Perfect Chemistry 1 (3 page)

school open. Alex and his friends burst through as if they're here to

hijack the school.

"Why do they even come to school?" Colin mutters low so only I can

hear. "Half of them'll probably drop out before the year is over,

anyway."

My gaze briefly meets Alex's and a shiver runs down my spine.

"I almost hit Alex Fuentes's motorcycle this morning," I tell Colin

once Alex is out of hearing range.

"You should have."

"Colin," I chide.

"At least it would have been an exciting first day. This school is

boring as shit."

Boring? I almost got in a car accident, was flipped off by a girl

from the south side, and was harassed by a dangerous gang member

outside the school's front doors. If that was any indication of the rest

of senior year, this school will be anything but boring.

FOUR : Alex

I knew I'd be called into the new principal's office at some point

during the year, but I didn't expect it to be on the first day of school.

I heard Dr. Aguirre was hired because of his hard-ass personality at

some high school in Milwaukee. Someone must have pegged me as a

ringleader, 'cause it's my ass sitting here instead of another Latino

Blood's.

So here I am, pulled out of gym so Aguirre can puff up his chest

and ramble on about tougher school rules. I detect him feeling me out,

wondering how I'll react, as he threatens me, ". . . and this year I've

hired two full-time armed security guards, Alejandro."

His eyes focus on me, trying to intimidate. Yeah, right. I can tell

right off that while Aguirre might be Latino, he knows nothing about

how our streets work. The next thing I know he'll be talking about how

he grew up poor, just like me. He's probably never even driven through

my side of town. Maybe I should offer to give him a tour.

He stands in front of me. "I promised the superintendent as well as

the school board I'd personally be responsible for rooting out the

violence that has plagued this school for years. I won't hesitate to

suspend anyone who ignores school rules."

I haven't done anything besides have a little fun with the pom-pom

diva and already this guy is talking suspension. Maybe he heard about

my suspension last year. That little incident got me kicked out for

three days. It wasn't my fault. . . entirely. Paco had this crazy theory

about cold water affecting white guys' dicks differently than Latinos'.

I was arguing with him in the boiler room after he'd shut down the hot

water heaters when we were caught.

I had nothing to do with it but got blamed all the same. Paco

attempted to tell the truth, but our old principal wouldn't listen.

Maybe if I fought more he would have listened. But what's the use in

fighting for a lost cause?

It's clear Brittany Ellis is responsible for me being in here today.

You think her jerk of a boyfriend'll ever get called into Aguirre's

office? No way. The dude is an idolized football player. He can ditch

class and start fights and Aguirre will probably still kiss his ass. Colin

Adams is always pushing me, knowing he can get away with it. Every

time I've been about to retaliate, he's found a way to escape or rush

to where teachers were in abundance . . . teachers who were just

waiting for me to fuck up.

One of these days. . . .

I look up at Aguirre. "I'm not startin' any fights." I might finish

one, though.

"That's good," Aguirre says. "But I heard about you harassing a

female student in the parking lot today."

Almost getting run over by Brittany Ellis's shiny new Beemer is my

fault? For the past three years I've managed to avoid the rich bitch. I

heard last year she got a C on her report card but a little call to the

school from her parents got it changed to an A.

It would hurt her chances of getting into a good college.

Screw that shit. If I got a C, mi'ama would smack me upside the

head and nag me to study twice as hard. I've worked my ass off to get

good grades, even though I've gotten interrogated more often than not

about my means of getting the answers. As if I'd cheat. It's not about

getting into college. It's about proving I could get in . . if my world was

different.

The south siders might be seen as dumber than the north siders,

but that's bullshit. So we're not as rich or obsessed with material

possessions or getting into the most expensive and prestigious

universities. We're in survival mode most of the time, always having to

watch our backs.

Probably the hardest part of Brittany Ellis's life is deciding which

restaurant to dine at each night. The girl uses her smokin' bod to

manipulate everyone who comes in contact with her.

"Care to share with me what happened in the parking lot? I'd like

to hear your side," Aguirre says.

Not happening. I learned long ago that my side doesn't matter.

"The thing this mornin' . . . total misunderstandin'," I tell him. Brittany

Ellis's misunderstanding that two vehicles can't fit in one spot.

Aguirre stands and leans over his polished, spotless desk. "Let's

try not making misunderstandings a habit, okay, Alejandro?"

"Alex."

"Huh?"

"I go by Alex," I say. What he knows about me is in my school file,

a file so biased it's probably ten inches thick.

Aguirre gives me a nod. "All right, Alex. Get ready for sixth period.

But I have eyes at this school, and I'm watching your every move. I

don't want to see you back in my office." Just as I get up, he puts a

hand on my shoulder. "Just so you know, my goal is for every student in

this school to succeed. Every student, Alex. Including you, so whatever

biases you have about me you can throw them out the window. Me

entiendes?"

"Si. Entiendo," I say, wondering how much I can believe him. In the

hallway, a sea of students are rushing to their next class. I have no

clue where I'm supposed to be and I'm still in my gym clothes.

In the locker room after I change, a song plays on the loudspeaker

indicating it's now sixth period. I pull the schedule out of my back

pocket. Chemistry with Mrs. Peterson. Great, another hard-ass to deal

with.

FIVE : Brittany

I turn on my cell and call home before chemistry to see how my

sister is doing. Baghda isn't too happy because Shelley was freaking

out about the way her lunch tasted. Apparently Shelley swiped her

bowl of yogurt onto the floor in protest.

Was it too much to hope that my mom would take a day off from

hanging out at the country club to transition Baghda? Summer is

officially over and I can't be there to pick up where the caretakers

usually leave off.

I should be focusing on school. Getting into my dad's alma mater,

Northwestern, is my main goal so I can go to a college close to home

and be there for my sister. After giving Baghda some suggestions I

take a deep breath, paste on a smile, and walk into class.

"Hey, babe. I saved you a seat." Colin motions to the stool next to

him.

The room is arranged with rows of high lab tables for two. This

means I'll sit next to Colin for the rest of the year and we'll do the

dreaded senior chemistry project together. Feeling foolish for thinking

things wouldn't be okay between us, I slip onto the stool and pull out

my heavy chem book.

"Hey, look. Fuentes is in our class!" a guy calls out from the back of

the room. "Alex, over here, venpa'ca."

I try not to stare as Alex greets his friends with pats on the back

and handshakes too complicated to reproduce. They all say ‘ese’ to each

other, whatever that means. Alex's presence catches every eye in the

classroom.

"I hear he was arrested last weekend for possession of meth,"

Colin whispers to me.

"No way."

He nods and his eyebrows go up. "Way."

Well, the information shouldn't surprise me. I hear most weekends

Alex spends drugged out, passed out, or doing some other illegal

activity.

Mrs. Peterson closes the door to the classroom with a bang and all

eyes move from the back of the room, where Alex and his friends are

sitting, to the front where Mrs. Peterson is standing. She has light

brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. The woman is probably in

her late twenties, but her glasses and perpetual stern expression make

her look way older. I hear she's tough now because her first year

teaching the students made her cry. They didn't respect a teacher who

was young enough to be their older sister.

"Good afternoon and welcome to senior chemistry." She sits on the

edge of her desk and opens a folder. "I appreciate you picking your own

seats, but I make the seating arrangements . . . alphabetically."

I groan along with the rest of the class, but Mrs. Peterson doesn't

miss a beat. She stands in front of the first lab table and says, "Colin

Adams, take the first seat. Your partner is Darlene Boehm."

Darlene Boehm is co-captain of the varsity pom squad with me. She

flashes me an apologetic look as she slides onto the stool next to my

boyfriend.

Down the list Mrs. Peterson goes, students reluctantly moving to

their assigned seats.

"Brittany Ellis," Mrs. Peterson says, pointing to the table behind

Colin. I unenthusiastically sit on the stool at my assigned place.

"Alejandro Fuentes," Mrs. Peterson says, pointing to the stool next

to me.

Oh my God. Alex . . . my chemistry partner? For my entire senior

year! No way, no how, SO not okay. I give Colin a ‘help me’ look as I try

to avoid a panic attack. I definitely should have stayed at home. In

bed. Under the covers. Forget not being intimidated.

"Call me Alex."

Mrs. Peterson looks up from her class list and regards Alex above

the glasses on her nose. 'Alex Fuentes," she says, before changing his

name on her list. "Mr. Fuentes, take off that bandanna. I have a zero

tolerance policy in my class. No gang-related accessories are allowed to

enter this room. Unfortunately, Alex, your reputation precedes you. Dr.

Aguirre backs my zero tolerance policy one hundred percent . . do I

make myself clear?"

Alex stares her down before sliding the bandanna off his head,

exposing raven hair that matches his eyes.

"It's to cover up the lice," Colin mutters to Darlene, but I hear him

and Alex does, too.

"Vete a la verga," Alex says to Colin, his hard eyes blazing. "Collate

el hocico."

"Whatever, dude," Colin says, then turns around. "He can't even

speak English."

"That's enough, Colin. Alex, sit down." Mrs. Peterson eyes the rest

of the class. "That goes for the rest of you, as well. I can't control

what you do outside of this room, but in my class I'm the boss." She

turns back to Alex. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Si, senora," Alex says, deliberately slow.

Mrs. Peterson goes down the rest of the list while I do everything

in my power not to make eye contact with the guy sitting next to me.

It's too bad I left my purse in my locker or I could pretend to look for

nothing like Sierra did this morning.

"This sucks," Alex mumbles to himself. His voice is dark and husky.

Does he make it that way on purpose?

How am I going to explain to my mother I have to partner with

Alex Fuentes? Oh, God, I hope she doesn't blame me somehow for

screwing this up.

I glance at my boyfriend, deep in conversation with Darlene. I'm so

jealous. Why couldn't my last name be Allis instead of Ellis so I could

sit next to him?

It'd be cool if God gave everyone a ‘Do Over Day’ and you could yell

"Do Over!" and the day would start new.

This would definitely qualify for a DOD.

Does Mrs. Peterson actually think it's reasonable to pair the

captain of the pom-pom squad with the most dangerous guy in school?

The woman is delusional.

Mrs. Delusional finally finishes assigning seats. "I know you seniors

think you know everything. But never think of yourself as a success

until you can help treat diseases that plague mankind or make the earth

a safer place to live. The field of chemistry plays a crucial role in

developing medicines, radiation treatments for cancer patients,

petroleum uses, the ozone--"

Alex raises his hand.

"Alex," the teacher says. "Do you have a question?"

"Uh, Mrs. Peterson, are you sayin' the president of the U.S. isn't a

success?"

"What I'm saying is . . . money and status aren't everything. Use

your brain and do something for mankind or the planet you live on. Then

you're a success. And you'll have earned my respect, which not many

people in this world can boast about."

"I got things I can boast about, Mrs. P.," Alex says, obviously

amusing himself.

Mrs. Peterson holds up a hand. "Please spare us the details, Alex."

I shake my head. If Alex thinks antagonizing the teacher will get

us a good grade, he's sadly mistaken. It's obvious Mrs. Peterson

doesn't like smart-asses and my partner is already on her radar.

"Now," Mrs. Delusional says, "look at the person sitting next to