Perfect Chemistry 1 (14 page)

"Maybe it did," he says defensively. "Maybe I realized our

relationship has to be more. Geez, Brit. Whoever heard of a senior

being a fucking virgin? Everyone thinks we've done it, why don't we

just do it? Shit, you even let that guy Fuentes think he can get into

your pants."

My heart slams into my chest. "You think I'd rather sleep with

Alex than you?" I ask, my eyes getting watery.

I don't know if it's the alcohol making me emotional or if it's

because his words hit the target. My thoughts are on my chem partner.

I hate myself for having these thoughts, and hate Colin right now for

pointing it out.

"What about Darlene?" I throw back. I look around, making sure

Darlene is out of hearing range. "You two are like one cozy couple in

chemistry class."

"Get off it, Brit. So some girl pays attention to me in chemistry.

Obviously you don't because you're too busy arguing with Fuentes.

Everyone knows it's all foreplay."

"That's not fair, Colin."

"What's going on?" Sierra says, walking up with Doug from behind a

large boulder.

"Nothing," I tell her. I stand up, my sandals in hand. "I'm going

home."

Sierra grabs her purse. "I'll go with you."

"No." I'm finally feeling light-headed. It's like I'm having an out-

of-body experience and I want to go through it it all by myself. "I

don't want or need anyone. I'll walk."

"She's drunk," Doug says, eyeing the empty bottle and beer can

beside me.

"Am not," I tell them. I snatch another beer and open it as I walk

down the beach. Alone. By myself. Which is how it should be.

Sierra says, "I don't want you going alone."

"I just want to be by myself right now. I need to sort things out."

"Brit, come back here," Colin says, but doesn't get up.

I ignore him.

"Don't go past the fourth pier," Sierra warns. "It's not safe."

Safe shmafe. So what if something happens to me, anyway? Colin

doesn't care. Or my parents, for that matter.

Closing my eyes as the sand sinks between my toes, I breathe in

the scent of the fresh, cool Lake Michigan breeze washing over my

face and drink more beer. Forgetting everything except the sand and

my beer, I continue walking, pausing only to look out over the dark

water with moonlight shining across it like a line splitting the water in

two.

I've passed two piers. Or maybe three. Anyway, it's not a long walk

home. Less than a mile. When I get to the next beach entrance, I'll

walk up the street and head home. It's not like I haven't done it

before.

But the sand feels so good beneath my feet, like one of those

squishy bean bag pillows you sink into. And I hear music up ahead. I love

music. Closing my eyes, my body moves to the unfamiliar song.

I haven't realized how far I've walked and danced until the sound

of laughing and voices in Spanish make me freeze. People wearing red

and black bandannas in front of me are a clue I've gone past the fourth

pier.

"Look everybody, it's Brittany Ellis, Fairfield High's sexiest

pompom girl," a guy says. "Come here, mamacita. Dance with me."

I scan the crowd desperately for a familiar or friendly face. Alex,

lie's here. Sitting in his lap facing him is Carmen Sanchez.

A sobering picture.

Another guy advances on me. "Don't you know this side of the

beach is for Mexicanos only?" he says, moving closer. "Or maybe you've

come sniffin' for some dark meat. You know what they say, baby--dark

meat's the juiciest."

"Leave me alone." My words are slurred.

"You think you're too good for me?" He moves toward me, his eyes

full of anger. The music stops.

I stagger backward. I'm not too drunk to know I'm in danger.

"Javier, lay off." Alex's voice is low--it's an order.

Alex is caressing Carmen's shoulder, his lips mere inches from it. I

sway. This is a nightmare and I need to get away, fast.

I start running, the gang members' laughter ringing in my ears. I

can't run fast enough and feel like I'm in a dream where my feet are

moving but I'm not going anywhere.

"Brittany, wait!" a voice calls from behind me.

I turn around and am face-to-face with the guy who's haunting my

dreams . . . daydreams and night dreams.

Alex.

The guy who I hate.

The guy who I can't get out of my mind, no matter how drunk I am.

"Ignore Javier," Alex says. "Sometimes he gets carried away tryin'

to be a badass." I'm stunned when he steps closer and wipes away a

tear from my cheek. "Don't cry. I wouldn't let him hurt you."

Should I tell him I'm not afraid of being hurt? I'm afraid of not

being in control.

Though I haven't run far, it's far enough from Alex's friends.

They can't see me or hear me.

"Why do you like Carmen?" I ask as the world tilts and I stumble in

the sand. "She's mean."

He holds out his hands to help me but I flinch, so he stuffs his

hands in his pockets. "What the fuck do you care, anyway? You stood

me up."

"I had stuff going on."

"Like washin' your hair or gettin' a manicure?"

Or having my hair ripped out by my sister and getting reamed out

by my mom? I jab my finger into his chest.

"You're an asshole."

"And you're a bitch," he says. "A bitch with a kick-ass smile and

eyes that can seriously screw with a guy's head." He winces, as if the

words slipped out and he wants to take them back.

I was expecting him to say a lot of things, but not that. Especially

not that. I notice his bloodshot eyes.

"You're high, Alex."

"Yeah, well you don't look too sober yourself. Maybe now's a good

time to give me that kiss you owe me."

"No way."

"Por que no? Afraid you'll like it so much you'll forget your

boyfriend?"

Kiss Alex? Never. Although I've been thinking about it. A lot. More

than I should. His lips are full and inviting. Oh, boy, he's right. I am

drunk. And I'm definitely not feeling right. I'm past numbness and

going on delirium, because I'm thinking things I have no business

thinking. Like how I want to know what his lips feel like against mine.

"Fine. Kiss me, Alex," I say, stepping forward and leaning into him.

"Then we'll be even."

His hands are braced on my arms. This is it. I'm going to kiss Alex

and find out what it's like. He's dangerous and he mocks me. But he's

sexy and dark and beautiful. Being this close to him makes my body

shiver with excitement and my head spin. I loop my finger through his

belt loop to steady myself. It's like we're standing on a Tilt-a-Whirl

ride at the carnival.

"You're gonna be sick," he says to me.

"Am not. I'm . . . enjoying the ride."

"We're not on a ride."

"Oh," I say, all confused. I let go of his belt loop and focus on my

feet. They look like they're moving off the ground, floating over the

sand. "I'm dizzy, that's all. I'm fine."

"The hell you are."

"If you'd stop moving, I'd feel a lot better."

"I'm not movin'. And I hate to break the bad news, mamacita, but

you're about to puke."

He's right. My stomach won't stop churning. He's holding me up

with one hand while his other hand is wound in my hair, keeping it away

from my face as I bend over and throw up.

I can't stop my stomach from roiling. I throw up and heave again.

Disgusting gurgling and gagging sounds come from my mouth, but I'm

too drunk to care.

"Look at that," I say between puking fits. "My dinner is all over

your shoe."

TWENTY : Alex

I look down at the chunks on my shoe. "I've had worse done to me."

She straightens, so I let go of her hair, which I couldn't help but

save from falling in her face during her puking episode. I'm trying not

to think of how that hair felt as it slid through my fingers like silky

threads.

Thoughts of being a pirate and stealing her away to my ship race

across my mind. Although I'm not a pirate, and she's not my captured

princess. We're just two teenagers who hate each other. Okay, so I

don't really hate her.

I slide the bandanna off my head and hand it to her. "Here, wipe

your face."

She takes it from me and dabs the sides of her mouth as if it's a

napkin from a high-class restaurant while I clean my shoe in the cold

Lake Michigan water.

I don't know what to say or do. I'm alone . . . with a very drunk

Brittany Ellis. I'm not used to being alone with sloppy-drunk white

chicks, especially ones who turn me on. I can either take advantage of

her and win the bet, which would be a slam dunk in her condition or . . .

"Let me get someone to drive you home," I say before my fucked-

up mind thinks of a million ways I could violate her tonight. I'm buzzed

from alcohol and high, too. When I have sex with this girl, I want all my

faculties.

She purses her lips and pouts like a kid. "No. I don't want to go

home. Anywhere but home."

Oh, man.

I'm in trouble. Tengo un problema grande.

She looks up at me, her eyes in the moonlight sparking like rare,

expensive jewels. "Colin thinks I want you, you know. He says our

bickering is foreplay."

"Is it?" I ask, holding my breath to hear her response. Please,

please let me remember the answer in the morning.

She puts her finger up and says, "Hold that thought."

Then she kneels on the ground and pukes her guts out again. When

she's finished, she's too weak to walk. She resembles a garage-sale

leftover rag doll. I carry her to where my friends have built a huge

bonfire, not knowing what else to do.

When she wraps her arms around my neck, I sense she needs

someone to be her champion in life. Surely Colin isn't the one. I'm not

the one, either. I heard her freshman year, before Colin, she dated a

junior. The girl has got to be experienced.

So how come right now she looks so innocent? Sexy as hell, but

innocent.

All eyes are on me when I get close to my friends. They see a limp,

rich white girl in my arms and they immediately think the worst. I

didn't mention that during the walk my chem partner decided to fall

asleep in my arms.

"What did you do to her?" Paco asks.

Lucky stands, totally pissed. "Shit, Alex. Did I lose my RX-7?"

"No, dumbass. I don't do passed-out chicks."

Out of the corner of my eye I see a seething Carmen. Shit. I

royally screwed her over tonight and deserve her wrath.

I motion for Isabel to talk to me. "Isa, I need you."

Isa takes one look at Brittany. "What do you want me to do with

her?"

"Help me get her out of here. I'm wasted and can't drive."

Isa shakes her head. "You do realize she has a boyfriend. And she's

rich. And white. And wears designer clothes you'll never be able to

afford."

Yeah, I know that. And I'm sick and tired of being reminded of it.

"I need your help, Isa. Not a lecture. I've got Paco givin' me his crap

already."

Isa holds up her hands. "I'm just pointing out facts. You're a smart

guy, Alex. Add it up. No matter how much you might want her in your

life, she doesn't belong. A triangle can't fit into a square. Now I'll shut

up."

"Gracias." I don't point out that if it's a big enough square, a small

triangle can fit inside perfectly. All you have to do is make a few

adjustments in the equation. I'm too drunk and high to explain it now.

"I'm parked across the street," Isa says. She lets out a big,

frustrated sigh. "Follow me."

I follow Isabel to her car, hoping we can walk in silence. No such

luck.

"I was in class with her last year, too," Isa says.

"Uh-huh."

She shrugs. "Nice girl. Wears too much makeup."

"Most chicks hate her."

"Most chicks wish they looked like her. And they wish they had her

money and boyfriend."

I stop and regard her in disgust. "Burro Face?"

"Oh, please, Alex. Colin Adams is cute, he's the captain of the

football team and Fairfield's hero. You're like Danny Zuko in Grease.

You smoke, you're in a gang, and you've dated the hottest bad girls

around. Brittany is like Sandy . . a Sandy who'll never show up to school

in a black leather jacket with a ciggie hangin' from her mouth. Give up

the fantasy."

I lay my fantasy in the backseat of Isa's car and slide in next to

her. She snuggles up, using me as her personal pillow, her blond curls

sprawled over my crotch. I close my eyes for a second, trying to get

the image out of my head. And I don't know what to do with my hands.

My right one is on the door armrest. My left one hovers over Brittany.

I hesitate. Who am I kidding? I'm not a virgin. I'm an eighteen-

year-old guy who can deal with having a hot, passed-out girl next to me.

Why am I afraid of putting my arm where it's comfortable, right over

her midsection?

I hold my breath as I settle my arm on her. She cuddles closer and

I'm feeling weird and light-headed. Either it's the aftereffects from

the joint or . . . I don't want to think about the ‘or.’ Her long hair is

wrapped around my thigh. Without thinking, I weave my hands in her