Chain Reaction (6 page)

11

Luis

Exotic eyes. Wavy brown hair. An attitude a mile long. Older, but she’s still got that unique “angel with an edge” aura about her.

I’d know that girl anywhere. I could pick her out of a crowd of a thousand girls. She denied her Mexican blood, danced like a robot, and dissed me all in the same night.

“That’s Nikki Cruz,
¿verdad?
” I ask Marco, a friend of mine from grade school. It’s kind of weird how it’s like I never left. I never realized how deep my roots are in this town, even though I’ve been gone from Fairfield for almost six years. I came to school early this morning and got my schedule from the front office. As soon as I walked to my locker, I was recognized by a bunch of old friends I used to hang out with.

Marco glances at the girl, then nods. “How do you know Nik?”

“Had a run-in with her a couple years ago at my brother’s weddin’.” No need to go into detail about how she hid my clothes and left me to fend off the overly aggressive girl I’d been skinny-dipping with that night. “
¿Cuál es su historia?
” I ask him.

“Her story is that she’s filthy rich and has a body made for fuckin’ around,” Marco says. “She’s a
puta
. Keep your ass far away from that
pocha
if you want to stay sane.”

I look her way and our eyes meet. Does she remember me?

While Marco talks to a couple guys, I keep my eyes on Nikki. She quickly turns her gaze away, says something privately to the tall blond girl standing next to her, then tosses her hair back and they both strut down the hall without a backward glance.

I fly through my first two classes; it’s cool to see old friends that I thought I’d never see again. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Marco is hanging with the big boys outside of school. Nobody has to talk about his gang affiliation—it’s obvious. Most of the families who lived in my ’hood were connected. Some still are.

The south side of Fairfield might not be overflowing with active gang members anymore, but we’re still the poor kids at school. The elementary and middle schools weren’t integrated, but the high school merged all the schools from both sides of Fairfield into one multicultural melting pot.

The first time I realize how different things are here than in Boulder is when we have to change for gym class.

“You’re sitting in my spot, Mex,” some beefy white guy says to me as I sit on a bench in the locker room after being handed my gym uniform. “Move.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes my mouth. “Mex?
Did you just call me Mex?
”

“You heard me. Now go sit your dirty immigrant ass somewhere else.”

Unlike my brothers, I don’t like to fight and I’m not looking to start one now.

I casually take off my shoes and remind myself that this guy isn’t worth getting kicked out of school. I’m not gonna let him bully me, though.

“Sorry to break the news to you,
gringo
,” I tell him. “But I ain’t movin’. It’s the first day of school. You don’t have a ‘spot’ yet.”

Other guys start piling in the locker room.
Gringo
slams his fist hard on the locker right above my head, causing everyone to look our way.

“I’m warning you,” he growls through clenched teeth, then kicks my shoes across the room.

I roll my eyes. He wants me to throw the first punch so I’m the one who gets in trouble. He has no clue that I have the patience of a saint. At least that’s what Carlos says, although that isn’t saying much, considering his fuse is about as short as an eyelash.

Pedro, a guy who lived across the street from me since before we moved, motions to the back of the locker room. “
Ah, dejalo y mueveté
,” he says to me.

In other words,
avoid the conflict
.

“Listen to your friend,”
Gringo
says, then grabs my T-shirt and attempts to push me away from his precious spot.

Not happening.

I push back. He doesn’t expect it, because his body slams against the lockers hard. He loses his balance and lands on his ass with a
thud
.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kick your ass!” he screams.

He’s about to charge his full weight against me when one of his friends stands between us. “Dougan, chill out. Seriously, man, it’s not worth getting kicked off the team.”

Dougan stares me down before turning his back and walking to another row of lockers with his friends following behind him. I sit and take a deep breath. I’m not in Boulder anymore, that’s for damn sure.

Everyone who has fourth-period lunch ditches the cafeteria and instead chooses to eat outside. The courtyard is filled with students. The south siders sit under the trees, while the north siders have flocked to the picnic tables as if they were personally made for them. I notice Nikki sitting with a bunch of jocks, all vying for her attention. She smiles at them and laughs at their jokes, but I can tell she’s being fake. None of them are holding her attention for long.

I sit next to my old friends under a big maple tree.

“So what you been up to, Fuentes?” Pedro asks as he reaches into a brown paper bag and pulls out his lunch. “Besides pissin’ off Dougan in the locker room.”

I shrug. “Lived in Mexico for a while. Then moved to Colorado.”

“What made you come back to this shithole?” Marco Delgado asks. He sits across from me and I catch a glimpse of a pocketknife peeking out of his sock.

“
Familia
brought me back,” I tell them.

“Speaking of
familia
,” Marco says. “Your brother Alex used to be a Blood, didn’t he?”

I nod.

I’d be an idiot not to think that subject would come up sooner or later. My brother was an active member of the Latino Blood, until Hector Martinez betrayed him.

“Chuy got busted a while back. Most of the OGs got sent to the DOC,” Delgado explains.

The DOC—otherwise known as the Department of Corrections.

“I heard.”

Chuy used to be second in command. Once Chuy went down, the rest of the OGs went down with him. My cousin Enrique almost served time, but Alex helped him get a good lawyer who got the case against him dismissed.

“You think Alex had somethin’ to do with the bust?”

Alex, responsible for bringing down the Latino Blood? I don’t think so. “My brother isn’t a narc,” I say. Fuentes pride runs deep, and I’ll do anything to protect my brothers and my family name. “
¿Comprende?
”

Marco nods. “I’ve got no problem with him. It’s all good, man.”

Mariana Castillo, the girl every guy had a crush on in second grade, sits with us. A bunch of girls follow her lead. Mariana was always the leader of the girls … whatever she did, the other girls followed. She’s got a flawless complexion, long legs, thick lips, and a gleam in her eyes that reveals a raw and ruthless spirit.

“Well, well. I guess the rumors are true,” she tells me. “Luis Fuentes has
definitely
grown up.”

Marco laughs. “I think you’ve got yourself a fan club, Luis.”

“You should come out with all of us on Saturday night,” Mariana says.

“I’ve got to work,” I tell her.

“That sucks. What if we—”

A blaring voice over the loudspeakers scattered throughout the courtyard cuts her off.
“Luis Fuentes, please report to Principal Aguirre’s office immediately
.
Luis Fuentes, report to Principal Aguirre’s office immediately,
” the voice bellows again just in case for some miraculous reason I hadn’t heard the first time.

Marco lets out a low whistle. “In trouble with Aguirre on the first day of school, Fuentes?” he asks, amused. “He’s probably been alerted that we were friends back in grade school. Got in our share of trouble, didn’t we?”

“Sure did.” Marco and I had been in the same homeroom and sat next to each other for practically every class. I always earned good grades, but Marco could always convince me to be his partner in crime.

“Did you get called in, too?” I ask him.

“First thing this mornin’. Aguirre’s a hard-ass and will try to scare you into playin’ by his rules. He’ll try to get you to talk, but keep your mouth shut. It’ll totally piss him off. It’s hilarious watchin’ his face get all red.”

“I bet it has to do with that fight with Dougan in the locker room,” Pedro chimes in.

“Good luck,” Mariana says.

“Thanks,” I say, hoping that I don’t need it.

I find the front office a few minutes later. An old woman behind the front desk looks frazzled as students stand around impatiently requesting class schedule changes or signing up for appointments with the guidance counselor.

I figure I’ll wait in line instead of announcing my arrival. I’m not looking forward to facing Aguirre. Marco isn’t the only one who declared him a hard-ass. My brothers warned me that their old principal didn’t take any prisoners.

The door opens to Aguirre’s office and a tall guy wearing a suit and tie appears. “Fuentes!” he yells above the noise. He scans the room until his eyes lock on mine. He doesn’t look thrilled to see me. “In my office,” he orders.

I weave my way through the crowd.

Aguirre is holding a manila folder with my name typed on it as he sits on the edge of his desk. “Come in, Luis. Sit down.”

I sit in one of his guest chairs and look around the room. Fairfield High School memorabilia is scattered on the walls, as well as pictures of Aguirre with old alumni. A tennis player, an NFL quarterback, and a news anchor are a few of the alumni pictures posted. Impressive.

I wonder if in ten years I’ll be in a picture with Aguirre that’s permanently displayed in his office.

Not right now, though. Right now Aguirre is looking at me with a mixture of annoyance and anger.

“The last time I had a Fuentes called into my office, it was your brother Alex. He was a magnet for trouble.” He slaps my file on the table. “I assumed you’d be different, Luis. You were a straight-A student at Flatiron High. That school is ranked as the second-best high school in Colorado for academics. You were in the honor society, active in student council, played soccer, and were cocaptain of the swim team.”

I nod. “Yes, sir.”

He leans forward. “So why the hell are you getting in fights in the locker room?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

Aguirre lets out a deep breath. “If I had a dollar every time I heard a student say
I don’t know
, I’d be a millionaire. No, a billionaire. I have a zero tolerance policy. Whatever altercation happened between you and Justin Dougan in the locker room has become my problem. You want to know what I do with my problems?”

I don’t answer.

He leans forward again and speaks in a quiet, slow voice meant to capture my undivided attention. “My problems get a detention. After that comes suspension. Three strikes, and you’re expelled.”

When he takes a blue slip off his desk and hands it to me, I swallow hard. My first detention. I am not, no matter what, going to get two strikes. Even if it means being called Mex for the next nine months.

“Does this go in my permanent file?” I ask, looking down at the offending blue slip.

“I’m afraid so.”

Shit. I briefly have a vision of breaking into the school office in the middle of the night and making the detention disappear. In movies people break into offices and steal files all the time. It would definitely be an adrenaline rush, especially if I was able to pull it off.

“Now get out of here,” Aguirre says. “I don’t want to see your face back in my office unless it’s to tell me you’re on the honor roll. Keep your head in your books, and we’ll get along just fine.”

“Is that it?” I ask him.

“No.” He smiles and opens his arms out wide. “Welcome to Fairfield High.”

12

Nikki

Luis had been talking to Marco and Mariana when he got called to Dr. Aguirre’s office. He walked with confidence and purpose out of the courtyard, and I found myself having a hard time tearing my gaze away until he was out of sight.

I hope he doesn’t remember me, although I have a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that he didn’t forget our encounter at his brother’s wedding. How could he? The last image I have is him waving to me … naked. He looked ridiculously hot back then, and he’s still got the swagger. Just from the way he walks I can tell he knows he’s one of those guys with the “it” factor.

In the halls, girls were staring at him. He nodded and smiled at every girl who looked his way. Marco was flirting with the girls right along with him, like they were a tag team.

The next time I see Luis, it’s the last period of the day. Chemistry with Mrs. Peterson. Luis seems amused when he walks in the classroom and finds me sitting in the back row with Kendall and Derek. When the pregnant teacher announces that she assigns partners and we’ll be sitting in alphabetical order, my heart starts racing. My last name starts with a
C
and Luis’s starts with an
F
. I panic that we could be assigned as partners, until Mrs. Peterson calls out, “Mariana Castillo, you’re partnered with Nikki Cruz.”

Oh, no. Mariana and I have only one thing in common: our parents were born in Mexico. That’s it.

Mariana Castillo hated me when Marco and I dated, as if I took away her property. The few times Marco and I hung out with his friends, she’d always glare at me and make sure none of the other south side girls liked me. I was an outcast in their group, but as long as I had Marco by my side I didn’t care. Even though Marco and I aren’t together anymore, Mariana still hates me.

“Eww. How come I get stuck with the fake Latina?” Mariana mumbles.

“There isn’t anything fake about me, Mariana. You got a problem with me, go tell Mrs. Peterson.”

Mariana waves her hand in the air. “Mrs. Peterson, Nikki and I
can’t
be partners.”

Peterson stops and looks down at Mariana. “Yes, you can and yes, you will. Believe me, Miss Castillo, I get complaints every year, and not once have I changed partners.”

“But—”

“Zip it, or you’ll get a detention.”

Mariana shuts her mouth, but sneers at me as Mrs. Peterson goes down the rest of her list.

Luis is assigned to the table across from ours. Derek is assigned as his partner. I try not to have eye contact with Luis, but I find myself glancing up. Our eyes meet for a brief second before Mrs. Peterson knocks on Luis’s lab table.

“So I see I’m blessed with another Fuentes in my class,” our teacher says. “Your brother Alex was one of my more … challenging students. I guess I should give you the same lecture I gave your brother, Mr. Fuentes. No talking unless it’s lab time, and even that isn’t supposed to be used for chatter and gossip. It’s for work. Get it?”

“Got it,” Luis says, giving her a cocky thumbs-up.

“Let’s hope you’re better than your brother at following directions. Oh, and that reminds me …” She regards the rest of the class. “I have a zero tolerance policy. No cell phones allowed, even if it’s an emergency from your parents, your friends, your boyfriends or girlfriends, your dog, or even God. They can call the front office if it’s important enough. In addition, no gang-related clothing,” she says, looking right at Luis and then eyeing the rest of the class, “and no threats against any student or you’ll be out of my class permanently. I have detentions ready to hand out for anyone not following my rules. Now, take five minutes and introduce yourselves to your partner. Tell them interesting things about yourself, including your hobbies or what you did over the summer. Then you’ll introduce your partner to the class.”

“I can’t believe I have to partner with you,” Mariana mumbles.

“The feeling is mutual,” I mumble back.

Mariana picks up her notebook and turns to the first page. “So talk, so I can write something down and not get kicked out of class. I know you’re a rich bitch who used to date Marco Delgado until he broke up with you. Anything else I should share with the class?”

“Just tell the class that I help disabled dogs get adopted.”

“Seriously, that’s wack,” Mariana says with a grimace. “You tell the class that I got a hundred thousand views on the YouTube video I made.”

“Doing what?” I ask, wondering if she did a striptease act. Or maybe it was an instructional video on how to properly take a bong hit. I’m sure Mariana’s name wasn’t on the drug-free petition some freshman passed around last year for their community service project.

“I sing and dance … better than you, I’m sure.”

I write that piece of information down to share with the class when it’s my turn. Little does she know that dancing better than me is no difficult feat.

Luis introduces Derek, then Derek talks about how Luis moved here from Colorado but used to live in Fairfield when he was younger.

After the introductions there’s time left, so Mrs. Peterson takes us on a tour of the lab. She tells us it was updated over the summer, and explains why there’s a shower stall in the back of the room.

“Last year we had an … incident with some of my students who didn’t listen to my instructions. Let’s just say that the school board decided that installing a hazardous chemicals washing area might be necessary. None of you should ever need this shower, but if for any reason any one of you gets a chemical on your skin and you’re having a reaction, wash it off immediately. You don’t need to raise your hand and ask permission.”

While we’re standing in front of the shower, my phone starts to vibrate. Crap. It’s in my back pocket. I totally forgot to turn it off. As if that’s not bad enough, it rings so loud that now everyone is staring at me. I ignore it, hoping Mrs. Peterson doesn’t realize it’s mine and praying that the call transfers to voice mail before the next ring.

“You better turn that off,” Kendall murmurs in my ear. “Rumor has it Peterson’s got a cell phone collection worth thousands.”

Too late.

“Ms. Cruz?”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, wishing I could magically transplant myself to another classroom. “Yes?” I answer meekly.

Mrs. Peterson is standing in front of me now. “Go ahead, answer it.”

I hesitate.

“Take your phone out of your pocket and answer it,” she orders again. “Before I go into labor, please.”

I slide it out of my pocket and press the answer button, when, to my complete horror, Mrs. Peterson motions to hand the phone to her.

She puts it to her ear. “Hello, this is Nikki’s phone,” she says into the receiver as if she’s my personal secretary.

She covers the mouthpiece and whispers loudly so everyone can hear, “It’s Dara from Razzle Salon, confirming your bikini and eyebrow wax appointment.” Pause. “This is Mrs. Peterson, Nikki’s chemistry teacher.” Pause. “Dara says she’s running late, so she’s calling to see if you can come at six instead of four today.”

I feel my face getting red hot as comments and snickers echo through the room. “That’s fine,” I say weakly.

Mrs. Peterson puts the phone back to her ear and says, “Dara, six o’clock will be just perfect. Okay. Yes, I will definitely let her know. You have a fabulous day, too. B’bye.”

She turns off the phone, then walks over to her desk and places it inside one of the drawers. Peterson lets out an exaggerated, hefty sigh. “I guess since it’s the first day of school I’ll be nice and give you an option. Either I get to keep your phone, or you can serve detention after school today.”

That’s her being
nice
? What’s it like when she’s being
mean
? I’ve spent three years at this school without managing to get even one blue detention slip. “I
seriously
thought it was turned off,” I say, hoping she’ll show some compassion.

She points to her deadpan expression. “Does it look like I care? Zero tolerance. You should have turned it off before you came to class. Or, better yet, left it in your locker. Or at home. It’s school policy to keep your phones completely turned off during class, Ms. Cruz. Not on vibrate and not switched to silent. You’re a senior. You’ve had three years to memorize the Fairfield High School manual.”

Memorize the manual? From her serious tone, I do think she expects us to memorize the school manual. “I’ll take a detention,” I say as the bell rings.

While everyone else files out of class, I wait for Mrs. Peterson to fill out the detention slip. She hands it to me, along with my phone.

“Don’t let it happen again,” she says. “Or you and I are not going to get along.”

I don’t mention that I’m not feeling particularly optimistic about us ever getting along.

“It’s tough love,” she calls after me as I walk out of her classroom.

I’d call it something else, but I don’t make it a habit to piss off teachers, so I keep my mouth shut and head for my locker. Kendall is standing in front of it, waiting for me. She grabs my detention out of my hand and stares at the offending words written in Mrs. Peterson’s handwriting. “I seriously can’t believe that woman gave you a detention on the first day of school. Peterson is brutal. Want me to wait for you?”

“Nah, but thanks.” My brother is walking toward us, reminding me that we’re supposed to walk home together. “I got a detention, so I can’t walk with you,” I tell him.

“You got a detention on the first day of school?” he asks, completely shocked. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“It is when you’ve got Mrs. Peterson for a teacher,” I say.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” Kendall tells Ben. “But you can’t talk about dragon slaying as if it’s a real sport.”

Ben agrees, although I’m sure he’s bummed that he can’t talk dragon slaying with her. I feel sorry for my brother, who doesn’t have many friends who share his love of gaming. He’s very popular online, but the people he plays with are anonymous … they’re not real friends.

After they leave, I resign myself to the fact that I can’t stall the inevitable. I head to the cafeteria, which doubles as the detention room after school. I’m pretty certain I’ll be the only one in there.

But as I enter the cafeteria and am handed a sign-in sheet by Mr. Harris, a gym teacher, I see I’m not alone.

Justin Dougan, wearing his letterman’s jacket even though it’s too hot outside for anything heavier than a T-shirt, is sitting in back with his head resting on top of the table. Either he’s sleeping or pretending not to care that he’s stuck in this room expected to do nothing but be silent and do homework for an hour.

There’s one other person in detention with me—Luis Fuentes.

I sit on the empty lunch table behind him, wondering the entire time how he managed to get himself in trouble. I glance back at Justin, and it doesn’t seem so impossible anymore. Justin isn’t exactly known for being the nicest kid in school. He must have provoked Luis. And Luis must have fought back.

Fights aren’t allowed at Fairfield High without consequences. Neither are cell phone calls during class.

I sit for a half hour, attempting to study because some teachers don’t think the first day of school is meant to be a blow-off day. I force myself to look down at my math book, but I can’t focus and I’m totally lost. It’s because Luis is here. I’m so aware of his presence in the room that it’s distracting.

“Hey, Nikki,” Luis whispers.

I look up and realize that Mr. Harris has walked out of the room. “What?”

Luis slides off the cafeteria bench and straddles the one right across from me. “We didn’t really have a chance to talk in Peterson’s class. Remember me from a couple of years ago?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Nope,” I lie.

He puts his hand on his chest. “Luis Fuentes. I met you at my brother’s weddin’.”

As if I’d ever forget. I wish I didn’t remember Luis Fuentes and his arrogant, annoying smile. Or the fact that he went skinny-dipping with a girl he met after flirting with me.

He’s looking at me with his head tilted to the side, assessing my response.

I look away. Then look back at him. He’s got one brow arched questioningly. It’s no use, because he’ll know the truth sooner or later. I can’t keep up the charade any longer.

I shrug. “Okay, I remember you. Happy now?”

He casually props a foot up on the bench, and I can imagine him being a model at a photo shoot doing that pose. “Are you still bitter ’cause we never got it on that night? You didn’t have to steal my clothes to get a peek at the goods, you know.”

“I did
not
steal your clothes. I just hid them. And I don’t remember seeing your …” I gesture to the general area of his crotch. “It wasn’t memorable, obviously.”

But it was. I’ve replayed that image of him, in all his glory, not looking one bit insecure or ashamed of his nakedness, many times. I hate myself for remembering him and everything he’d said to me that night in detail.

The beginning of a smirk tugs at his lips, because
he knows
. He knows I remember that moment just as clearly as he does.

Luis leaps back to his original seat as Mr. Harris walks back in the room.

“By the way,” Luis whispers to me, “you got numbers three and seven wrong.”

I look down at my math homework. “How would you know?”

He taps his head with his forefinger. “I’m kind of a math whiz. In both questions you forgot that the left-hand side requires the chain rule since
y
represents a function of
x.
”

I look down at my paper. After a minute of retracing my steps, I find out that he’s right. I look up at him in shock, but his back is turned to me again and Mr. Harris is scanning the room to make sure we’re quiet.

After an hour, Mr. Harris announces that we’ve completed our detention requirements and are free to leave. Justin is the first to go. He glares at Luis as he passes him. Luis must either pretend not to notice or he doesn’t care.

I walk out of the room. Luis walks next to me. “Looks like you need a math tutor.”