Perfect Chemistry 1 (36 page)

I can't listen anymore. Hector set me up to get arrested so I'd

owe him. And he set up the drug deal, duping me to think it's a step up

when it was only a step into his trap. He probably suspected someone

would spill the truth, and soon. I hurry to my dresser, my mind set on

what I need to do--confront my father's killer.

The gun is gone.

"Did you go in my drawer?" I growl at Carlos, grabbing him by the

collar as he's sitting on the living room couch.

"No, Alex," Carlos says. "!Creeme! Paco was here earlier, and he

went to our room, but he said it was just to borrow one of your

jackets."

Paco took my gun. I should have known. But how did Paco know I

wouldn't be home to catch him?

Brittany.

Brittany stalled me tonight on purpose. She said not to be mad at

Paco. They were both trying to protect me, because I was too stupid

and cowardly to stick up for myself and face the facts that were right

in front of my face.

Brittany's words as she got in her car ring in my ears. Don't be mad

at Paco.

I hurry to mi'ama's room. "If I don't come back tonight, you've got

to take Carlos and Luis to Mexico," I tell her.

"But, Alejandro--"

I sit on the edge of her bed. "Mama, Carlos and Luis are in danger.

Save them from my fate. Please."

"Alex, don't talk like that. Your father talked like that."

I'm just like Papa, I want to say, and made the same mistakes. I

won't let it happen to my brothers. "Promise me. I need to hear you say

it. I'm dead serious."

Tears are streaming down her face. She kisses my cheek and hugs

me tight. "I promise . . I promise."

I hop on Julio and call someone I never thought I'd call for advice-

-Gary Frankel. He urges me to do something I'd never thought I'd do--

call the cops and inform them what's going down.

FIFTY-THREE : Brittany

I've been sitting in Sierra's driveway for five minutes. I still can't

believe Alex and I did it. I don't regret a single minute of it, but I still

don't believe it.

Tonight I sensed desperation in Alex, though, as if he wanted to

prove something to me through actions instead of words. I'm mad at

myself for getting emotional, but I couldn't help it. The tears

streamed out from joy, happiness, love. And when I saw a tear escape

from his eye, I kissed it. . . I wanted to save that tear forever because

it was the first time Alex let me see him like that. Alex doesn't cry; he

doesn't let himself get that emotional about anything.

Tonight changed him, whether he wants to face that fact or not.

I've changed, too.

I walk into Sierra's house. Sierra is sitting on her living room

couch. My father and mother are sitting across from her.

"This looks suspiciously like an intervention," I tell them.

Sierra says, "Not an intervention, Brit. A talk."

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" my dad says. "You're not living at home."

I stand in front of both my parents, wondering how we got to this

point. My mother is in a black pants suit and her hair is in a bun, as if

she's dressed for a funeral. My dad is wearing jeans and a sweatshirt,

and his eyes are bloodshot. He's been up all night, I can tell. And

maybe my mom has, too, but she'd never show it. She'd put in Visine to

mask it all.

"I can't play the perfect daughter anymore. I'm not perfect," I

say calmly and evenly. "Can you accept that?"

My dad's eyebrows come together, as if he's struggling to keep his

composure. "We don't want you to be perfect. Patricia, tell her how you

feel."

My mom shakes her head, as if she can't comprehend why I'm

making a big deal about this. "Brit, this has gone on long enough. Stop

pouting, stop rebelling, stop being selfish. Your father and I don't want

you to be perfect. We want you to be the best you can be, that's all."

"Because Shelley, no matter how hard she tries, can't possibly live

up to your expectations?"

"Don't bring Shelley into this," my dad says. "It's not fair."

"Why not? This is all about Shelley." I'm feeling defeated, like no

matter how many words come out of my mouth to try and explain it,

it'll never come out right. I plop myself down in one of the plush, velvet

chairs in front of them. "For the record, I didn't run away. I'm staying

at my best friend's house."

My mom brushes away a piece of lint on her thigh. "Thank goodness

for her. She's been telling us what's been going on with you, giving us

daily reports."

I look over at my best friend, still sitting in the corner as a witness

to the Ellises' meltdown. Sierra puts her hands up guiltily as she heads

for the door to hand out candy to late trick-or-treaters who just rang

the bell.

My mom sits up straight on the edge of the couch. "What will it

take for you to come home?"

I want so much from my parents, probably more than they're

capable of giving. "I don't know."

My dad puts his hand on his forehead, as if he has a headache. "Is

it that bad at home?"

"Yeah. Well, not bad. But stressful. Mom, you stress me out. And

Dad, I hate it when you come and go like the house is your hotel. We're

all strangers living in the house. I love you both, but I don't want to

always be 'the best I can be.' I just want to be me. I want to be free

to make my own decisions and learn from my mistakes without freaking

out, feeling guilty, or worrying that I'm not living up to your

expectations." I choke back tears. "I don't want to let you two down. I

know Shelley can't be like me. I'm so sorry . . . please don't send her

away because of me."

My dad kneels beside me. "Don't be sorry, Brit. We're not sending

her away because of you. Shelley's disability isn't your fault. It's

nobody's fault."

My mom is silent and still, staring at the wall as if she's in a trance.

"It's my fault," she says.

Everyone focuses on my mom because those are the last words we

expected to come out of her mouth.

"Patricia?" my dad says, trying to get her attention.

"Mom, what are you talking about?" I ask.

She's looking straight ahead. "All these years I've blamed myself."

"Patricia, it's not your fault."

"When I had Shelley, I took her to playgroups," my mom says in a

soft voice as if she's talking to herself. "I admit I envied the other

moms with the normal kids who could keep their heads up on their own

and grasp things. Most of the time I got the pity stares. I hated that.

I became obsessed with thinking I could've prevented her from being

disabled by eating more vegetables and exercising more--I blamed

myself for her condition even when your father insisted it wasn't my

fault." She looks at me and smiles wistfully. "Then you came along. My

blond-haired, blue-eyed princess."

"Mom, I'm no princess and Shelley's not someone to pity. I'm not

always going to date the guy you want me to date, I'm not always going

to dress the way you want me to dress, and I'm definitely not always

going to act the way you want. Shelley isn't going to live up to your

expectations either."

"I know."

"Will you ever be okay with it?"

"Probably not."

"You're so critical. Oh, God, I'd do anything for you to stop blaming

me for every little thing that goes wrong. Love me for who I am. Love

Shelley for who she is. Stop focusing on the bad stuff because life is

just too damn short."

"You don't want me being concerned because you've decided to

date a gang member?" she asks.

"No. Yes. I don't know. If I didn't feel like you'd be judgmental,

I'd share it with you. If you could meet him . . . he's just sooo much

more than people see on the outside. If you want me to sneak around

just so I can be with him, I'll do it."

"He's a gang member," my mom says dryly.

"His name is Alex."

My dad leans back. "Knowing his name doesn't change the fact that

he's in a gang, Brittany."

"No, it doesn't. It's a step in the right direction, though. Would

you rather have me be truthful, or sneaking around?"

It took us an hour until my mom agreed to try and stop hovering so

much. And for my dad to agree to come home twice a week from work

before six.

I agreed to have Alex come by the house so they could meet him.

And to tell them where I'm going and who I'm going with. They haven't

agreed to approve or like my choice in boyfriends, but it's a start. I

want to try making things right because picking up the pieces is way

better than leaving them the way they are.

FIFTY-FOUR : Alex

The deal is supposed to happen here, at the forest preserve in

Busse Woods.

The parking lot and area beyond are dark, with a sliver of moonlight

to guide me. The place is deserted, except for a blue sedan with its

lights on. I walk farther into the woods and catch a glimpse of a dark

figure lying on the ground.

I run while dread washes over me. I recognize my jacket the closer

I get. It's like seeing my own death in front of me.

Kneeling on the ground, I slowly turn the body over.

Paco.

"Oh, shit," I cry as I feel his hot, wet blood soak my hands.

Paco's eyes are glazed, but he moves his hand slowly and grabs onto

my arm. "I fucked up."

I rest Paco's head on my thighs. "I told you to stop interferin' with

my life. Don't die on me, you better not die on me," I choke out. "Holy

shit, you're bleedin' all over."

Bright red blood streams out of his mouth.

"I'm scared," he whispers, then winces in pain.

"Don't leave me. Hold on and it'll be fine." I hold Paco tightly,

knowing I just lied to him. My best friend is dying. There's no going

back. I feel his pain as if it's my own.

"Lookie here, it's pretend Alex and his sidekick, the real Alex.

Some Halloween night, ain't it?"

I turn to the sound of Hector's voice.

"It's too bad I couldn't tell it was Paco I was shooting at," he

continues. "Man, you two look so different in daylight. I guess I should

get my eyes checked." He pulls a gun on me.

I'm not scared. I'm angry. And I need answers. "Why did you do

this?"

"If you must know, it's your father's fault. He wanted out of the

Blood. But there is no out, Alex. He was the best we had, your padre.

Right before he died, he tried to quit. That last drug deal was his

challenge, Alex. Father-son drug deal. You both make it out alive, he

wins." He laughs, a cackling sound reverberating in my ears. "The stupid

motherfucker never had a chance. You're too much like your old man. I

thought I could train you to take his place as a great drug and gun

dealer. But no, you really are like your old man. A quitter . . un rajado."

I look down at Paco. He's hardly breathing, the air barely making it

out of his lungs. Looking down at his blood-stained chest, the growing

red bull's-eye reminds me of my papa. This time, though, I'm not six

years old. Everything is crystal clear.

My eyes meet Paco's for an intense second.

"The Latino Blood betrayed us both, man," are the last words Paco

says before his eyes glaze over and he falls limp in my arms.

"Put him down, already! He's dead, Alex. Just like your old man. Get

up and face me!" Hector yells, waving his gun in the air like a lunatic.

I gently lay Paco's lifeless body on the ground and stand, ready to

fight.

"Put your hands on your head so I can see 'em. You know, when I

killed el viejo you cried like an escuincle, a baby, Alex. You cried in my

arms, the guy who killed him. Ironic, huh?"

I was only six. If I'd known it was Hector, I wouldn't have joined

the Blood. "Why'd you do it, Hector?"

"Boy, you'll never learn, will you? You see, tu papa thought he was

better than me. I showed him, didn't I? He bragged that the south

side of Fairfield was a cut above since the high school was in a rich

hood. Said in Fairfield there were no gangs. I changed that, Alex. Got

my guys to go in and make every household belong to me. It was either

come to me, or lose everything. That, my boy, is what makes me el

jefe."

"It makes you a madman."

"Madman. Genius. Same thing." Hector pushes me with the gun.

"Now get on your knees. I think this is a good place for you to die.

Right here in the woods, like an animal. You want to die like an animal,

Alex?"

"You're the animal, asshole. You could at least look me in the eye

when you murder me, like you did to my father."

When Hector walks around me, I finally have a chance. Grabbing

Hector's wrist, I force him to the ground.

Hector swears and is fast to his feet, the gun still in his hand. I

use his disorientation to my advantage and kick him in the side.

Whirling around, Hector knocks the side of my head with the butt of

his gun. I fall on my knees, cursing the fact that I'm not invincible.

Thoughts of mi papa and Paco give me the strength to fight back

through the blur. I'm all too aware Hector is trying to get a good shot

at me.

When I kick Hector back, I scramble to my feet. Hector's Clock is