Rules Of Attraction (14 page)

“No.” The dude, who I don’t think has cut his hair in at least nine

months, reaches out and pokes at the tattoo on my forearm. “What

does that mean?”

I flick his hand away. “It means if you touch me again I’m gonna

kick your ass.”

Kiara is now standing behind Tuck’s chair. She doesn’t look happy.

“Speaking of kicking ass, how was your first day at REACH?” Tuck

asks, with a grin that makes me want to tip over his chair.

Kiara grabs his sleeve and yanks him away from the table. He falls

off the chair. “Kiara has to ask you something, Carlos.”

“No. No, I don’t,” Kiara chokes out, then grabs him again and starts

pulling him into the store.

“Yes, you do. Ask him,” he says before they both stumble into the

store and out of my view.

TWENTY-TWO :
Kiara

I push Tuck inside. “Stop it,” I whisper.

We’re at the back of the store now, where nobody else can hear us.

“Why?” Tuck asks. “You need a guy to stand in front of old people

with you, and he needs something to do besides sit around and count

his tattoos all day. It’s a perfect idea.”

“No, it’s not.”

My mom shimmies her way next to us and hugs Tuck. “What’s up?”

“I can’t help Kiara with her painting class on Friday, so she wants to

ask Carlos to take my place,” Tuck says.

A big smile crosses my mom’s lips. “Oh, honey, that’s so nice of you

to include him in your activities. You’re so special.” She squeezes me in

a huge bear hug. “Isn’t my daughter the best?”

“Definitely, Mrs. Westford. The best.”

Tuck is such a suck-up when it comes to my parents.

“Kiara, when you and Tuck are done here, take Carlos home. He was

with Alex, but I think they had a disagreement or something. I’ll be

leaving in about an hour, but I need to pick up Brandon from his

friend’s house and your father is making dinner. Oh, and once you get

home, you might want to supervise so there’s something edible for us.”

After my mom makes us tea, I find Carlos outside drinking what I

suspect is one of my mother’s special blends. He seems to like it,

although I can’t be sure because his face is an emotionless mask.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tuck says, saluting me with his paper cup.

“What did you want to ask me?” Carlos asks. He sounds annoyed.

Will you dress up as a cowboy on Friday night and model in front of

old people? “Nothing.” I just can’t get the words out.

My mom comes out to chat with customers. I watch as she makes

conversation with each and every person as if she’s their personal

friend. When she reaches our table, she leans down to make sure we’re

drinking our tea.

“I see you liked it,” she says to Carlos. My mom takes such pride in

her tea blends that if she finds the right custom blend for a hard-to-

please customer, it makes her feel like she’s won the lottery. “I

understand Kiara wants to ask you to be a model for her on Friday at

The Highlands. It should be fun.”

Carlos gives me a what the hell is she talkin’ about? look.

“Want more tea?” my mom asks him.

“No, thanks.”

“Kiara can drive you home. Right, sweetie?”

“Yeah. Let’s go,” I say before my mother says anything more.

When we reach my car, Carlos tries to pull on the passenger-door

handle.

“You have to climb through the window,” I tell him.

“You’re kiddin’ me, right?”

I shake my head. “I’m not kidding.” That’s my next project, after I

fix the clock and radio.”

Carlos climbs in the car with ease, his feet entering first before

his whole body slides into the vinyl bucket seat. I wish the radio or old

tape player worked, because I think Carlos is getting anxious after five

minutes of me driving in silence.

He shifts in the seat. “What’s this modelin’ thing about?”

“It’s modeling for a nursing-home painting class on Friday night. You

don’t have to do it. I wasn’t even going to ask you.”

“Why not?”

We’re at a stop sign, so I turn to him and say the truth. “Because

you’d be posing with me, and I knew you wouldn’t agree to do it.”

TWENTY-THREE :
Carlos

I get it. She wouldn’t want to pose with a guy who’d get busted for

drugs. “I can bring Madison,” I tell her in the cocky tone I know grates

on her nerves. “She’d pose with me. On second thought, she invited me

to her house Friday night, so I can’t make your little paintin’ party.”

“I don’t know what you see in her.”

“A lot more than I see in you,” I lie to push her away. Truth is, I

don’t see anything in Madison. I’ve been trying to avoid the girl since

she puked at her party, but since she’s on my list of people who might

have framed me, I’ve got to get closer to her. Kiara doesn’t need to

know that. Hell, Kiara shouldn’t know I’ve been thinkin’ about her and

her cookies way more than I ever should.

When we arrive at the house, Kiara storms out of the car.

I get a snack in the kitchen a little while later and see Kiara cutting

vegetables. I wonder if she’d like to see my head on that board along

with the carrots.

“Hey, Carlos,” the Professor says when he walks in. “How was

REACH?”

“It sucked.”

“Can you be more specific?” my guardian asks.

“It really sucked,” I elaborate, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Your vocabulary astounds me,” he says. “Hey, I need both your

help today after dinner.”

“With what?” I ask.

“Pulling weeds.”

“Don’t you rich people have gardeners to do that?” I ask.

The answer is no, because after dinner Westford escorts us to the

backyard with big paper bags.

He tosses canvas gloves to me and Kiara. “I’ll take the side yard.

Kiara, you and Carlos tackle the back.”

“Daddy!” Brandon yells out from the patio door. “Carlos said he’d

play soccer with me today.”

“Sorry, Bran. Carlos has to help pull weeds in the yard,” Westford

says to the little kid.

“You can help,” Kiara says to him. Brandon looks all too happy to

help her.

I remember when I was younger and Alex invited me to help him do

yard work. He always made me feel useful. “Yo, Brandon, I could use

your help, too,” I say. “After you help me, I’ll play with you.”

“Really?” the little kid says.

“Yeah. Just make sure the bag is wide open so when I toss in the

weeds they fall in the bag.”

He rushes over to the bag and holds it open. “Like this?”

“Yeah.”

Kiara is on her hands and knees, pulling weeds and tossing them in

her own bag. I can’t imagine Madison ever kneeling in dirt and

subjecting herself to manual labor. I also can’t imagine her having a

vintage car that doesn’t even have a usable passenger door.

“You’re going too slow,” Brandon observes. “I bet Kiara has more

weeds in her bag than you have in yours.” The kid runs over to inspect

the inside of Kiara’s bag. “She’s winning.”

“Not for long.” I grab a bunch of weeds and rip them out of the

ground. A few have prickly stems pokin’ me through the gloves, but I

don’t care.

I look over at Kiara, workin’ faster than before. She’s definitely

showing her competitive side.

“Done!” she yells out, standing up at the left side of the yard and

pulling the gardening gloves off with attitude. She picks Brandon up

and twirls him around until they both fall on the grass laughing.

“You better be careful, Kiara,” I call out to her. “Your personality is

startin’ to show.”

While Brandon’s back is turned, Kiara flashes me the one-finger

salute as she walks to her car.

I have definitely gotten on her bad side.

“Now we can play soccer! Go by the goal,” Brandon says, pointing to

the little net in the yard.

“Remember, if I get it past you, you said you’d play G.I. Joe with

me.”

I stand by the goal while Brandon tries kicking the ball past me. I

have to give the little dude credit. He tries until he’s sweating and

panting, never giving up even though it’s a lost cause.

“This time I’m gonna do it,” he says for the fiftieth time. He points

to something behind me. “Look! Over there!”

“That’s the oldest trick in the book, little man.” I appreciate his

attempt at cheating, but he picked the wrong guy.

“No, really. Look!” Brandon cries out.

He sounds convincing, but I’m still not taking my eye off of his

soccer ball. I’d rather block shots all day than play with dolls.

He kicks the ball, but I block it once again. “Sorry, man.”

“Brandon, time for your bath,” Mrs. Westford yells from the patio.

“Just a few more kicks, Mom. Please.”

She looks at her watch. “Two more, then bath time. I’m sure Carlos

has homework to do.”

After two more unsuccessful attempts, I tell Brandon to give up.

He skips into the house. He’s pretty coordinated, but I wonder at what

age boys realize they’re just not supposed to skip. On my way upstairs,

I pass the dining room. Kiara is sitting at the big table, her head in a

bunch of thick textbooks.

Strands of hair have escaped her ponytail, falling in her face. It

makes me wonder what she’d look like with it all down.

She glances up, then snaps her head back down.

“You should wear your hair down,” I tell her. “You might look more

like Madison that way.”

She answers by flipping me off again.

I laugh. “Be careful,” I warn. “I hear in some countries every time

you do that, they chop off a finger.”

I wait two days to break into Nick’s and Madison’s lockers, thanks

to one of Kiara’s cookie magnets (minus the cookie) and a small

screwdriver I took from Kiara’s car. In the middle of third period, I

ask to go to the bathroom but end up searching Madison’s locker. In

her book bag are books, makeup, and a bunch of notes from Lacey and

other girls. In a stroke of luck, she left her cell in the side pocket of

her bag. I grab her phone and take it with me to the bathroom, where

I scroll through her call log texts, calendar, and contacts. Nothing out

of the ordinary here, except that Friday after school she called Nick

more times than I can count on two hands.

I put her phone back before I head to class.

That leaves Nick. I see him briefly in the halls at school and have

been staking out his locker, but I don’t have classes with the guy.

During lunch hour the halls are too busy, but right after lunch I sneak

into the halls and put the magnet and screwdriver to use again. Nick’s

locker is a damn mess. In his backpack are a bunch of names scribbled

on pieces of paper with codes on them. They’re probably his customers

or suppliers, but they’re all written in that stupid code.

I’ve been here too long already. But I feel close, as if Paco or Papá

is driving me to look further. I dig through his backpack, hoping to find

his phone or some other evidence that he was connected to my getting

busted. But all I find are a bunch of papers. Someone is coming up the

stairs. I can hear footsteps coming closer. If it’s the principal, I’m

busted. If it’s Nick, I’d better be ready for a fight. I quickly thumb

through the mess of papers, until . . . yeah, I got it.

It’s the one scrap of paper that’s not in code. It’s someone’s name

that I’m all too familiar with . . . Wes Devlin, a drug lord with deep

connections to the Guerreros del barrio, and a phone number written

right below it.

I shove the number in my pocket, then close the locker right

before someone comes up the stairs.

Nick better watch out, ’cause very soon I’m gonna pay him a visit . .

. one that he won’t forget anytime soon.

TWENTY-FOUR :
Kiara

After school on Wednesday, I’m washing my car in my driveway

when Alex drops off Carlos after REACH. Alex comes over to me and

picks up an extra sponge.

“Your dad said you’re havin’ problems with the radio even after I

put the spring in.”

“Yeah.” I love my car, but . . . “It’s imperfectly perfect.”

“I guess that’s one way to describe it. Sounds like some people I

know.” Alex peers inside the car. “Brittany’s car is fast, but this thing

has some juice left.” He sits in one of the bucket seats. “I could get

used to this. One of our customers has a ’73 Monte Carlo for sale. I’m

thinkin’ about buyin’ it. Did Carlos tell you he worked at my cousin’s auto

body back in Chicago?”

“No.”

“I’m surprised. Carlos always hung out with Enrique at the shop. He

loves workin’ on cars probably more than me.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Carlos asks. He’s been

leaning against our garage this entire time. I know this because, well,

when Carlos is anywhere near me I can sense it. I’ve purposely been

avoiding him since Monday, which has been working out fine for both of

us.

When Alex leaves a little later, Carlos steps forward. “Need help?”

I shake my head.

“Are you ever gonna talk to me again? Dammit, Kiara, enough with

the silent treatment. I’d rather have you say your little two-word

sentences than stop talkin’ altogether. Hell, just flip me off again.”

I toss my backpack in the backseat and start the engine.