Rules Of Attraction (11 page)

When I open the door, I find my brother’s girlfriend alone. “If

you’re gonna lecture me, save your breath,” I tell her.

“I’m not here to lecture you,” she says, her bright blue eyes shining

with compassion. She weasels her way past me and enters the room.

“And although I’m sure your friends back home might appreciate

details of your sexual prowess, bragging about it in front of a six-year-

old and his parents probably isn’t the best idea.”

I hold my hand up, stopping her from continuing. “Before you go on,

I gotta be honest and say that sounds suspiciously like a lecture to me.”

She laughs. “You’re right. Sorry about that. Truth is, I came up

here to give you the cell phone. I know you and Alex are like oil and

water sometimes, so I’m here if you want to talk to someone a little

less hardheaded. I programmed both our numbers into the contacts

list.”

She places the phone on the desk.

Oh, no. I feel her trying to get close to me like the sister I never

had, but it ain’t happenin’. I don’t get close, so I decide to go for the

asshole route. It actually comes naturally to me; it’s not even an act

anymore. “You flirtin’ with me? I thought you were datin’ my brother.

Honestly, Brittany, I don’t date white chicas. Especially ones with blond

hair and skin the color of Elmer’s Glue. Did’ja ever hear of a tannin’

salon?”

Okay, the Elmer’s Glue comment was a little over-the-top. Brittany

has a golden glow to her skin, but insulting her will push her away. I’ve

done it with mi'amá. And Luis. And Alex. It never fails.

I make a big show of opening the desk drawer and dumping the

phone inside.

“You’re going to want that one day,” she says. “I have no doubt

you’ll call me.”

I give a short laugh. “You have no clue who I am or what I’ll do.”

“Wanna bet?”

I step forward, invading her personal space so she’ll back up and

know I mean business.

“Don’t piss me off, bitch. In Mexico I was hangin’ with

gangbangers.”

She doesn’t back down. Instead, she says, “My boyfriend was in a

gang, Carlos. And neither of you scare me.”

“Did anyone tell you you’d be a perfect mamacita to prove the

dumb-blond theory?”

Instead of cowering in fear or getting furious, she steps forward

and kisses my cheek. “I forgive you,” she says, then backs out of the

room and leaves me alone.

“I didn’t ask for your forgiveness. Or want it,” I say back, but she’s

already gone.

SIXTEEN :
Kiara

“I don’t think he wanted paper,” Tuck says as he straddles my desk

chair. “He was snooping. Believe me, I know snooping when I see it.”

I sigh and sit on my bed. “Did you have to bait Carlos with all that

‘yo, yo, homie’ talk?”

Sometimes Tuck just talks to amuse himself. I don’t think Carlos

appreciated Tuck’s humor.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it. He thinks he’s so tough I wanted to bring

him down a peg.” Tuck’s face perks up. “I’ve got a great idea. Let’s

snoop back.”

I shake my head. “No way. Besides, he’s probably in his room.”

“Maybe he’s back downstairs with the rest of your family. We won’t

know unless we check.”

“That’s a bad idea.”

“Oh, come on,” he moans like my brother does when he doesn’t get

his way. “Let’s have some fun. I’m bored and I have to leave soon.”

Before I have time to digest what Tuck is about to do, he

disappears into the hall. I hear his footsteps creak as he steps toward

Carlos’s room. Oh, no. This is definitely not good. Not good at all. I

grab Tuck’s arm and try to pull him back, but he doesn’t budge. I should

know better. When Tuck is on a mission, nothing can stop him. He’s kind

of like my dad that way. Carlos’s door is open a crack. Tuck peers

inside. “I don’t see him,” Tuck says.

“That’s ’cause I was takin’ a piss,” Carlos says from behind me. Oh.

No. We’re. Busted.

I suck in a breath at being caught, and pinch Tuck. This stunt really

wasn’t one of his brightest ideas. I wonder if Carlos will retaliate with

a cookie stunt of his own.

“We were just, uh, wondering how Kiara’s notebook was working out

for you,” Tuck says, not the least bit embarrassed at getting caught

and just making up stuff off the top of his head.

“Or do you need loose-leaf? ’Cause we could scrounge up some of

that if you need it.”

“Uh-huh,” Carlos says.

Tuck holds out his hand. “By the way, I don’t think we’ve been

formally introduced. I’m Tuck. You know, rhymes with luck.”

“And fuck,” Carlos adds.

“Yep, that, too,” Tuck says, unfazed. He points to Carlos with a big,

cocky smile. “You are quick with the comebacks, amigo.”

Carlos flicks Tuck’s finger away. “I’m not your amigo, asshole.”

Tuck’s cell phone rings. He slides it out of his pants and says, “I’ll

be right there,” then shrugs and says to me, “Well, I’m outta here. My

stepdad, Rick, is making me and Mom go to some stupid rope-knotting

class. Kiara, I’ll see you in school tomorrow.” He turns to Carlos. “See

you ’round, amigo.”

Tuck is out of sight in an instant, leaving me standing with Carlos in

the hallway. He steps in front of me. When Carlos has his attention

fixed on me, it’s very intimidating, whether he intends it or not. He’s

like a panther ready to pounce, or a vampire ready to suck the blood

out of anyone who stands in his way.

“By the way, I didn’t need paper. Your boy Tuck was right on. I was

snoopin’.” He walks back to his room, but turns to me before he closes

the door. “These walls are paper thin. You might want to remember

that the next time you and your boyfriend talk about me,” he says,

then slams his door shut.

SEVENTEEN :
Carlos

In the evening, I’m summoned to the Professor’s home office. I

expect his wrath. Honestly, I want his wrath. If he or that judge at

the juvie courthouse thought bringin’ me here would reform me or

change me, guess again. It’s pure instinct that makes me rebel every

time someone tries to control my life and hand out more rules.

Professor Westford tents his fingers and leans forward in his

chair, which is facing the small couch I’m sitting on. “What do you want,

Carlos?” he asks.

Huh? I’m caught off guard here. I didn’t expect him to say that. I

want to go back to Mexico and continue living my life on my terms. Or

go back to Chicago, where my friends and cousins I grew up with are . .

. I sure as hell can’t tell him I’d like to bring mi papá back from the

dead.

Westford sighs when I don’t answer. “I know you’re a tough kid,” he

says. “Alex told me you got into some heavy stuff in Mexico.”

“So?”

“So I just want you to know that you can create a new life here,

Carlos. You started off on the wrong foot, but you can wipe the slate

clean and start new. Alex and your mother want the best for you.”

“Listen, Dick. Alex doesn’t know me.”

“Your brother knows you better than you think he does. And you’re

more alike than you want to believe.”

“You just met me. You don’t know me, either. And to be honest, I

don’t have much respect for you. You opened your home to a guy who

got arrested for drugs. How come you’re not afraid of havin’ me here?”

“You’re not the first kid I’ve helped, and you won’t be the last,” he

assures me. “And I should probably let you know that before I got my

doctorate in psychology I was in the military. I saw more death and

guns and bad guys than you’ll ever see in your life. I might have gray

hair on my head, but I’m just as tough as you are when I have to be. I

think we can work together. Now, let’s get back to why I called you

down here. What is it that you want?”

I better say somethin’ to get him off my back. “To go back to

Chicago.”

Westford leans back. “Okay.”

“What’dya mean ‘okay’?”

He puts his hands up. “I mean ‘okay.’ You follow my house rules until

winter break, and I’ll get you to Chicago for a visit. I promise.”

“I don’t believe in promises.”

“Well, I do. And I don’t break them. Ever. Now, enough serious talk

for tonight. Relax and make yourself at home. Watch some TV if you

want.”

Instead, I head straight for polka-dot hell. When I pass Brandon’s

room the kid is sitting on the floor, wearing pajamas with little

baseballs, mitts, and bats splattered all over them. The little kid is

playing with plastic soldiers. He looks all innocent and happy. It’s easy

for him—he hasn’t been exposed to the real world.

The real world sucks.

As soon as he sees me, he smiles wide. “Hey, Carlos, wanna play

soldiers?”

“Not tonight.”

“Tomorrow night?” he asks, hope filling his voice.

“I don’t know.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means ask me tomorrow and I might have a different answer.”

On second thought, “Get your sister to play with you.”

“She just did. Now it’s your turn.”

My turn? This kid has serious delusions if he thinks that I actually

want a turn. “Tell you what. After school tomorrow I’ll play soccer with

you. If you can get one goal off me, I’ll play soldiers with you.”

The kid looks confused. “I thought you didn’t play soccer.”

“I lied.”

“You’re not s’posed to do that.”

“Yeah, well, when you’re a teenager you’ll be doin’ it all the time.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

I chuckle. “Call me when you’re sixteen. I guarantee you’ll have a

different opinion,” I say, then head for my room. Kiara is in the hallway.

Her ponytail is loose, and most of her hair has managed to escape. I’ve

never met any girl who cares less about her appearance.

“Where you goin’ all dressed up?” I joke.

She clears her throat, like she’s stalling. “Jogging,” she says.

“For what?”

“Exercise. You . . . can come.”

“Nah.” I’ve always had the theory that people who exercise are

white-collar stiffs, ’cause most of their day is spent sitting on their

asses. She starts to walk away, but I call her back.

“Kiara, wait.” She turns around. “Tell Tuck to stay out of my way.

And about your showertime schedule . . .”

I’m gonna let her know how it is, let her know who’s boss here. Her

father might try and dictate rules I have no intention of keepin’, but

nobody, especially not a gringa, dictates when I can take a shower. I

cross my arms over my chest and tell her straight up, “I don’t do

schedules.”

“Well, I d-do, so get used t-to it,” she says, then turns away from

me and heads straight for the stairs.

I stay in my room until morning, when the Professor’s voice bellows

through the door.

“Carlos, if you’re not up, you’d better get a move on. We’re leaving

in a half hour.”

When I hear his footsteps retreat, I crawl out of bed and head to

the bathroom. I open the door and find Brandon brushing his teeth.

He’s getting toothpaste all over our sink and his mouth, and he looks

like he’s got rabies.

“Hurry up, cachorro. I gotta take a leak.”

“I don’t know what cha-cha-cho-ro-ro means.”

The kid isn’t fluent in Spanish, that’s for sure. “Good,” I say.

“You’re not supposed to.”

Brandon finishes up while I lean against the doorway. I hear Kiara’s

door open. She walks out of her room, all dressed. Well, you can’t

exactly call it dressed. She’s got her hair up in her signature ponytail, a

yellow T-shirt with the word ‘ADVENTURELAND’ on it, baggy brown

shorts, and hiking boots.

One look at me and her eyes go all wide and her face gets all red.

She looks away.

“Ha, ha, ha!” Brandon laughs, pointing to my boxer briefs. I look

down to make sure I don’t have my own perky private showing. “Kiara

saw your underpants! Kiara saw your underpants!” he sings.

She walks downstairs and is out of sight within seconds.

I narrow my eyes at Brandon. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re

an annoyin’ little shit sometimes?”

Brandon’s hand flies to his mouth and he sucks in a breath. “You

said a bad word.”

I’m internally rolling my eyes. I’m definitely gonna have to start

speakin’ Spanish around this kid so he has no clue what I’m saying. Or

beat this kid at his own game. “I did not. I said you were an annoyin’

little spit.”

“No, you didn’t. You said shit.”

My hand flies to my mouth and I gasp. I point at him and wiggle my

finger just like a two year-old and say, “You just said a bad word.”

“You said it first, Carlos,” he argues. “I was just saying what you

said.”

“I said spit. You said somethin’ that rhymed with it. I’m tellin’.” I

open my mouth to tattle. I’m not really gonna do it, but the little diablo

doesn’t know that.

“Don’t tell. Please.”

“Fine. I’ll give you a free pass. This time. See, now we’re partners in

crime.”

He furrows his little eyebrows. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means we don’t tattle on each other.”

“But what if you do something bad?”

“Then you keep your mouth shut.”

“And if I do something bad?”

“Then I don’t tell.”

He seems to consider this for a minute. “So if you see me eat all of