“You call that a kiss?”
“Yep.”
Okay, so I’m in shock the girl put my hand on her creamy cheek. Damn, you’d think I was on drugs by the way my body reacted.
She had me totally under her spell a minute ago. Then the pretty witch turned my game around so she was the one with the upper hand. She surprised me, that’s for sure. I laugh, deliberately calling attention to us because I know it’s exactly what she doesn’t want.
“Shh,” Brittany says, hitting me on the shoulder to shut me up. When I laugh louder, she whacks my arm with the heavy chem book.
My bad arm.
I wince. “Ow!” The cut on my biceps feels like a million little bees are stinging it. ¡Cabrón me dolio!
She bites her Bobbi Brown Sandwash Petal’d frosted bottom lip, which in my opinion looks fine on her. Though I wouldn’t mind seeing her in the Pink Blossom color, too.
“Did I hurt you?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth as I concentrate on her lip gloss instead of the pain.
“Good.”
I lift my sleeve to examine my wound, which now (thanks to my chem partner) has blood trickling from one of the staples the doc at the free clinic put in it after the fight at the park with the Satin Hoods. Brittany’s got a pretty good whack for someone who probably weighs a buck ten soaking wet.
She sucks in her breath and scoots away. “Oh my God! I didn’t mean to hurt you, Alex. Really, I didn’t. When you threatened to show me the scar, you lifted your left sleeve.”
“I wasn’t really gonna show you,” I say. “I was fuckin’ with you. It’s okay,” I tell her. Geez, you’d think the girl never saw red blood before. Then again, her blood probably runs blue.
“No, it’s not okay,” she insists while shaking her head. “Your stitches are bleeding.”
“They’re staples,” I correct her, trying to lighten the mood. The girl is even whiter than she usually is. And she’s breathing heavy, almost panting. If she passes out, I swear I’m losing the bet with Lucky. If she can’t handle a little streak of my blood, how’s she gonna handle having sex with me? Unless we’re not naked, so she doesn’t have to see my various scars. Or if it’s dark, then she can pretend I’m someone white and rich. Fuck that, I want the lights on . . . I want to feel all of her against me and want her to know it’s me she’s with and not some other culero.
“Alex, are you okay?” Brittany asks, looking totally concerned.
Should I tell her I was spacing out while thinking about us having sex?
Mrs. P. walks up the aisle with a stern look on her face. “This is a library, you two. Keep it down.” But then she notices the small line of blood snaking down my arm and staining my sleeve. “Brittany, help him to the nurse. Alex, next time come to school with that thing bandaged.”
“Don’t I get sympathy, Mrs. P.? I’m bleedin’ to death.”
“Do something to help mankind or the planet, Alex. Then you’ll get my sympathy. People who get into knife fights don’t earn anything from me except disgust. Now go get cleaned up.”
Brittany lifts my books off my lap and says in a shaky voice, “Come on.”
“I can hold the books,” I tell her as I follow her out of the library. I’m pressing my sleeve against the wound, hoping to stop more blood from leaking out.
She’s walking ahead of me. If I tell her I need help walking because I feel faint, will she believe me and come to my rescue? Maybe I should stumble . . . although knowing her she wouldn’t care.
Right before we reach the nurse’s office, she turns around. Her hands are shaking. “I’m so sorry, Alex. I di—didn’t m—mean—”
She’s freaking out. If she cries, I won’t know what to do. I’m not used to crying chicks. I don’t think Carmen cried once during our entire relationship. In fact, I’m not sure Carmen has tear ducts. That turned me on, because emotional chicks scare me.
“Um . . . you okay?” I ask.
“If this gets around, I’m never going to live it down. Oh, God, if Mrs. Peterson calls my parents I’m dead. Or at least I’ll wish I was dead.” She keeps talking and shaking, as if she’s a car with bad shocks and no brakes.
“Brittany?”
“. . . and my mom’ll blame it on me. It’s my fault, I know. But she’ll freak out on me and then I’ll have to explain and hope she—”
Before she can get another word out I yell, “Brittany!” The girl looks up at me with an expression so confused I don’t know whether to feel sorry for her or stunned she’s rambling and can’t seem to stop. “You’re the one freakin’ out,” I comment, stating the obvious.
Her eyes are usually clear and bright, but now they’re dull and blank as if she’s not all here.
She looks down and around and everywhere except directly at me. “No, I’m not. I’m fine.”
“The hell you are. Look at me.”
She hesitates. “I’m fine,” she says, now focused on a locker across the hall. “Just forget everything I just said.”
“If you don’t look at me, I’m gonna bleed all over the floor and need a fuckin’ transfusion. Look at me, dammit.”
Her breathing is still heavy as she focuses on me. “What? If you want to tell me my life is out of control, I’m already aware of it.”
“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” I tell her. “Even if you did, I probably deserved it.” I’m hoping to lighten the mood so the girl doesn’t have a complete breakdown in the hallway. “Makin’ mistakes ain’t a crime, you know. What’s the use in having a reputation if you can’t ruin it every now and then?”
“Don’t try and make me feel better, Alex. I hate you.”
“I hate you, too. Now please move out of the way so the janitor doesn’t have to spend all day moppin’ up my blood. He’s a relative, you know.”
She shakes her head, not believing for an instant the head janitor at Fairfield is a relative. Okay, so he isn’t exactly a relative. But he does have family in Atencingo, the same small town where my mom has cousins in Mexico.
Instead of moving out of the way, my chem partner opens the door to the nurse’s office for me. I think she’s functioning even if her hands are still shaking.
“He’s bleeding,” she calls out to Miss Koto, the school nurse.
Miss Koto has me sit down on one of the examining tables. “What happened here?”
I look over at Brittany. She has a worried look on her face, as if she’s concerned I might croak right here. I hope to God that’s what the Angel of Death looks like before I kick the bucket. I’d be more than happy to go to hell if a face like Brittany’s was greeting me.
“My staples opened up,” I say. “No big deal.”
“And how did that happen?” Miss Koto asks as she wets a white cloth and dabs it on my arm. I hold my breath, waiting for the stinging to recede. I’m also not about to narc on my partner, especially since I’m trying to seduce her.
“I hit him,” Brittany says, her voice hitching.
Miss Koto turns around, stunned. “You hit him?”
“By accident,” I chime in, not having a clue why I suddenly want to protect this girl who hates me and would probably rather flunk Mrs. P.’s class than have to partner with me.
My plans with Brittany are not working. The only feeling she’s admitted to having toward me is hatred. But the thought of Lucky on my motorcycle is more painful than the antiseptic crap Miss Koto is now rubbing on my wound.
I’ve got to get Brittany alone if I’m gonna have any chance of saving face and saving my Honda. Does her freakout session mean she really doesn’t hate me? I’ve never seen that girl do anything not scripted or 100 percent intentional. She’s a robot. Or so I thought. She’s always looked and acted like a princess on camera every time I’ve seen her. Who knew it’d be my bloody arm that would crack her.
I look over at Brittany. She’s focused on my arm and Miss Koto’s ministrations. I wish we were back in the library. I could swear back there she was thinking about getting it on with me.
I’m sporting la tengo dura right here in front of Miss Koto just thinking about it. Gracias a Dios the nurse walks over to the medicine cabinet. Where’s a large chem book when you need one?
“Let’s hang Thursday after school. You know, to work on the outline,” I tell Brittany for two reasons. First, I need to stop thinking about getting naked with her in front of Miss Koto. Second, I want Brittany to myself.
“I’m busy Thursday,” she says.
Probably with Burro Face. Obviously she’d rather be with that pendejo than me.
“Friday, then,” I say, testing her although I probably shouldn’t. Testing a girl like Brittany could put a serious damper on my ego. Although I caught her at a time when she’s vulnerable and still shaking from seeing my blood. I admit I’m a manipulative asshole.
She bites her bottom lip that she thinks is glossed with the wrong color. “I can’t Friday, either.” My hard-on is officially deflated. “What about Saturday morning?” she says. “We can meet at the Fairfield Library.”
“You sure you can pencil me into your busy schedule?”
“Shut up. I’ll meet you there at ten.”
“It’s a date,” I say while Miss Koto, obviously eavesdropping, finishes wrapping my arm with dorky gauze.
Brittany gathers her books. “It’s not a date, Alex,” she says over her shoulder.
I grab my book and hurry into the hallway after her. She’s walking alone. The loudspeaker music isn’t playing so class is still on.
“It might not be a date, but you still owe me a kiss. I always collect debts.” My chem partner’s eyes go from dull to shining mad and full of fire. Mmm, dangerous. I wink at her. “And don’t sweat about what lip gloss to wear on Saturday. You’ll just have to reapply it after we make out.”
