Perfect Chemistry 1 (38 page)

throwing things at him as he walks through the door."

When I got out of the hospital after two weeks, my mom took us to

Mexico. A month later I got a job as a valet at a hotel in San Miguel de

Allende, near my family's house. A nice hotel, with whitewashed walls

and pillars in the front entrance. I acted as an interpreter when

needed, since my English was better than most of the employees'.

When I went out with the guys after work, they tried to set me up

with Mexican girls. The girls were beautiful, sexy, and definitely knew

how to tempt a guy. The problem was, they weren't Brittany.

I needed to get her out of my head. And fast.

I tried. One night an American girl staying at the hotel brought me

up to her room. At first I thought it would take having sex with

another blond girl to erase that one night I had with Brittany. But once

I was about to do it, I froze.

I realized then that Brittany had ruined every other girl for me.

It's not Brittany's face, not her smile, not even her eyes. All of

that surface stuff made the world see her as beautiful, but it was the

deeper stuff that made her different. It was the gentle way she wiped

her sister's face, the way she took chemistry so seriously, the way she

showed her love even when she knew what and who I was. I was about

to do a drug deal, something she was adamantly against, and she still

loved me.

So now, three months after the shooting, I'm back in Fairfield

about to face what Mrs. P. would call my greatest fear.

Enrique is sitting at his desk at the auto body shop, shaking his

head. We talked about Halloween night and I forgave him for whatever

involvement he'd had in letting Lucky know I'd been with Brittany.

Enrique lets out a long, slow breath after I tell him what I'm going

to do. "You could die," he says, looking up at me.

I nod. "I know."

"I won't be able to help you. None of your friends in the Blood can

help you. Reconsider, Alex. Go back to Mexico and enjoy the rest of

your life."

I've made my choice and have no intention of backing down. "I'm

not gonna be a coward. I need to do this. I need to quit the Blood."

"For her?"

"Yeah." And for my papa. And for Paco. And for me and my family.

"What good is quitting the Blood if you end up dead?" Enrique asks.

"Your jumping in will seem like a holiday party compared to this. They'll

even make OG's participate."

Instead of answering, I hand him a piece of paper with a phone

number on it. "If anythin' happens to me, call this guy. He's the only

friend I've got who's not connected." Not connected to the Blood, or

Brittany.

That night I'm facing a warehouse full of people who consider me a

traitor. I've been called a bunch of other things tonight, too. An hour

ago I told Chuy, who'd taken over Hector's position, I wanted out--a

clean break from the Latino Blood. Just one little hitch . . in order to

do that I need to survive their gauntlet--a 360 violation.

Chuy, stiff and stern, steps forward with a Latino Blood bandanna.

I scan the onlookers. My friend Pedro is standing in the back, his eyes

averted. Javier and Lucky are there, too, their eyes blazing with

excitement.

Javier is a crazy motherfucker and Lucky is not happy he lost the

bet even though I never collected. Both will enjoy being able to beat

the shit out of me while I can't fight back.

Enrique, my cousin, is leaning against the wall in the corner of the

warehouse. He'll be expected to participate in the challenge, to aid in

breaking whatever bones possible until I pass out. Loyalty and

commitment mean everything to the LB. You break that loyalty, you

break that commitment. . . you're as good as an enemy in their eyes.

Worse even, because you were one of them. If Enrique steps forward

to protect me, he's toast.

I stand proud while Chuy covers my eyes with the bandanna. I can

do this. If it brings me to Brittany in the end, it's all worth it. I'm not

gonna even think about the other option.

After my hands are bound behind my back, I'm led to a car and

pushed into the backseat while two people flank me. I have no clue

where we're headed. Since Chuy is in charge now, anything is possible.

A note. I never wrote a note. What if I die and Brittany never

knows how I feel about her? Maybe it's a good thing. She'll be able to

get on with her life easier thinking I'm a prick who betrayed her and

never looked back.

Forty-five minutes later the car is off-road. I can tell by the

gravel crunching under the tires. Maybe knowing where I am would take

the edge off, but I can't see a damn thing. I'm not nervous. More like

anxious to know if I'll be one of the lucky ones to survive. And even if I

do survive, will someone find me? Or will I die alone in some barn,

warehouse, or abandoned building? Maybe they're not going to beat me.

Maybe they'll take me to the roof of a building and just push me off.

Se acabo.

Nah, Chuy wouldn't like that. He likes to hear the screaming and

pleas of strong guys brought down to their knees.

I'm not going to give him the satisfaction.

I'm led out of the car. From the sound of my feet against gravel

and stones, we're in the middle of nowhere. I hear more cars parking,

more feet following behind us. A cow moos in the distance.

A warning moo? Truth is, I want to do this. If it's interrupted, it

will postpone the inevitable. I'm willing. I'm ready. Let's get it on.

I wonder if I'll be hung by my hands to a branch of a tree, strung

up like a whipping boy.

Oh, man, I hate the unknown. Estoy perdido.

"Stay here," I'm instructed.

As if I have anywhere to go.

Someone is walking toward me. I can hear the gravel crunch with

each step. "You are a disgrace to this brotherhood, Alejandro. We

protected you and your family, and you've decided to turn your back on

us. Is that right?"

I wish my life was a John Grisham novel. His heroes always seem to

be one step away from death but come up with a brilliant plan. It

usually includes hiding information that will ruin the bad guy, and if the

hero ends up dead, the bad guy will be ruined for life. Unfortunately,

real life can't be wrapped up with a nice little bow.

"Hector was the one who betrayed the Blood," I respond. "El

traidor."

The response to my calling Hector a traitor is a hard fist to my

jaw. Shit, I wasn't ready for that because I can't see a fucking thing

with this blindfold on. I try not to wince.

"You understand the consequences of leaving the Blood?"

I work my jaw back and forth. "Yes."

I hear crunching stones as a circle of people close in. I'm the

bull's-eye this time.

An eerie silence settles over the crowd. Nobody laughs; nobody

makes a sound. Some of the guys surrounding me have been my friends

all my life. Like Enrique, they're waging a war inside themselves. I

don't blame them. The lucky ones haven't been chosen to fight today.

Without warning, I get punched in my face. Attempting to keep

myself upright is hard, especially because I know more hits are coming.

It's one thing to be in a fight you could possibly win, but it's another

to know you've got zero chance.

Something sharp slashes my back.

Then I get punched in the ribs.

Each blow is connecting with my upper body--no inch is left

untouched. A slice here, a fist there. I stagger a few times, only to be

pulled upright and slammed into another hard fist.

I've got a gash in my back and it stings as if flames are licking at

my skin. I can tell Enrique's punches because they don't pack as much

fury as the others.

Memories of Brittany keep me from crying out in pain. I'm going to

be strong for her . . . for us. I'm not going to let them control whether

I live or die. I'm in charge of my destiny, not the Blood.

I have no clue how much time goes by. A half hour? An hour? My

body is weakening. I'm having trouble standing. I smell smoke. Are they

going to push me into a fire? The bandanna is still secured over my

eyes, but it doesn't matter because I'm pretty sure my eyes are

swollen shut.

I feel like caving and falling to the ground but force myself to

stand tall.

I'm probably unrecognizable now, hot blood streaming from gashes

in my face and body. I can feel my shirt being ripped open and it's

falling off in pieces, exposing the scar where Hector shot me. A fist

punches me right there. It's too much pain.

I slump to the ground, my face scraping the gravel.

At this point, I'm not sure I can make it. Brittany. Brittany.

Brittany. As long as I repeat the mantra in my head, I know I'm still

alive. Brittany. Brittany. Brittany.

Is the smell of smoke real, or is it the smell of death?

Through the thick haze in my mind I think I hear someone saying,

"Don't you think he's had enough?"

I hear a distant but distinct "No."

Protests follow. If I could move, I would. Brittany. Brittany.

Brittany.

More protests. Nobody protests during these challenges. It's not

allowed. What's happening? What's next? It must be worse than the

beating, because I hear a lot of arguing.

"Hold him facedown," Chuy's voice rings out. "Nobody betrays the

Latino Blood on my watch. Let this be a lesson to anyone else who tries

to betray us. Alejandro Fuentes's body will always be marked, a

reminder of his betrayal."

The burning smell gets closer. I have no clue what's about to

happen until my upper back is touched with what feels like hot coals.

I think I groaned. Or growled. Or screamed. I don't know anymore.

I don't know anything anymore. I can't think. All I can do is feel. They

might as well have thrown me into the fire, this is a torture worse than

anything I could have imagined. The smell of burning skin sears my

nostrils as I realize the coals aren't coals at all. The bastard is

branding me. El dolor, el dolor . . . Brittany. Brittany. Brittany.

FIFTY-SEVEN : Brittany

It's April first. I haven't seen Alex in five months, since the day

after the shooting. The gossip about Paco and Alex finally died down

and the extra psychologists and social workers have left the school.

Last week I told the school social worker I slept more than five

hours, but that was a lie. Since the shooting I've had trouble sleeping,

always waking in the middle of the night because my mind won't stop

analyzing that awful conversation Alex and I had in the hospital. The

social worker said it'll take a long time to let go of my feelings of

betrayal.

The problem is, I don't feel betrayed. More like sad and deflated.

After all this time, I still go to bed staring at the pictures of him in my

cell phone from the night we went to Club Mystique.

After being released from the hospital, he quit school and

disappeared. He may be out of my life physically, but he'll always be a

part of me. I can't let go even if I wanted to.

One positive thing that came from all of the craziness is that my

family took Shelley to Colorado to see Sunny Acres, and my sister

really liked it. They have activities every day, play sports, and even

have celebrities visit every three months. When Shelley heard they

have famous people come visit and do concerts and benefits, if she

hadn't been strapped in she would have fallen out of her wheelchair.

Letting my sister choose her own path was hard, but I did it. And I

didn't freak out. Knowing it was Shelley's choice made me feel so much

better.

But now I'm alone. Alex took a piece of my heart with him when he

left. I'm guarding what I have left with a vengeance. I've come to the

conclusion that the only life I'm going to control is my own. Alex chose

his path.

It didn't include me.

I ignore Alex's friends at school, and they ignore me. We all

pretend the beginning of senior year didn't actually happen. Except

Isabel. We talk sometimes, but it's painful. We have a silent

understanding between us, and it's helped make me feel like I have

someone going through the same sort of pain I'm dealing with.

Opening my locker before chemistry class in May, I notice a pair of

hand warmers hanging on the hooks inside. The worst night of my life

comes crashing back to me full force.

Has Alex been here? Did he place the hand warmers in the locker

himself?

As much as I want to forget him, I can't. I read that goldfish have

a memory of five seconds. I envy them. My memory of Alex, my love

for him, will last my lifetime.

I clutch the soft hand warmers to my chest and kneel beside my

locker, crying. Ugh. I'm a shell of a person.

Sierra stands at my feet. "Brit, what's wrong?"

I'm unable to move. Unable to pull myself together.

"Come on," Sierra says, pulling me up. "Everybody's watching."

Darlene walks by us. "Seriously, isn't it time you got over your

gang-banger boyfriend who dumped you? You're starting to look

pathetic," she says, making sure the crowd gathering around us hears