Rules Of Attraction (4 page)

name?”

“Carlos.”

She eyes the Ramiro kid. “He’s Mexican, you’re Mexican. Make sure

you two Spanish speakers pair up.”

I follow Ramiro back to one of the lab tables. “Is she for real?” I

ask.

“Pretty much. Last year I heard Heavy Shevy called this guy Ivan

‘The Russian’ for six months before she learned his name.”

“Heavy Shevy?” I question.

“Don’t look at me,” Ramiro says. “I didn’t make it up. She’s had that

nickname for at least twenty years.”

The class bell rings, but everybody is still talking. Heavy Shevy is

back on her computer, still busy with her e-mail.

“Me llamo Ramiro, but it’s too beaner so everyone calls me Ram.”

My name’s beaner, too, but I don’t feel the need to dis my heritage

and change my name to Carl to fit in. One look at me and you know I’m

Latino, so why pretend to be somethin’ else?

I’ve always accused Alex of wanting to be white because he refuses

to be called by his given name, Alejandro.

“Me llamo Carlos. You can call me Carlos.”

Now that I’m paying more attention to him, I notice that Ram’s

wearing some golf shirt with a designer logo. He might have family in

Mexico, but I bet su familia doesn’t live anywhere near mine.

“So what’s there to do for fun here?” I ask him.

“The question is what’s there not to do,” Ram says. “Hang out at

Pearl Street Mall, go to the movies, hike, snowboard, raft, mountain

climb, party with chicks from Niwot and Longmont.”

None of those things are my idea of fun, except for the partying

part. Across the table from us is that hot girl Madison. Along with her

tight clothes, she’s got long, streaked blond hair, a big smile, and even

bigger chichis that actually rival Brittany’s. Not that I’m lookin’ at my

brother’s girlfriend, but they’re kinda hard to miss. Madison leans

across the table. “I hear you’re the new guy,” she says. “I’m Madison.

And you are . . .”

“Carlos,” Ram blurts out before I can say anythin’.

“I’m sure he can introduce himself, Ram,” she hisses, then tucks

her hair behind her ear, showing off diamond earrings that might

actually blind someone if the sun hit ’em at the right angle. She leans

toward me and bites her bottom lip. “You’re the new guy from Meh-

hee-co?”

It’s always irritating when the white kids try to sound like they’re

Mexican. I wonder what else she’s heard about me. “Sí,” I say.

She flashes me a sexy smile and leans closer. “Estás muy caliente.”

I think she just called me hot. That’s not the way we say it in Meh-hee-

co, but I get the idea. “I could use a good Spanish tutor. My last one

turned out to be a total loser.”

Ram clears his throat. “¡Qué tipa! If you haven’t guessed, I was her

last tutor.”

I’m still watching Madison. She’s definitely got it goin’ on, and

obviously has no problem flaunting her assets. While honey-skinned,

exotic Mexican chicas are my usual type, I suspect no guy can resist

Madison. And she knows it.

When a girl calls her over to the next table, I turn to Ram. “Did’ja

tutor her, or date her?” I ask him.

“Both. Sometimes simultaneously. We broke up a month ago. Take

my advice and stay away. She bites.”

“Literally?” I ask, grinning.

“Honestly, you don’t want to get close enough to her to find out the

answer to that question. Just know that toward the end of our

relationship, I became the student and she became the tutor. And I’m

not talkin’ ’bout Spanish.”

“Está sabrosa. I’ll take my chances.”

“Then go for it, man,” Ram says with a shrug, just as Heavy Shevy

gets up and starts to teach. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I don’t plan on bein’ anyone’s boyfriend, but I wouldn’t mind bringin’

a couple of girls from Flatiron High back to Alex’s place just to prove

I’m the complete opposite of him. I glance back at Madison and she

smiles like there’s a promise of something more. Yeah, she’d definitely

be perfect to bring home to Alex. She’s like Brittany, but without the

halo over her head.

After suffering through my morning classes, I’m definitely ready

for lunch. When the bell rings, I’m glad Kiara’s not outside waiting for

me like she said she would. I head to my locker to get the lunch I

packed from Alex’s fridge.

Maybe my peer guide quit. That’s cool with me, except it takes me

ten minutes to find the cafeteria. When I walk into the lunchroom, I’m

ready to sit by myself at one of the round tables until I see Ram

waving me over.

“Thanks for ditching me,” a voice says from behind me.

I glance back at my peer guide. “I thought you quit.”

She shakes her head as if that’s the most ridiculous thing she’s

ever heard. “Of course I didn’t quit. I just couldn’t get out of class

early.”

“That’s too bad,” I say, pretending to be sympathetic. “I would have

waited if I knew . . .”

“Yeah, right.” She nods at Ram’s table. “Go sit with Ram. I saw him

waving you over.”

I give her a shocked look. “Are you actually givin’ me permission to

sit with him?”

“You can sit with me,” she says, as if that’s an option I’d jump at.

“No, thanks.”

“That’s what I thought.”

While Kiara stands in the hot-lunch line, I walk over to Ram’s table.

I straddle the back of a chair as Ram introduces me to his friends, all

white dudes that look like clones of one another. They’re talking about

girls and sports and their fantasy football teams. I doubt any of them

would survive one day at the sugar mill back in Mexico. Some of my

friends made less than fifteen dollars a day. These guys’ watches

probably cost more than some of my friends’ yearly salaries.

Madison appears at our table when Ram goes back to the cafeteria

line. “Hey, guys,” she says.

“My parents are going out of town this weekend. I’m having a party

on Friday night if y’all want to come. Just don’t tell Ram about it.”

Madison reaches into her purse and pulls out a tube of lip gloss.

She dips the wand in a bunch of times, then puckers up and places it on

her lips. Just when I think she’s done, her lips form a perfect O and

she swirls the wand around and around. I check to see if anyone else is

following the erotic lip-gloss show. Sure enough, two of Ram’s friends

have stopped talking and are totally focused on Madison and her special

talent. Ram comes back and is totally focused on eating his slice of

pepperoni pizza.

The smack of Madison’s lips brings my attention back to her.

“Carlos, let me write down my info for you,” she says, then pulls out a

pen and grabs my arm. She starts writing her phone number and

address on my forearm above my tats as if she’s an artist. When she’s

done, she waves by wiggling her fingers, then walks away to sit with her

friends. I take a bite of my sandwich and scan the cafeteria, searching

for Kiara, the anti-Madison. She’s sitting with a guy with shaggy blond

hair that falls in his face. The dude is about my height, my build. Is he

her boyfriend? If he is, I feel sorry for him. Kiara is the kind of girl

who would expect her boyfriend to be submissive and kiss her ass. My

body and mind aren’t wired to be submissive, and you’ll find me dead

before you find me kissin’ anyone’s ass.

Four :
Kiara

“So how was being a peer guide?” my mom asks me at the dinner

table. “I know you were looking forward to it this morning.”

“Not the best,” I answer as I hand my little brother a third napkin

because he’s got spaghetti sauce all over his face.

I think back to the end of eighth period, when I showed up to

Carlos’s class only to find he’d already left for the day. “Carlos ditched

me twice.”

Dad, a psychologist who thinks people are specimens to be analyzed,

furrows his brows as he scoops up a second helping of green beans.

“Ditch you? Why would he do that?”

Um . . . “Because he thinks he’s too cool to be escorted around

school.”

My mom pats my hand. “Ditching your peer guide is not cool at all,

but be patient with him. He’s been displaced. It’s not easy.”

“Your mom’s right. Don’t be too judgmental, Kiara,” my dad says.

“He’s probably just trying to find out where he fits in. Alex stopped in

my office after class and we had a long talk. Poor kid. He’s just twenty

himself, and now he’s responsible for a seventeen-year-old.”

“Why don’t you invite Carlos over tomorrow after school?” Mom

suggests.

Dad points his fork at her. “That’s a great idea.”

I’m sure the last thing Carlos wants to do is come to my house. He’s

made it perfectly clear he’s just tolerating me this week because he

has to. Once my peer guide job is done on Friday, he’s probably going to

have a party to celebrate. “I don’t know.”

“Do it,” Mom says, ignoring my hesitation. “I’ll make cookies from

this new orangemarmalade recipe Joanie gave me.”

I’m not sure Carlos will appreciate orange-marmalade cookies, but .

. . “I’ll ask him. But don’t be surprised if he says no.”

“Don’t be surprised if he says yes,” Dad says, always the optimist.

The next morning, as I’m escorting Carlos to class between third

and fourth period, I finally gather up enough nerve to ask, “Do you

want to come over after school?”

His eyebrows go up. “You askin’ me out?”

I grit my teeth. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Good, ’cause you’re not my type. I like my women sexy and stupid.”

“You’re not my type, either,” I snap back. “I like my guys smart and

funny.”

“I’m funny.”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m just too smart to get your jokes.”

“Then why do you want me to come over?”

“My mom . . . made cookies.” I cringe after the words leave my

mouth. Who invites a guy over for cookies? Maybe my brother does,

but he’s in kindergarten. “It’s not like it’ll be a date or anything,” I

blurt out in case he thinks I’m secretly trying to hit on him. “Just . . .

cookies.”

I wish I could rewind this entire conversation, but there’s no going

back now. We reach the door to his classroom, and he still hasn’t

answered.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, then leaves me out in the hall by

myself. He’ll think about it? As if coming over to my house would be

doing me a huge favor instead of the other way around?

At our lockers at the end of the day, when I hope he’s forgotten I

even asked him over, he leans his weight on one foot and stuffs his

hands in his front pockets. “What kind of cookies?”

Out of all the questions in the world, why did he have to ask that

one?

“Orange,” I say. “Orange marmalade.”

He leans closer, as if I didn’t say it loud enough or clear enough.

“Orange what?”

“Marmalade.”

“Huh?”

“Marmalade.”

I’m sorry, but there’s just no cool way to say the word ‘marmalade,’

and all those m’s so close together make me sound goofy. At least I

didn’t stutter.

He nods. I can tell he’s trying to keep a straight face, but he can’t.

He bursts out laughing.

“Can you say it one more time?”

“So you can make fun of me?”

“Sí. It’s become the only thing I look forward to in life. Just so

happens you’re an easy target.”

I slam my locker door shut. “Consider yourself officially uninvited.”

I walk away, but then remember that I’ve left all my homework in my

locker and have to open it again. I quickly grab the three books I need,

shove them in my backpack, and head out.

“If they were double-chocolate chip, I would have come,” he calls

after me, then laughs.

Tuck is waiting for me in the senior parking lot. “What took you so

long?”

“I was arguing with Carlos.”

“Again? Listen, Kiara, it’s only Tuesday. You’ve got three more days

with him. Why don’t you quit being his peer guide and be done with the

misery.”

“Because that’s just what he wants,” I say as we get in my car and I

drive out of the lot. “I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of one-

upping me all the time. He’s so obnoxious.”

“There’s got to be something you can do to make him eat his

words.”

Tuck’s words spark the perfect idea. “That’s it! Tuck, you’re a

genius,” I say excitedly. I make a sharp U-turn.

“Where are we going?” Tuck asks, then points behind us. “Your

house is that way.”

“First we’re stopping at the grocery store and McGuckin’s

Hardware. I need the ingredients for double-chocolate chip cookies.”

“Since when do you bake,” Tuck asks. “And why double-chocolate

chip cookies?”

I flash him a mischievous smile. “I’m going to use them to make

Carlos eat his words.”

FIVE :
Carlos

On Wednesday, I walk out of school and head over to the body

shop to meet Alex. Just as I cross the street, a red Mustang pulls up

beside me. Madison Stone is driving, her windows wide open. When I

get closer she asks where I’m goin’.

“McConnell’s—the place where my brother works,” I tell her. He

said I could help him to make some extra cash.

“Hop in. I’ll drive you.”

Madison orders her friend Lacey into the backseat and tells me to