Rules Of Attraction (7 page)

smoke into my lungs. The stuff is definitely potent, because I feel the

effects before I even hand the bong to the person next to me. When

it comes back around, this time I take a long, slow hit. By the fourth

time, I’m stoned enough not to care about Kiara and her cookies or

Alex gettin’ on my case all the time, or the fact that I lied to Brittany

when I promised I wouldn’t drink or do drugs tonight.

Right now I only want to think about life’s burning questions, like . .

. “Why doesn’t Heavy Shevy shave her mustache?”

“Maybe she’s a man in disguise,” Nick says.

“But why would he choose an ugly woman as a disguise?” I ask.

Seriously.

“Maybe he’s an ugly man and has no other choice.”

“Makes sense.” I watch Madison take another hit. She sees me

watching her, then smiles at me as she wiggles her way onto my lap and

licks her lips. By the length and pointy tip of her tongue I think she

might have iguana genes in her family tree. She leans forward, her

chichis inches from my face.

“Nick has the best shit,” she coos, leanin’ back and stretching on

me like a cat on a rug. Needless to say, I’m the rug. She twists herself

around, straddles me, and wraps both arms around my neck. Her eyes

are at half-mast. “You’re sexy.”

“So are you.”

“We’re a perfect match.” She traces my chin with her finger and

leans forward. That iguana tongue of hers sneaks out and her body

starts writhing against mine. She licks my chin, which I have to admit

no girl has ever done to me before. I’m not too keen on having this girl

do it a second time, either.

We start makin’ out in front of everyone. I think Madison likes the

spotlight, ’cause when one of the girls makes a comment to one of the

guys to stop watching, Madison leans back and starts pullin’ up her shirt

like she’s a stripper at a club givin’ me a lap dance. It’s obvious Madison

wants to be watched and admired by all the guys, and envied by all the

girls. This girl is definitely an exhibitionist, but when I look to my left

and find Nick making out with a shirtless Lacey I start to wonder if

everyone is expected to show off their sexual talents in public here.

That’s not me. “Let’s go somewhere private,” I tell Madison as she

reaches down to feel me over my jeans.

She pouts for a minute, then wiggles her way off my lap and holds

out her hand. “Come on.”

The night is moving way too fast. I’d rather chill, and in the back of

my mind I remember Ram warned me about Madison, but she grabs my

hand and pulls me up.

“Have fun, you two,” Nick calls out.

Two minutes later we enter a huge room with a king-size bed

against the wall.

“Your room?” I ask.

Madison shakes her head. “It’s my parents’, but they’re hardly

home. Right now they’re in Phoenix.” I sense traces of bitterness in her

voice, and I’m sure foolin’ around on their bed is her revenge.

Should I tell her I’d rather do this on the floor instead of her

parents’ bed?

“Let’s go to your room,” I say.

She shakes her head, then pulls me closer to the bed.

“What did Ram say about me?” she asks.

“It’s kind of hard to think about that right now,” I tell her. “I’m as

baked as you are.”

“Just try and remember. Did he mention why we broke up? Because

if he did, it wasn’t all my fault. I mean, it’s not like I knew what he

knew and that I didn’t know what I was doing. And if I did know, it

wasn’t because I knew that he knew. It’s not like his mother would have

found out and have us all arrested.”

My head aches from listenin’ to her. “Okay,” I say. I have no clue

what she just said, but I figure a response of ‘okay’ might cover the

bases. One can only hope.

“Really?” she says, smiling.

Huh? I have no fuckin’ clue what I’m talkin’ about. Or what she’s

talkin’ about. She hugs me tight, her chichis pressed hard against my

chest. I hope they don’t burst from the pressure of being squished

against me.

Thoughts of bursting chichis are creepin’ me out. And my mind

wanders to thoughts of Kiara and what she looks like under those huge

shirts. For a second I think the unknown of Kiara’s body is sexier than

what Madison flaunts every day.

I squeeze my eyes shut. What am I thinkin’? Kiara isn’t sexy. She’s

frustrating and challenges me more than my own family.

“Did I tell you what Kiara did to my locker?” I ask.

She urges me onto the bed. “I don’t really care about Kiara. Stop

talking about another girl when you’re here with me.” She’s right. I

need to stop talking about Kiara. I like things that come easily to me,

and Kiara isn’t one of them. Madison is.

Before I know it, we’re gettin’ hot and heavy on her parents’ bed.

She’s sitting on me, her hair in my face. I think some of her hair is in

our mouths as we’re kissing, but she doesn’t seem to notice. I do.

She leans back. “Wanna do it?” she slurs.

Sure I want to do it. But when I look to the side and see a picture

of her parents smiling at us from one of the nightstands, it hits me.

She doesn’t want me because I’m me—she wants me because I’m a

drugged-out thug, the exact opposite of who her parents want her to

be with. But tellin’ myself I’m a thug is one thing. Actin’ like one is

another. “I gotta go,” I tell her.

“Wait. Oh, no. I’m not feeling well. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

She pushes herself up and runs to the bathroom, locking herself in.

The sounds of gagging and puking echo through the room a second

later.

I knock on the door. “Need help?”

“No.”

“Open the door, Madison.”

“No. Get Lacey.”

When I do, Lacey and a bunch of other girls rush in the room to

help. I’m standing in the doorway, watching them treat Madison like

she’s really sick instead of puking from getting drunk and stoned.

After twenty minutes of standing around being ignored, and

confident that Madison is having her every need taken care of, I figure

I’ve had enough of this party. Outside, I pull out Brittany’s pink heart

keychain. I rev the engine and put the car in drive, but when I look up

and the lines on the road are blurry I know I can’t do it. I’m too stoned,

too drunk, or a mixture of both.

Shit. I have two options. Go back in Madison’s house and find a

place to crash, or sleep in the car.

It’s not even a contest.

I push the button to recline the seat and close my eyes, hopin’

tomorrow I can figure out what actually happened tonight.

Bright. It’s too bright. I open my eyes to the morning sun hittin’ me

right in the face. I’m still in Brittany’s car. With the top down. When I

get back to Alex’s place, I find him sitting at the table with a mug of

coffee in his hands.

He stands when I toss Brittany’s keys on the table.

“You told me you’d be home in a couple of hours. Are you aware it’s

nine? De la mañana.”

I rub my palms over my eyes. “Please, Alex,” I moan. “Can you wait

until at least noon to yell at me?”

“I’m not gonna yell at you. I’m just not gonna let you drive

Brittany’s car again.”

“Fine.” I notice the air mattress is still set up. I fall onto it and

close my eyes.

Alex pulls the pillow out from under my head. “Are you high?”

“Not anymore, unfortunately.” I grab the pillow back.

I hear my brother sit on his bed and let out a heavy sigh. Poor guy

probably needs to smoke some weed to relax. I swear I can feel his

eyes boring into my skull like two little lasers.

“What do you want?” I mumble into my pillow.

“Do you not fuckin’ care about anyone but yourself?”

“Pretty much.”

“Didn’t you realize I would worry about you?”

“Nope. That thought didn’t cross my mind even once.”

Someone knocking on the door thankfully stops him from askin’ me

more questions. I hear my brother say, “Hey, chica.”

Let me guess— it’s Brittany.

“Carlos forgot to put my top up,” she tells Alex. “And it’s starting

to rain. He left your phone in the passenger seat. I hope it still works.”

If they ever get married, I feel sorry for their kids. I hope those

niños never fuck up . . . because Brittany and Alex are both lookin’ at

me as if they want to ground me for life. Too bad for them, they’re not

my parents.

TEN :
Kiara

On Monday, rumors are flying about Madison Stone’s party. Most of

them revolve around Madison and Carlos getting it on in her parents’

bed.

On Tuesday and Wednesday, I notice Madison sitting with Carlos at

his lunch table. On Thursday, Carlos isn’t even at lunch. Neither is

Madison. The happy couple must be off by themselves somewhere.

On Friday morning, Carlos is at his locker, the cookies still stuck on

the inside. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I say back.

I enter my combination, but the locker won’t open.

I try again. I know I have the numbers right, but when I pull the

handle, it doesn’t budge. I try again.

Carlos is looking over my shoulder. “Havin’ trouble?”

“No.”

I try again. This time, I pull the handle harder and jiggle it. Again,

nothing happens. He taps his fingers on the metal. “Maybe you forgot

the combination.”

“I know my combination,” I say. “I’m not stupid.”

“You sure? ’Cause that’s a turn-on.”

My thoughts turn to the rumors about him and Madison. I don’t

even know why, but the idea of them hooking up fuels my anger. “Just

go away.”

He shrugs. “If you say so.” The first bell rings. “Well, good luck. If

you ask me, it looks like someone rigged it.” He grabs his books out of

his locker and struts down the hallway.

I run after him and grab his arm. “What did you do to my locker?”

He stops. “I might have changed the combination.”

“How?”

He chuckles. “If I tell you, then I’d have to kill you.”

“Very funny. Tell me what you changed it to.”

“I will totally give you that information . . .” He taps the tip of his

forefinger on my nose. “When every last cookie is out of my locker.

Includin’ all the crumbs. See ya,” he says, ducking into the classroom

and leaving me alone in the hallway to figure out how I’m going to do it .

. . and then plot my next move.

In English class, Mr. Furie hands back our essays. He calls out our

names and one by one we have to go up to his desk.

“Kiara,” he calls out.

I walk up to get my paper. When Mr. Furie hands it to me, he’s not

smiling. “You can do a lot better than this, Kiara. I know you can. Dig

deeper next time, and don’t try to give me the answer you think I

want.”

I pass Madison on the way back to my desk. “How’s Carlos?” she

asks.

“Fine.”

“You know he only pays attention to you because he feels sorry for

you. It’s kind of sad, if you think about it.”

I ignore her and sit at my desk. A big, red C is written on the front

of the paper Mr. Furie just gave back to me. Not good, especially if I’m

going to apply for an academic scholarship.

“For the next fifteen minutes, you’re going to write a persuasion

paper,” Mr. Furie says.

“About what?” Nick Glass asks.

“The topic is . . .” Mr. Furie pauses, obviously to heighten the

anticipation and get the attention of all the students. He sits on the

edge of his desk and says, “Should people on reality shows be

considered celebrities?”

The class starts buzzing about the topic.

“Keep the noise level to a minimum, people.”

“How can we write a persuasion paper when we don’t have time to

do research?” someone in the back of the class asks.

“I’m looking for your thoughts, not research. When you’re talking

with a friend and you need to persuade him to do something, or to

change his opinion, you can’t say, ‘Hold on, I need to do research or

write down statistics.’ You just come up with arguments off the top of

your head. That’s what I’m asking you to do.”

Mr. Furie wanders around the room as we write. “If you want extra

credit, you can read the paper aloud to the class.”

That’s good. I need extra credit, and I know I can say my speech

without stuttering. I just know I can.

“Pens down,” Mr. Furie orders fifteen minutes later. He clasps his

hands together. “Okay, any volunteers to read first?”

I raise my hand high.

“Ms. Westford, come on up and share your thoughts.”

“Oh, no. Not her,” I hear Madison groan beside me. Lacey laughs,

along with a bunch of their friends.

“Do you have a problem, Madison?”

“No, Mr. Furie. I almost broke a nail!” She wiggles her manicured

fingers at him.

“Please save your nail issues for after class. Kiara, come on up.”

I pick up my paper and walk to the front of the class. I tell myself

to take deep breaths and think about the words before they come out

of my mouth. When I’m standing in front, I look over at my teacher.

He’s smiling warmly at me. “Go ahead.”

I clear my throat. And swallow, but feel my tongue getting thicker

before I even start talking, because of Madison. She’s thrown me off,

but I can overcome it. I don’t have to give her power over my