Perfect Chemistry 1 (32 page)

future from happening, I look forward to it. Wouldn't it be great if we

went to the same school? I mean it, Alex."

He pulls away from me. "For someone who wanted to take things

slow, you sure are plannin' far in advance."

"I know. I'm sorry. I can't help it. I applied early decision to the

University of Colorado to be close to my sister. That place my parents

are sending her is a few miles away from the campus. It wouldn't hurt

to apply, would it?"

"I guess not."

"Really?"

He squeezes my hand. "Anything to make you smile like that."

FORTY-SIX : Alex

"I need an update on the Brittany situation," Lucky says while I'm

hanging outside the warehouse. "Guys are makin' side bets, and most of

them are bettin' on you. They know somethin' I don't?"

I shrug, then look over at Julio, shiny from my wash earlier. If my

motorcycle could talk, he'd beg me to save him from Lucky. But I'm not

about to spill any info about Brittany. Not yet, at least.

Hector walks up to us and waves Lucky away. "We need to talk,

Fuentes," Hector says in a tone that means business, "about that favor

we were talking about. On Halloween night, you'll take a rental car,

drive it to the drop-off, and exchange the goods for the green. Think

you can handle that?"

My brother is right. I do have my papa's blood running through my

veins. By doing the drug deal, I'll secure my future in the Blood, which

is my birthright. Other kids inherit money or a family business from

their parents. I inherited the Latino Blood.

"There's nothin' I can't handle," I tell Hector, even as I feel the

pit of my stomach lurch. I knowingly lied to Brittany. Her face lit up

when she talked about possibly going to college together. I couldn't tell

her the truth, that not only am I staying in the Latino Blood, I'm about

to exchange goods for the green.

Hector pats me on the back. "That's my loyal brother. I knew the

Blood would come before your fear. Somos hermanos, c'no?"

"!Seguro!" I answer so he knows I'm loyal to him and the Blood. It

isn't the drug deal I fear. It's that the drug deal signifies the end of

any dreams I had. By doing it, I'll cross over the line. Like my papa.

"Yo, Alex."

Paco is standing a few feet away. I hadn't even noticed Hector

left.

"Wha's up?"

"I need your help, compa," Paco says.

"You, too?"

He gives me that I-am-Paco-and-I-am-exasperated look. "Just take

a ride with me."

Three minutes later I'm in the passenger seat of a borrowed red

Camaro.

I sigh. "You gonna tell me what you want help with or are you

keepin' me in suspense?"

"Actually, I'm gonna keep you in suspense."

I read the ‘WELCOME TO’ sign on the side of the road.

"Winnetka?" What does Paco want in this wealthy suburban town?

"Trust," Paco says.

"What?"

"Best friends need to trust each other."

I lean back, totally aware I'm brooding like one of those guys in a

bad Western movie. I agreed to do a drug deal and now I'm heading

into upper-class suburbia for apparently no reason.

"Ah, here it is," Paco says.

I look up at the sign. "You've got to be kiddin'."

"Nope."

"If you're plannin' to rob the place, I'll stay in the car."

Paco rolls his eyes. "We're not here to rob a bunch of golfers."

"Then why drag me all the way out here?"

"My golf swing. Come on, get off your ass and help."

"It's fifty-five degrees outside and the middle of October, Paco."

"It's all a matter of priority and perception."

I sit in the car, contemplating how to get home. Walking will take

too long. I don't know where the closest bus stop is and . . . and . . . and

I'm going to kick Paco's ass for bringing me to a fuckin' golf range.

I stalk over to where Paco is setting down a basket of balls. Man,

there are probably a hundred of them.

"Where'd you get that club?" I ask.

Paco swings it in the air like a propeller. "From the guy who rents

the balls. You want one so you can hit a few?"

"No."

Paco points the end of the golf club at a green wooden bench

situated behind him. "Then sit over there."

As I sit, my gaze wanders to the other guys hitting balls in their

little sections, warily eyeing us out of the corners of their eyes. I'm all

too aware Paco and I look and dress drastically different from the rest

of the guys at the range. Jeans, T-shirts, tattoos, and bandannas on

our heads make us stick out while most of the golfers are wearing long-

sleeve golf shirts, Dockers, and no distinguishing marks on their skin.

I don't normally care, but after the talk with Hector, I want to go

home, not be a spectacle. I rest my elbows on my knees, watching Paco

make a complete fool of himself.

Paco takes a little white golf ball and places it on top of a rubber

circle inserted into the fake grass. When he swings the golf club, I

wince.

The club misses the ball and connects with the fake grass instead.

Paco swears. The guy next to Paco takes one look at him and moves to

another section.

Paco tries again. This time the club connects, but his ball only rolls

along the grass in front of him. He keeps trying, but each time Paco

swings, he makes a complete ass out of himself. Does he think he's

hitting a hockey puck?

"You done?" I ask once he's gone through half the basket.

"Alex," Paco says, leaning on the golf club like it's a cane. "Do ya

think I was meant to play golf?"

Looking Paco straight in the eye, I answer, "No."

"I heard you talkin' to Hector. I don't think you were meant to

deal, either."

"Is that why we're here? You're tryin' to make a point?"

"Hear me out," Paco insists. "I've got the keys to the car in my

pocket and I'm not goin' nowhere until I finish hittin' all of these balls,

so you might as well listen. I'm not smart like you. I don't have choices

in life, but you, you're smart enough to go to college and be a doctor or

computer geek or somethin' like that. Just like I wasn't meant to hit

golf balls, you weren't meant to deal drugs. Let me do the drop for

you."

"No way, man. I appreciate you makin' an ass out of yourself to

prove a point, but I know what I need to do," I tell him.

Paco sets up a new ball, swings, and yet again the ball rolls away

from him. "That Brittany sure is hot. She goin' to college?"

I know what Paco is doing; unfortunately my best friend is nothing

less than obvious. "Yep. In Colorado." To be close to her sister, the

person she cares for more than herself.

Paco whistles. "I'm sure she'll meet a lot of guys in Colorado. You

know, real guys with cowboy hats."

My muscles tense. I don't want to think about it. I ignore Paco until

we're back in the car. "When are you going to stop stickin' your ass

into my business?" I ask him.

He chuckles. "Never."

"Then I guess you won't mind me bargin' into yours. What

happened between you and Isa, huh?"

"We fooled around. It's over."

"You might think it's over, but I don't think she does."

"Yeah, well, that's her problem." Paco turns the radio on and blasts

the music loud.

He's never dated anyone because he's scared of getting close to

someone. Even Isa isn't aware of all the abuses he's endured at home.

Believe me, I understand the reasons behind his keeping a distance

from a girl he cares about. Because the truth is, sometimes getting

close to the fire does actually burn you.

FORTY-SEVEN : Brittany

"Paco, what are you doing here?" The last person I expected to see

at my house is Alex's best friend.

"I kinda need to talk to you."

"Want to come in?"

"You sure it's okay?" he asks nervously.

"Of course." Well, it probably isn't okay with my parents, but it is

to me. It's not like my parents will suddenly decide not to send Shelley

away. I'm tired of pretending, of being afraid of my mom's wrath. This

guy is Alex's best friend, and he accepts me. I'm sure it wasn't easy

for him to come here. Opening the door wide, I let Paco in. If he asks

me about Isabel, what do I say? She swore me to secrecy.

"Who's at the door, Brit?"

"This is Paco," I explain to my mom. "He's a friend of mine from

school."

"Dinner's on the table," my mother hints not too subtly. "Tell your

friend it's not polite to visit during dinner hours."

I turn to Paco. "Want to eat over?" I'm being rebellious and it

feels good. Cathartic.

I hear my mom's footsteps stomping to the kitchen.

"Uh, no thanks," Paco says, stifling a laugh. "I thought maybe we

could talk, you know, about Alex."

I don't know if I'm relieved he's not asking what I know about

Isabel, or nervous because if Paco came here it's serious.

I lead Paco through the house. We pass Shelley in the family room

looking at some magazine. "Shelley, this is Paco. He's Alex's friend.

Paco, this is my sister, Shelley."

At the mention of Alex's name, Shelley gives a happy squeal.

"Hey, Shelley," Paco says.

Shelley smiles wide.

"Shell-bell, I need you to do me a favor." Shelley bobs her head in

response as I whisper, "I need you to keep Mom occupied while I talk

to Paco."

Shelley grins, and I know my sister will come through for me.

My mother pops into the room, ignoring me and Paco as she wheels

Shelley into the kitchen.

I look at Paco warily as I lead him outside so we can have privacy

from eavesdropping mothers. "What's up?"

"Alex needs help. He won't listen to me. A big drug deal is goin'

down and Alex is the elmero mero, the key guy runnin' the show."

"Alex wouldn't do a drug deal. He promised me."

The look on Paco's face tells me he knows otherwise.

"I've tried to reason with him," Paco says. "This thing . . . it's with

big-time dealers. Somethin' doesn't feel right about it, Brittany.

Hector's makin' Alex do this and for the life of me I don't know why.

Why Alex?"

"What can I do?" I ask.

"Tell Alex to find a way out. If anyone can get out of it, it's him."

Tell him? Alex resents being told to do anything. I can't imagine he

would agree to do a drug deal.

"Brittany, dinner is already cold!" my mother yells from the kitchen

window. "And your father just got home. Let's sit down as a family for

once."

The sound of crashing dishes brings my mother back in the house.

Shelley's brilliant move, no doubt.

But it really isn't Shelley's job to keep me from telling my parents

the truth. "Wait here," I say. "Unless you want to witness an Ellis

family argument."

Paco rubs his hands together. "This has got to be better than my

family fights."

I walk into the kitchen and give my dad a peck on the cheek.

"Who's your friend?" my dad asks warily.

"Paco, this is my dad. Dad, this is my friend Paco."

Paco says, "Hey." My dad nods. My mom grimaces.

"Paco and I need to go."

"Where?" my dad asks, totally confused.

"To see Alex."

"No you're not," my mom says.

My dad holds up his hands, clueless. "Who's Alex?"

"That other Mexican boy I was telling you about," my mom says

tightly. "Don't you remember?"

"I don't remember anything these days, Patricia."

My mom stands, her plateful of food in hand, and tosses it into the

sink. The dish breaks and the food flies all over. "We've given you

everything you want, Brittany," my mother says. "A new car, designer

clothes--"

My patience snaps. "That's totally superficial, Mom. Sure, on the

outside everyone sees you guys as successful, but as parents you really

suck. I'd give you both a C minus on parenting and you're lucky it isn't

Mrs. Peterson grading you or you'd flunk. Why are you afraid of being

seen as having problems like the rest of the world?"

I'm on a roll and can't stop. "Listen, Alex needs my help. One of

the things that makes me who I am is the loyalty I have to people I

hold close to my heart. If that hurts or scares you, I'm sorry," I say.

Shelley makes a commotion and we all turn to her. "Brittany,"

comes a computer voice from the PCD attached to my sister's

wheelchair. Shelley's fingers are busy punching in the words: "Good.

Girl."

I wrap my fingers around my sister's hand before I talk to my

parents again. "If you want to kick me out, or disown me for being who

I am, then do it and get it over with."

I'm done being scared. Scared for Alex, Shelley, and myself. It's

time to face all my fears, or I'll lose myself in grief and guilt my entire

life. I'm not perfect. It's time the entire world realizes it, too.

"Mom, I'm going to see the social worker at school."

My mom scrunches up her face in disgust. "That's asinine. It'll be

in your school records the rest of your life. You don't need a social

worker."

"Yes, I do." I steel myself and add, "You do, too. We all do."

"Listen to me, Brittany. If you walk out that door . . . don't come

back."

"You're being rebellious," my dad interjects.