Alex believe him?”

My mom sighs, and I know she wants to give me better news. “He’s

skeptical.”

My dad comes home with hair that looks like he ran his hand

through it too many times today.

“Family-meeting time,” he says.

When the entire family is in the living room, my dad clears his

throat. “How would you all feel about having Carlos stay here for the

rest of the school year?”

“Who’s Carlos?” Brandon asks, clueless.

“The brother of one of my former students. And one of Kiara’s

friends.” My dad looks from me to my mom. “Turns out the place where

he’s living is subsidized student apartments. Since Carlos isn’t a

student at the university, the judge said it’s against policy for him to

stay there.”

“I get a brother? Cool!” Brandon yells. “Can he sleep in my room?

You can buy us bunk beds and everything.”

“Don’t get too excited, Bran. He’ll stay in the yellow room,” my dad

tells my brother.

“How’s Carlos holding up?” my mom asks.

“I don’t know. I think underneath it all he’s a good kid who’ll thrive

in a positive and stable drug-free home environment. I’d like to help out

if we’re all in agreement. It’s either our house, or he goes back to

Mexico. Alex said he’d do just about anything to keep him here.”

“I’m okay with him staying here,” I say, realizing after I say it that

I actually mean it. Everyone deserves a second chance.

My dad looks at my mom, who reaches out and brings his head

closer to hers. “My husband is going to save the world one kid at a

time, huh?”

He smiles at her. “If that’s what it takes.”

She kisses him. “I’ll make sure there are clean sheets on the bed in

the guest room.”

“I married the best woman,” he tells her. “I’ll call Alex and tell him

it’s a go,” he adds excitedly. “Monday we’ll meet with the judge again.

We’re going to lobby to get him into the REACH program at Flatiron

instead of being expelled.”

I watch as my dad leaves the living room and heads for his office.

“He’s on a mission,” my mom says. “He’s has that spark in his eye

when he’s got a challenge in front of him.”

I just hope he keeps that spark alive, because I have a feeling my

dad’s patience— which is probably at the sainthood level—is about to

be tested big-time.

THIRTEEN :
Carlos

“Just send me back to Chicago and be done with me already,” I tell

Alex on Sunday morning after I hang up with mi'amá. Alex forced me

to tell her what’s going on. When the police escorted me out in

handcuffs, I was fine with it. Seeing my brother come to the station

with frustration and disappointment etched on his face didn’t faze me.

But talking to my mom just now and hearing her cry and ask me what

happened to her niñito was my undoing.

She also told me I shouldn’t come back to Mexico. “It’s not safe

here for you,” she told me.

“Auséntese, Carlos, stay away.” I wasn’t surprised. My entire life

has been full of people leavin’ me or tellin’ me to stay away from them—

mi papá, Alex, Destiny, and now mi'amá.”

Alex is lying in his bed, his forearm covering his eyes. “You’re not

goin’ back to Chicago, either. Professor Westford and his wife are

lettin’ you live at their house. It’s a done deal.”

Livin’ with the Professor means I’ll also be livin’ in the same house

as Kiara. That’s a bad move on so many levels. “Don’t I have any say in

this?”

“No.”

“¡Vete a la mierda!”

“Yeah, well, you created the bullshit you’re livin’ in,” my brother

tells me.

“I told you those drugs weren’t mine.”

He sits up. “Carlos, since you came here all you’ve done is talk about

drugs. They found chora in your locker, along with an insane amount of

OC. Even if they weren’t yours, you’ve made yourself the scapegoat.”

“This is such bullshit.”

A half hour later, after I get out of the shower, Brittany is back.

She’s sitting at the table, wearing a hot pink velour sweatsuit that hugs

her curves. I swear that chica should just live here . . . she’s around all

the time.

I walk over to my bed, suddenly wishin’ this wasn’t a studio

apartment. I’m a pissed-off guy thirsty for revenge. I won’t rest until I

know who stuck those drugs in my locker. Whoever it was is gonna pay.

“I hope you don’t get expelled,” Brittany says in a sad tone. “But I

know Alex and Professor Westford will do all they can to help.”

“Don’t sound so depressed,” I tell her. “Now that I gotta move out,

you can be here whenever the hell you want. Lucky you.”

“Carlos, retroceda,” Alex says roughly.

Why should I back off? It’s the truth.

“Believe it or not, Carlos, I want you to be happy here.” Brittany

pushes a brand-new cell phone toward me. “I got you this.”

“For what? So you and Alex can check up on me?”

She shakes her head. “No. I just thought you’d want one so you can

call us if you need us.”

I pick up the phone. “Who’s payin’ for it?”

“Does it matter?” she asks.

My family obviously can’t afford it. I turn my back on Brittany and

the phone. “I don’t need it,” I tell her. “Save your money.”

The three of us pile into Brittany’s Beemer a few hours later. I

should have known Brittany would come on this little adventure to drop

me off at the Professor’s house, probably to make sure I’m really out

of her and my brother’s hair.

Alex pulls onto one of the winding roads leading up into the

mountains. When I look out at the big houses on either side of the

road, it’s obvious we’ve entered the rich side of town. Poor people don’t

post signs like ‘NO TRESPASSING, PRIVATE DRIVE, PRIVATE

PROPERTY, MONITORED BY CAMERA SURVEILLANCE’. I should know

because I’ve been poor my entire life, and the only person I know who

ever posted a sign like these is my friend Pedro, and he actually stole

the sign off a rich guy’s yard. We pull up a brick driveway leading to a

two-story house built right into the mountain. I sit up and take in my

surroundings. I’ve never lived in a place where you couldn’t easily throw

a stone at your next-door neighbor’s window.

You’d think I’d be thrilled at the chance to live in this fancy house,

but it just reminds me I’m an outsider. I’m not an idiot; I know as soon

as I leave here I’ll be as poor as I always was—or in jail. This place is

just a tease, and I can’t wait to get the hell out of here. As soon as we

park, Westford comes out of the house. He’s a tall guy with gray hair

and a lot of wrinkles around his eyes as if he’s smiled too much over the

years and his skin is rebelling. Before I even step out of the car, three

more people pile out. It’s like a fuckin’ parade of white folks, one

whiter than the next.

When Kiara walks out, her familiar face is as much a relief as it is

an annoyance. In one morning I went from rigging her locker to being

handcuffed and thrown in jail. My life went from amusement to

completely fucked-up in a matter of hours.

Kiara has her light brown hair pulled back, and is wearing jean

shorts and a baggy, puke green–colored T-shirt. She definitely didn’t

dress up for my arrival, that’s for sure. She’s even got smudges of

brown dirt or grease on her cheek and hands.

Next to Kiara is her brother. He must’ve been a mistake or an

afterthought, ’cause he looks like he could be in kindergarten. The

little kid is a mess. He’s got leftover chocolate smeared all over his

chin.

“This is my wife, Colleen,” he says, gesturing to the thin woman

next to him. “And my son, Brandon. Of course you already know my

daughter, Kiara.”

The Professor and his wife are wearing matching white golf shirts.

I can totally see them playin’ golf at a fancy country club on the

weekends. Brandon could be in movies or commercials— he’s so

annoyingly energetic it almost makes you want to give him Z-Tabs to

make him zone out.

While Brittany and Alex do the handshake thing with the

Professor’s wife and kids, Kiara steps closer to me.

“You okay?” she asks so softly I can hardly hear her.

“I’m fine,” I mumble. I don’t want to talk about bein’ arrested and

taken away in the back of the squad car to juvie.

Damn, this is awkward. The little kid, Brandon, pulls at my pant leg.

His fingers have melted chocolate all over them. “Do you play soccer?”

“No.” I look over at Alex, who doesn’t seem to notice or doesn’t

care the runt is messin’ up my jeans.

Mrs. Westford smiles as she guides Brandon away from me. “Carlos,

why don’t you take a few minutes to get settled, then come to the

backyard for some lunch. Dick, take Carlos upstairs and show him

around.”

Dick? I shake my head. The Professor doesn’t have a problem being

called Dick? If my name was Richard, I’d go by Richard or Rich . . . not

Dick. Hell, I’d even settle for being called Chard.

I grab my duffel.

“Carlos, follow me,” Westford says, “I’ll show you around. Kiara, why

don’t you show Alex and Brittany your car.”

The rest of the crew follows Kiara while I follow Professor Dick.

“This is our home,” Westford says. Just as I suspected, the inside

is as massive as the outside. It’s not as big as Madison’s place, but it’s

still bigger than any place I’ve ever lived. Big paintings line the hallway.

They’ve got a nice flat-screen TV hanging on the wall over the

fireplace. “Just make yourself at home.”

Yeah, right. This is as much my home as the White House.

“Here’s the kitchen,” he says, leading me into a huge room with an

oversized stainless-steel fridge and appliances to match. Their

counters are black with little pieces of what looks like diamonds in

them. “If you want something from the fridge or pantry, feel free.

Don’t feel like you have to ask.”

Next, I follow him up a flight of carpeted stairs. “Any questions so

far?” he asks.

“Got a map of this place?” I ask.

He chuckles. “You’ll get used to the layout in a couple of days.”

Wanna bet?

I feel a big, pounding headache coming on and I long to be

somewhere where I don’t have to pretend to be a reformed kid living in

a minimansion with a girl who put cookie magnets in my locker and a

little runt who thinks all Mexicans play soccer. Upstairs, at the end of

long hallway, is the parents’ bedroom. We turn the corner and

Westford points to one of the rooms. “That’s Kiara’s room. The door

across the hall, next to Brandon’s room, is the bathroom you’ll share

with the kids.” I peek inside the bathroom, which has two side-by-side

sinks.

He opens the door next to Kiara’s room and gestures me inside.

“This is your room.”

I scan what will be my bedroom. The walls are painted yellow, with

polka-dotted drapes hanging from the windows. It looks like a damn

girl’s room. I wonder if I stay here long enough I’ll be forced to hand in

my Man Card. There’s a desk on one side with a closet next to it, a

dresser on the other side of the room, and a bed with a yellow blanket

next to the window.

“I know it’s not the most masculine room. My wife decorated it a

while back,” Westford says, looking apologetic. “It was supposed to be

her porcelain-doll room.”

Is he kiddin’ me? Porcelain-doll room? What the hell are porcelain

dolls, and why would an adult want a room full of ’em? Maybe it’s a rich-

white-people thing, ’cause I don’t know any Mexican families who have a

bedroom just for their damn dolls.

“I figure we can get some paint and make this room a little more

guy friendly,” he says. My eyes focus on the polka-dotted curtains.

“It’ll take a lot more than paint,” I mumble. “But it don’t matter, ’cause

I’m not plannin’ on hangin’ around here much.”

“Well, I guess now is a good time to go over house rules.” My

temporary guardian settles into the chair by the desk.

“Rules?” A feeling of dread washes over me.

“Don’t worry, I only have a few. But I do expect them to be

followed. First off, no drugs or alcohol. As you already know, marijuana

isn’t hard to find in this city, but you have to stay clean per court

order. Second, no profanity. I have a six-year-old who is very

impressionable, and I don’t need him hearing cuss words. Third, curfew

on weekdays is midnight, on weekends it’s two. Fourth, you’re expected

to clean up after yourself and help around the house when asked, just

like our own children. Fifth, there’s no TV unless you’re done with

homework. Sixth, if you bring a girl up to your room you must keep the

door open . . . for obvious reasons.” He rubs his chin, seemingly

searching for more rules to spout. “I think that’s it. Any questions?”

“Yeah, one.” I shove my hands in my pockets, wondering how long

it’ll take for Professor Dick to realize I’m antirules. Of any kind. “What

happens when I break one of your fuckin’ rules?”

FOURTEEN :
Kiara

I don’t know if anyone else in my family noticed, but Carlos looked