Perfect Chemistry 1 (6 page)

arm. "Here, this is for you."

I reach in the bag and pull out a light blue Geren Ford designer top.

"Thanks," I say, not making a big deal about it in front of Shelley, who

didn't get anything from my mom. Not that my sister cares. She's too

focused on the best- and worst-dressed pictures of celebrities and all

their shiny jewelry.

"It'll go with those dark denims I bought you last week," she says

as she pulls out frozen steaks from the freezer and starts defrosting

them in the microwave. "So . . . how was everything with Baghda when

you got home?"

"Not the best," I tell her. "You really need to train her." I'm not

surprised she doesn't respond.

My dad walks through the door a minute later, grumbling about

work. He owns a computer chip manufacturing company and has prepped

us that this is a lean year, but my mom still goes out and buys stuff and

my dad still bought me a BMW for my birthday.

"What's for dinner?" my dad asks as he loosens his tie. He looks

tired and worn, as usual.

My mom glances at the microwave. "Steak."

"I'm not in the mood for heavy food," he says. "Just something

light."

My mom turns off the microwave in a huff. "Eggs? Spaghetti?" she

says, listing suggestions to deaf ears.

My dad walks out of the kitchen. Even when he's physically here,

his mind is still on the job. "Whatever. Just something light," he calls

out.

It's times like these I feel sorry for my mom. She doesn't get

much attention from my dad. He's either working or on a business trip

or just plain doesn't want to deal with us. "I'll make a salad," I tell her

as I pull lettuce out of the fridge.

She seems thankful, if her small smile is any indication, for the

help. We work side-by-side in silence. I set the table while my mom

brings the salad, scrambled eggs, and toast to the table. She mumbles

complaints about not being appreciated, but I figure she wants me to

listen and not say anything. Shelley is still busy looking at her

magazines, oblivious to the tension between my parents.

"I'm going to China on Friday for two weeks," my dad announces as

he comes back to the kitchen in sweatpants and a T-shirt. He plops

himself down at his usual spot at the head of the table and spoons eggs

onto his plate. "Our supplier there is shipping defective material and

I've got to find out what the deal is."

"What about the DeMaio wedding? It's this weekend and we

already RSVP'd."

My dad drops his fork and looks at my mom. "Yeah, I'm sure the

DeMaios' kid's wedding is more important than keeping my business

afloat."

"Bill, I didn't insinuate your business is less important," she says,

dropping her own fork on her plate. It's a wonder our plates don't have

permanent chips in them. "It's just rude to cancel these things at the

last minute."

"You can go by yourself."

"And have rumors start because you're not accompanying me? No

thank you."

This is typical Ellis dinner conversation. My dad saying how hard

work is, my mom trying to keep up the facade that we're a happy-go-

lucky family, and me and Shelley quiet on the sidelines.

"How was school?" my mom finally asks me.

"Okay," I say, omitting the fact that I got stuck with Alex as a

partner. "I got a really tough teacher for chemistry."

"You probably shouldn't have taken chemistry," my dad chimes in.

"If you don't get an A, your GPA'll go down. Northwestern is a tough

school to get into, and they won't give you a break just because it's my

alma mater."

"I got it, Dad," I say, totally depressed now. If Alex isn't serious

about our project, how am I going to get an A on it?

"Shelley had a new caretaker start today," my mom informs him.

"Remember?"

He shrugs because the last time a caretaker quit, he insisted

Shelley should live in some facility instead of at home. I never

remember screaming so much as I did then, because I'm never letting

them send Shelley to a place where they'll neglect my sister and not

understand her. I need to keep an eye on her. That's why it's so

important for me to get into Northwestern. If I'm close to home, then

I can live here and make sure my parents don't send her away.

At nine Megan calls to complain about Darlene. She thinks Dar-lene

changed over the summer and now has a big ego because she's dating a

college guy. At nine thirty Darlene calls to say she suspects Megan is

jealous because she's dating a guy in college. At nine forty-five Sierra

calls to tell me she talked to both Megan and Darlene tonight and she

doesn't want to get in the middle of it. I agree, although I think we

already are.

It's ten forty-five before I finally finish the respect paper for

Mrs. Peterson and help my mom put Shelley to bed. I'm so exhausted

my head feels as if it's about to fall off.

Sliding into bed after I've changed into my pj's, I dial Colin's

number.

"Hey, babe," he says. "What're you up to?"

"Not much. I'm in bed. Did you have fun at Doug's?"

"Not as much fun as I would've had if you were there."

"When did you get back?"

"About an hour ago. I'm so glad you called."

I pull my big pink comforter up to my chin and sink my head into my

fluffy down pillow. "Oh, really?" I say, fishing for a compliment and

speaking with my flirty voice. "Why?"

He hasn't told me he loves me in a long time. I know he's not the

most affectionate person in the world. My dad isn't, either. I need to

hear it from Colin. I want to hear he loves me. I want to hear he missed

me. I want to hear him say I'm the girl of his dreams.

Colin clears his throat. "We've never had phone sex."

Okay, those so aren't the words I expected. I shouldn't be

disappointed or surprised. He's a teenage guy and I know guys are

focused on sex and fooling around. This afternoon I pushed away the

feeling in the pit of my stomach when I read Alex's words about having

hot sex. Little does he know I'm a virgin.

Colin and I have never had sex, period. Phone sex or real sex. We

got close in April last year at the beach behind Sierra's house, but I

chickened out. I wasn't ready.

"Phone sex?"

"Yeah. Touch yourself, Brit. And then tell me what you're doing.

It'll totally turn me on."

"While I'm touching myself, what'll you be doing?" I ask him.

"Choking the gopher. What'd you think I'd do, my homework?"

I laugh. Mostly it's a nervous laugh because we haven't seen each

other in a couple of months, we haven't talked all that much, and now

he wants to go from ‘hi, nice to see you after a summer apart’ to ‘touch

yourself while I choke the gopher’ in one day. I feel like I'm in the

middle of a Pat McCurdy song.

"Come on, Brit," Colin says. "Think of it as practice before we do

the real thing. Take off your shirt and touch yourself."

"Colin . . . ," I say.

"What?"

"Sorry, but I'm not into it. Not now, at least."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. You mad?"

"No," he says. "I thought it'd be fun to spice up our relationship."

"I didn't know we were boring."

"School . . . football practice . . . hanging out. I guess after a

summer away I'm sick of the same old routine. The entire summer I've

been waterskiing, wakeboarding, and off-roading. Things that get your

heart racing and blood pumping, you know? Pure adrenaline rush."

"Sounds awesome."

"It was. Brit?"

"Yeah."

"I'm ready for that adrenaline rush . . . with you."

EIGHT : Alex

I push the guy up against a sweet, shiny black Camaro, one that

probably cost more than my mom makes in a year. "Here's the deal,

Blake," I say. "You either pay up now, or I break somethin' of yours.

Not a piece of furniture or your fuckin' car . . . somethin' you're

permanently attached to. Get it?"

Blake, skinnier than a telephone pole and as pale as a ghost, is

looking at me as if I just handed him his death sentence. He should

have thought about that before he took the Big 8 and bounced without

paying up.

As if Hector would ever let that happen.

As if I would ever let that happen.

When Hector sends me to collect, I do it. I may not like doing it,

but I do it. He knows I won't do drug deals or break into people's

homes or businesses to steal shit. But I'm good at collecting . . . debts,

mostly.

Sometimes it's people, but those get to be messy affairs,

especially because I know what's gonna happen to them once I haul

them back to the warehouse to face Chuy. Nobody wants to face Chuy.

It's way worse than facing me. Blake should feel lucky I'm the one

assigned to look for him.

To say I don't live a squeaky-clean life is an understatement. I try

not to dwell on it, the dirty job I'm doing for the Blood. And I'm good

at it. Scaring people into paying us what's ours is my job. Technically

my hands are clean of drugs. Okay, so drug money does touch my hands

quite frequently, but I just hand it over to Hector. I don't use it, I

just collect it.

It makes me a pawn, I know. As long as my family is safe, I don't

care. Besides, I'm good at fighting. You can't imagine how many people

break down with the threat of their bones breaking. Blake is no

different than the other guys I've threatened, I can tell by the way

he's trying to act cool while his spindly hands are shaking

uncontrollably.

You'd think Peterson would be afraid of me, too, but that teacher

wouldn't fear me even if I shoved a live grenade into her hands.

"I don't got the money," Blake blurts out.

"That answer ain't gonna cut it, man," Paco chimes in from the

sidelines. He likes coming with me. He thinks of it as playing good cop/

bad cop. Except we play bad gang member/worse gang member.

"Which limb you want me to break first?" I ask. "I'll be nice and let

you choose."

"Just smoke his sorry ass, Alex, and get this over with," Paco says

lazily.

"No!" Blake shouts. "I'll get it. I promise. Tomorrow."

I shove him against the car, my forearm pressing on his throat just

enough to scare him. "As if I'm gonna take your word for it. You think

we're stupid? I need collateral."

Blake doesn't answer.

I eye his car.

"Not the car, Alex. Please."

I take my gun out. I'm not going to shoot him. No matter who I am

and what I've become, I'd never kill anyone. Or shoot anyone. Blake

doesn't have to know this, though.

At the first glance of my Glock, Blake holds out his keys. "Oh, God.

Please, no."

I snatch the keys out of his hand. "Tomorrow, Blake. Seven o'clock

behind the old tracks on Fourth and Vine. Now get outta here," I say,

waving my gun in the air for him to run off on foot.

"I've always wanted a Camaro," Paco says after Blake is out of

sight.

I toss the keys to him. "It's yours--until tomorrow."

"You really think he'll come up with four G's in a day?"

"Yeah," I tell him, totally confident. " 'Cause that car is worth way

more than four G's."

Back at the warehouse, we give Hector the update. He's not happy

we haven't collected, but he knows it'll happen. I always come through.

At night, I'm in my room unable to sleep because of my little

brother Luis's snoring. By the way he sleeps so soundly, you'd think he

didn't have a care in the world. As much as I don't mind threatening

loser drug dealers like Blake, I wish to hell I was fighting for things

worth fighting for.

A week later I'm sitting on the grass in the school courtyard eating

lunch by a tree. Most of the students at Fairfield eat outside until late

October, when the Illinois winter forces us to sit in the cafeteria

during lunch period. Right now we're soaking up every minute of sun and

fresh air while it's still decent outside.

My friend Lucky, with his oversized red shirt and black jeans, slaps

me on the back as he parks his butt next to me with a cafeteria tray

balanced on his hand. "You geared up for next period, Alex? I swear

Brittany Ellis hates you like the plague, man. It's hilarious watchin' her

move her stool as far as she can from you."

"Lucky," I say. "She might be a mamacita, but she ain't got nothin'

on this hombre." I point to myself.

"Tell your mama that," Lucky says, laughing. "Or Colin Adams."

I lean back against the tree and cross my arms. "I had phys. ed.

with Adams last year. Believe me, he's got nada to brag about."

"You still pissed off 'cause he trashed your locker freshman year

after you smoked him in the relay in front of the entire school?"

Hell, yeah, I'm still pissed. That one incident cost me a shitload of

money having to buy new books.

"Yesterday's news," I tell Lucky, keeping up the cool facade I

always do.

"'Yesterdays news' is sittin' right over there with his hot

girlfriend."

One look at Little Miss Perfecta and my defenses go up. She thinks

I'm a drugged-out user. Every day I've dreaded having to deal with her

in chem class. "That chick has a head full of air, man," I say.