Perfect Chemistry 1 (20 page)

"In case you hadn't noticed, this is my room," Shane says. He leans

against the doorway and wiggles his eyebrows at me. "Brit, tell me the

truth. Are those real?"

"Shane, you're a pig," I say, then move away from Colin.

Colin reaches for me as I hop off the bed. "Come back here, Brit.

I'm sorry I didn't lock it. I was caught up in the moment."

The problem is, the unlocked door is only part of the reason why

I'm mad. He called me ‘psycho’ and didn't think twice about it. And he

didn't defend me to Shane. I look back at my boyfriend. "Yeah? Well

right now I'm caught up in the act of leaving," I say.

At one thirty in the morning I'm staring at my cell phone in my

bedroom. Colin has called thirty-six times.

And left ten messages. Since Sierra drove me home, I've ignored

him. Mostly because I need to let my anger deflate. I'm mortified

Shane saw me half undressed. In the time it took me to find Sierra and

asked her to take me home, at least five people were whispering about

my show in Shane's room. I don't want to blow up like my mom does,

and I was about to lose it on Shane and Colin back at Shane's house.

By Colin's thirty-ninth call, my heart rate is as slow as it's gonna

get tonight.

I finally answer it. "Stop calling me," I say.

"I'll stop calling when you listen to what I have to say," Colin says

on the other end of the line, frustration laced through his voice.

"So talk. I'm listening."

I hear him take a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Brit. I'm sorry I didn't

lock the door tonight. I'm sorry for wanting to have sex. I'm sorry one

of my best friends thinks he's funny when he's not. I'm sorry I can't

stand watching you and Fuentes in Peterson's class. I'm sorry I

changed this summer."

I don't know what to say. He has changed. Have I? Or am I the

same person who he said good-bye to before he left for the summer? I

don't know. There's one thing I do know, though. "Colin, I don't want to

fight anymore."

"Me, neither. Can you just try to forget tonight ever happened? I

promise I'll make it up to you. Remember our anniversary last year

when my uncle flew us to Michigan for the day in his Cessna?"

We ended up at a resort. When we got to the restaurant for dinner

that night, a huge bouquet of red roses was on our table, along with a

turquoise box. Inside was a white gold bracelet from Tiffany's. "I

remember."

"I'm going to buy you the earrings that match the bracelet, Brit."

I don't have the heart to tell him that it's not the earrings I want.

I love the bracelet a ton and wear it all the time. But what blew me

away wasn't the gift, it was that Colin went above and beyond in the

planning of the day just to make it super special for us. That's what I

remember when I look at the bracelet. Not the gift, but the meaning

behind it. I've only seen small glimpses of that Colin since school

started.

The expensive earrings would be a symbol of Colin's apology and

would remind me of tonight. It might also serve to guilt me into giving

something to him . . . like my virginity. He might not think of it

consciously, but just the fact that the thought is lingering in my mind

is a sign. I don't want that pressure. "Colin, I don't want the earrings."

"Then what do you want? Tell me."

It takes me a while to answer. Six months ago I could have written

a hundred-page essay on what I wanted.

Since school started, everything has turned around. "Right now I

don't know what I want." I feel bad for saying it, but it's the truth.

"Well, when you figure it out will you clue me in?"

Yeah, if I ever figure it out myself.

TWENTY-EIGHT : Alex

On Monday I try not to read too much into my anticipation for

chemistry. Surely it's not Mrs. P. making me crave class. It's Brittany.

She walks into class late.

"Hey," I say to her.

"Hey," she mumbles back. No smile, no bright eyes. Something is

definitely bothering her.

"Okay, class," Mrs. P. says. "Get out your pencils. Let's see how well

you've been studying."

While I silently curse Mrs. P. for not having a lab day with

experiments so we can talk, I glance over at my partner. She looks

totally unprepared. Feeling protective even though I have no right, I

raise my hand.

"I'm afraid to call on you, Alex," Mrs. P. says, staring down at me.

"It's a small question."

"Go ahead. Make it quick."

"This is an open book test, right?"

The teacher glares at me over her glasses. "No, Alex, this is not an

open book test. And if you didn't study, you're going to get yourself a

big fat F. Understand?"

I drop my books with a loud thud onto the floor in response.

After Mrs. P. passes out the test, I read the first question. The

density of Al (aluminum) is 2.7 grams per millimeter. What volume will

10.5 grams of Al (aluminum) occupy?

After I work out my answer, I look over at Brittany. She's staring

blankly at the test.

Catching me watching her, she sneers. "What?"

"Nothin'. Nada."

"Then stop staring at me."

Mrs. P. is looking right at us. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I

go back to working on the test. Does Brittany have to do that, get all

hot-and-cold without warning? What sets her off?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my chem partner grab the

bathroom pass off the hook by the classroom door. Problem is, the

bathroom pass can't help you escape life. It's still there when you

come out. Believe me, I've tried it. Problems and crap don't go away by

hiding in the can.

Back in class, Brittany lays her head on the lab table as she

scribbles answers. One glance and I know she's not into it, the girl is

doing a half-ass job. And when Mrs. P. orders everyone to hand in their

papers, my chem partner has a blank stare on her face.

"If it makes you feel any better," I say quietly so only Brittany can

hear, "I flunked health class in eighth grade for puttin' a lit cigarette

in the dummy's mouth."

Without looking up she says, "Good for you."

Music pipes through the speaker, signaling the end of class. I watch

Brittany's golden hair bouncing less than usual as she shuffles out of

class, surprisingly not accompanied by her boyfriend. I wonder if she

thinks everything is supposed to land in her lap, even good grades.

I have to work for everything I have. Nothing lands in my lap.

"Hiya, Alex." Carmen is standing in front of my locker. Okay, so

some things do land in my lap.

"Quepasa?"

My ex-girlfriend leans toward me, the deep V of her shirt extra

low-cut. "A bunch of us are going to hang out at the beach after school.

Wanna come?"

"I've got to work," I tell her. "Maybe I'll catch up with ya later."

I think about two weekends ago. After going to Brittany's house

only to be talked down to by her mother, something inside me snapped.

Getting drunk to drown my busted ego was a dumb idea. I wanted

to be with Brittany, to hang out with her not only to study but to find

out what's underneath those blond streaks. My chem partner blew me

off.

Carmen didn't. The memory is a hazy one, but I remember Carmen

in the lake, wrapping her body around me.

And sitting on top of me by the fire as we smoked something much

stronger than a Marlboro. In my inebriated and stoned ego-busted

state, any girl would have felt good to me.

Carmen was there, willing, and I owe her an apology because even if

she was offering, I shouldn't have nibbled at the bait. I'll have to

catch up with her and explain my dumbass behavior.

After school, there's a crowd around my motorcycle. Shit, if

anything happened to Julio I swear I'm going to kick someone's ass. I

don't have to push through the crowd because a path opens up when I

get close.

All eyes are on me as I witness the vandalism to my motorcycle.

They're expecting me to be in a rage. After all, who would dare attach

a pink tricycle horn to the handlebars and tape sparkling streamers

from the ends of the handles? Nobody can get away with this shit.

Except Brittany.

I scan the area, but she's not around.

"I didn't do it," Lucky is quick to say.

Everyone else murmurs they didn't do it, either.

Then murmurs of who it could be race through the crowd. "Colin

Adams, Greg Hanson . . ." I'm not listening, because I know full well who

the culprit is. It's my chem partner, the one who ignored me today.

I yank off the streamers with a jerk of my hand, then unscrew the

pink rubber horn. Pink. I wonder if it was hers once upon a time.

"Get out of my way," I tell the crowd. They disperse pretty quick,

thinking my rage level is high and they don't want to be caught in the

crossfire. Sometimes playing the part of a badass does have its

advantages. The truth? I'll use the pink horn and streamers as an

excuse to talk to Brittany again.

After everyone is out of sight, I walk to the side of the football

field. The pom squad is there, practicing as usual.

"Looking for someone?"

I turn around to Darlene Boehm, one of Brittany's friends. "Is

Brittany around?" I ask.

"Nope."

"Know where she is?"

Alex Fuentes asking the whereabouts of Brittany Ellis? I expect

her to say it's none of my business. Or that I should leave her alone.

Instead her friend says, "She went home."

Murmuring a ‘thanks,’ I turn and walk back to Julio while I dial my

cousin's number.

"Enrique's Auto Body."

"It's Alex. I'm gonna be late for work today."

"You get another detention?"

"No, nothin' like that."

"Well, make sure you work on the Lexus for Chuy. I told him he

could pick it up at seven and you know how Chuy is when you don't come

through for him."

"No problem," I tell him as I think of Chuy's role in the Blood. He's

the guy you never want to mess with, the guy who was born without an

empathy chip in his brain. If someone is disloyal, Chuy is responsible

for either making them loyal or making sure they never narc. By any

means possible, even if they're screaming for their life. "I'll be there."

Knocking on the Ellises' door ten minutes later with the pink horn

and streamers in hand, I try to put on the I-am-a-cool-motherfucker

pose.

When Brittany opens the door wearing a baggy T-shirt and shorts,

I'm floored.

Her pale blue eyes open wide. "Alex, what are you doing here?"

I hold out the horn and streamers.

She snatches them from my hand. "I can't believe you came here

because of some prank."

"We've got some things to discuss. Besides pranks."

She swallows nervously. "I'm not feeling great, okay? Let's just

talk at school." She tries to close the door.

Shit, I can't believe I'm going to do this like a stalker guy in the

movies. I push open the door. Que mierda!

"Alex, don't."

"Let me in. For a minute. Please."

She shakes her head, those angelic curls swaying back and forth

across her face. "My parents don't like when I have people over."

"Are they home?"

"No." She sighs, then opens the door hesitantly.

I step inside. The house is even bigger than it looks from the

outside. The walls are painted bright white, reminding me of a hospital.

I swear dust wouldn't have the nerve to land on their floors or

counters. The two-story foyer boasts a staircase that rivals the one I

saw in The Sound of Music, which we were forced to watch in junior

high, and the floor is as shiny as water.

Brittany was right. I don't belong here. It doesn't matter, because

even if I don't belong in this place, she's here and I want to be where

she is.

"Well, what did you want to talk about?" she asks.

I wish her long, lean legs weren't sticking out from her shorts.

They're a distraction. I look away from them, desperate to keep my

wits. So what if she has sexy legs? So what if she has eyes as clear as

glass marbles? So what if she can take a prank like a man and give it

right back?

Who am I kidding? I have no reason for being here other than the

fact that I want to be near her. Screw the bet.

I want to know how to make this girl laugh. I want to know what

makes her cry. I want to know what it feels like to have her look at me

as if I'm her knight in shining armor.

"Bwiee!" a distant voice echoes through the house, breaking the

silence.

"Wait here," Brittany orders, then hurries down a hallway to the

right. "I'll be right back."

I'm not about to stand here like a jackass in the foyer. I follow

her, knowing I'm about to get a glimpse into her private world.

TWENTY-NINE : Brittany

I'm not ashamed of my sister's disability. But I don't want Alex to

judge her. Because if he laughs, I couldn't take it. I whip around.

"You're not good at following directions, are you?"

He grins as if saying, I'm a gang member, what did you expect?

"I have to check on my sister. Do you mind?"

"Nope. It'll give me a chance to meet her. Trust me."

I should kick him out, tattoos and all. I should, but I don't.