Rules Of Attraction (21 page)

I also knew Carlos would be good, because Carlos wouldn’t agree to

play if he didn’t think he’d be decent at it.

The next time Carlos has the disc, Michael gets in his face and says

something. I have no clue what they’re saying, but both look like they’re

ready to fight. In fact, after Carlos tosses the disc to another guy on

his team, he gives Michael a shove, and Michael lands hard on his butt.

“Foul!” someone on Michael’s team yells.

“Foul, my ass,” Carlos argues. “He was in my face.”

“I heard him taunt our player,” Tuck calls out, then points to

Michael. “That guy should get a taunting violation.”

Michael stands and points to Carlos. “You’ve been in my face since

the game started!”

“We’re playing one-on-one,” Tuck says. “He was defending you.”

“He pushed me. You saw it. Everyone saw it. He should be kicked

out!”

If Carlos is kicked out, the game is over because The Ultimates

have to forfeit. Carlos looks at me and my heart turns over. He isn’t

playing because Tuck asked, he’s doing it for me . . . and I have a

sneaking suspicion he was getting aggressive with Michael because of

me. Thankfully the confrontation ends before it gets out of hand, and

they start the game again. I watch for the next hour as both teams

battle it out. In the end, The Ultimates win 13–9. When I climb down

off the bleachers, Michael is walking toward me. He still looks the

same, just sweatier than usual. With his bandanna now off, his light

brown hair is neatly combed to perfection in a side part. I used to be in

awe that he never had a hair out of place, but now it’s just irritating

me.

Michael wipes the sweat off his face with a towel. “I didn’t know if

you’d come to the game or not.”

“Tuck was playing,” I say, as if that explains everything. “And

Carlos.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Who’s Carlos? That gay guy I almost got in a

fight with?”

“Yeah. Except he’s not gay.”

“Don’t tell me you’re involved with him.”

“Involved isn’t exactly what I’d call it. We’re—”

Carlos suddenly appears in front of us. He’s shirtless as he slides

between Michael and me, his sweat making wet streaks across Michael’s

forearm. Michael looks at his arm in disgust, then swipes Carlos’s sweat

off with his towel. As if that didn’t make enough of a scene, Carlos

parks himself beside me and drapes his arm across my shoulder.

“We’re . . . hanging out,” I tell Michael.

Michael completely ignores the fact that Carlos is standing beside

me and asks, “What does that mean?”

“It means she’s got her hands full with a hot Latino every night,

dude,” Carlos interrupts, then pulls me closer and bends his head to

kiss me.

Instead of kissing Carlos, I push his arm off me and step away

from him. He made it sound like I’m someone he screws around with,

like we’re friends with benefits . . . maybe even without the ‘friends’

part.

“Stop it,” I tell him.

“Stop what?”

“The act. Just be normal,” I tell him, trying to save face with

Michael while trying to hide my hurt from Carlos.

“Normal? I’m not normal enough for you?” Carlos says. “You want

this guy instead? Did you notice his hair doesn’t move? That’s not

normal. You want to date him again, go ahead. Hell, if you want to marry

him and be Kiara Barra the rest of your life, be my guest.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I don’t want to hear it. Hasta,” Carlos says, ignoring me and

walking away. I feel my face heat up in embarrassment as I look back

at Michael. “Sorry. Carlos can be abrasive sometimes.”

“Don’t apologize. The guy obviously has major issues and, for the

record, my hair moves . . . when I want it to. Listen,” he says, changing

the subject. “My team is going to Old Chicago at Pearl Street Mall for

lunch. Come with me, Kiara. We need to talk.”

“I can’t.” I look back at Tuck, Brittany, and Alex. “I came with

other people . . .”

Michael waves to one of his teammates. “I’ve got to go. If you

change your mind about lunch, you know where to find me.”

I find Brittany and Alex talking to Tuck by my car. Carlos is

nowhere in sight.

“You okay?” Brittany asks me.

I nod. “Yep.”

“Excuse me for being nosy,” Brittany says, “but I saw Carlos with

his arm around you. He looked pretty angry when he stalked off, and we

haven’t seen him since. Are you and Carlos —,”

“No. We’re not.”

“They’re pretending to date, but Kiara’s not pretending,” Tuck tells

them.

“I’ll go find him,” Alex says, shaking his head in frustration. “I’ll set

him straight.”

“No, don’t,” I say in a panic. “Please don’t.”

“Why not? He can’t just go around pretending to date girls and

treat them like—”

“Alex,” Brittany interrupts, “let Kiara and Carlos figure it out

themselves.”

“But he’s being stu—” He stops midsentence as Brittany squeezes

his hand.

“They’ll figure it out,” Brittany assures him, then smiles. “Don’t

interfere just yet.”

“Why are you so logical?” he asks her.

“Because my boyfriend is hardheaded and always ready for a fight,”

she responds, then turns to me and Tuck. “Those traits run in the

Fuentes family tree. It’ll be fine in the end, Kiara,” she assures me.

I just don’t know if my heart will be shattered into pieces before

that happens.

THIRTY-FIVE :
Carlos

“Carlos, can you give me a hand with my wife’s car?” Westford asks

later in the afternoon. I’m drinking one of Mrs. W.’s special cups of tea

on the patio.

“Sure,” I say. “What’s the problem?”

“Can you help me change the oil? I also want to make sure the

muffler is attached properly. Colleen said it’s been making a rumbling

sound.”

Soon I’m helping the Professor jack up the car and steady it on

bricks he has stashed in the garage. We both shimmy under the body

while the oil drains into a small bucket.

“Did you have fun at the game this morning?” the Prof asks.

“Yeah, ’cept I didn’t know I was going to be playin’ for a gay team.”

“Did it matter?”

At first, yeah. But in the end we were all just a bunch of guys on a

team. “No. Did you know Tuck was gay?”

“He made it clear when he came to live with us a few years back.

His parents were in the middle of a messy divorce and he needed a

place to stay.” He puts down his flashlight and looks over at me. “Kinda

like you needed a place to stay.”

“Speakin’ of that: you might regret your decision after I tell you

that Kiara and I have been hangin’ out a lot.”

“That’s good. Why would that make me regret letting you stay

here?”

I wish we weren’t under a car right now as I’m sayin’ this. “What if

I told you I kissed her?”

“Oh,” he says. “I see.”

I wonder if he has the urge to tie me under the car and drop it on

me so my guts splatter all over his driveway. Or make me drink the

dirty car oil until I promise to keep my Mexican paws off his daughter.

“You were probably gonna find out sooner or later from someone

else,” I tell him.

“I appreciate your honesty, Carlos. That shows integrity, and I’m

proud of you. It probably wasn’t easy for you to tell me.”

“So are you kickin’ me out of your house, or what?” I need to know

if I’ll be out on the streets tonight.

Westford shakes his head. “No, I’m not kicking you out. You’re both

old enough to be responsible. I was a teenager once, too, and I’m not

naive enough to think kids today are any different than I was. But you

better not hurt one hair on her head or force her to do anything she

doesn’t want to do, or else I will not only kick you out of the house, I’ll

dismember you limb by limb. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Now take this flashlight and check the radiator to see if I

need to flush it.”

I take the flashlight from him, but before I get out from under

the car I say, “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Not treatin’ me like a gangbanger.”

He smiles. “You’re welcome.”

After I help Westford with the car, I call Mamá and Luis. I tell

them about the Ultimate game, and Kiara, and the Westfords, and all

the other bullshit. It feels good to talk to mi familia. When I tell them

I haven’t ditched school I feel like I have a family cheering section. I

haven’t felt that way in a long time. Obviously I leave out the part

about Devlin, because there’s no way I’m putting mi'amá through the

stress of knowing that detail. After the call, I walk into the kitchen

but there’s no sign of any Westford. “We’re in the den,” Mrs. W. calls

out to me. “Come join us.”

The entire Westford family is sitting in front of the television in

the small room off to the side of the house. The professor and his wife

are in separate chairs, and Kiara and Brandon are sharing the couch.

Slices of lasagna are set on the coffee table in front of them.

“Take a plate, some lasagna, and a seat,” Westford instructs.

“It’s Family Fun Night!” Brandon yells as he jumps up and down on

the couch.

“Family Fun Night?” I question. “What’s that?”

Mrs. W. picks up a plate and hands it to me. “It’s where we pick an

activity and do it together, as a family. It’s a once-a-month thing we

do.”

“You guys are kiddin’ me, right?” I look around at all of them and

realize they’re not joking. They really do have Family Fun Night, and

they really do want to hang out together on a Saturday night.

When I look over at Kiara, I think it wouldn’t be so bad to spend

the night just chilling in front of the TV. I pile my plate with food and

head for the couch.

“Move over, cachorro.”

Brandon scoots between me and Kiara.

After we finish dinner, I help bring the dirty plates to the kitchen

while Kiara makes the popcorn.

“You don’t have to do all this family stuff with us if you don’t want

to,” Kiara tells me.

I shrug. “I didn’t want to go out anyway.” I toss a piece of popcorn

into the air and catch it in my mouth.

I walk back in the family room with my mind more on Kiara than

anything else. Even when the cartoon movie comes on that Brandon

picked, I sneak glances at her.

“Bran, time for bed,” Mrs. W. says after the movie is over.

“I want to stay up,” he whines, then grabs on to Kiara’s arm.

“No way. You’ve been going to bed too late,” Mrs. Westford says.

“Now give your sister and Carlos a hug and come with me.”

Brandon stands on the couch and whips himself into Kiara’s arms.

She hugs him tight and kisses him on the cheek. “Love you more than

you love me,” he tells her.

“Not possible,” she says back.

He wiggles out of her arms and hops on the couch over to my side.

He opens his arms wide and wraps them around my neck. “Love you,

amigo.”

“You speakin’ Español, cachorro?”

“Yeah. I learned it in class this week. Amigo is friend.”

I pat him on the back. “You are my little Mexicano wannabe, aren’t

you?”

“What’s a wannabe?”

“He’ll explain it in the morning. Time for bed, Bran,” Mrs. W. says.

“Now. No more wasting time.”

“You kids pick the next movie,” Westford says, tossing us the

remote. “I’m going to make more popcorn. Bran, I’ll be up to say good

night after you get in pj’s and brush your teeth.”

Mrs. W. takes Brandon upstairs and the Professor leaves with the

empty popcorn bowls. I’m alone with Kiara. At last.

I sit with one arm over the back of the couch and the other resting

on my knee. I’m all too aware of this girl beside me. She gets up and

walks over to a cabinet lined with rows of movies—obviously the

Westfords’ personal collection. I’ve never been in a house with an

entire collection of movies before.

“I can’t be normal with you,” I tell her.

She turns to me, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“This morning in front of Michael you asked me to be normal.” I

take a deep breath and tell her what I should have said after the

game. Instead of lettin’ her ignore me when I finally got home, I should

have told her the truth. “I can’t. When Tuck told me you’d dated

Michael, all these visions of you with another guy drove me nuts. I don’t

want you with another guy.”

“I don’t want to be with another guy. I want to be with you. Now

pick a movie before I say something you don’t want to hear.” She waves

me over. “Pick one.”

“Whatever you want to watch is fine,” I tell her, pushing aside the

comment about her not telling me what I don’t want to hear. I’ve heard

enough. She wants to be with me. I want to be with her. Why

complicate it by sayin’ anything else?

She pulls out West Side Story and I laugh. “You like that movie?”

“Yeah. I like the dancing. And the singing.”

I wonder if she can move as well as she fixes cars. Or if she thinks

an interracial couple is doomed because they’re too different. “Do you

dance?”

“A little. Do you? I mean besides the, um, horizontal tango.”

Kiara surprises me sometimes. I’m always shocked when she shows

glimpses of her spicy attitude. “Yeah. Back in Mexico my friends and I