When Brittany walks into Mrs. P.’s class on Friday I’m still thinking about how I’m going to get back at her for throwing my keys into the woods last weekend. It took me forty-five minutes to find the suckers, and all the while I was cursing Brittany. Okay, so I give her props for dishing it out. I also have her to thank for helping me talk about the night of my papá’s death. Because of it, I’ve called older OG’s in the Blood, asking them if they know who might have had a grudge against my dad.
Brittany has been wary this whole week. She’s waiting for me to play a joke on her, to get her back for tossing my keys into the woods. After school, as I’m at my locker picking books to take home, she storms up to me wearing her sexy pom uniform.
“Meet me in the wrestling gym,” she orders.
Now I can do two things: meet her like she told me to or leave the school. I take my books and enter the small gym. Brittany is standing, holding out her keychain without keys dangling from it.
“Where have my keys magically disappeared to?” she asks. “I’m going to be late for the game if you don’t tell me. Ms. Small will kick me off the squad if I’m not at the game.”
“I tossed them somewhere. You know, you should really get a purse that has a zipper. You never know when someone will reach in and grab somethin’.”
“Glad to know you’re a klepto. Wanna give me a hint as to where you’ve hidden them?”
I lean against the wall of the wrestling gym, thinking about what people would think if they caught us in here together. “It’s in a place that’s wet. Really, really wet,” I say, giving her a clue.
“The pool?”
I nod. “Creative, huh?”
She tries to push me into the wall. “Oh, I’m going to kill you. You better go get them.”
If I didn’t know her better, I’d think she was flirting with me. I think she likes this game we have going on. “Mamacita, you should know me better than that. You’re all on your own, like I was when you left me in the library parking lot.”
She cocks her head, gives me sad eyes, and pouts. I shouldn’t concentrate on her pouty lips, it’s dangerous. But I can’t help it.
“Show me where they are, Alex. Please.”
I let her sweat it out a minute before I give in. By now most of the school is deserted. Half of the students are on their way to the football game. The other half is glad they’re not on their way to the football game.
We walk to the pool. The lights are off, but sunlight is still shining through the windows. Brittany’s keys are where I threw ’em—in the middle of the deep end. I point to the shiny pieces of silver under the water. “There they are. Have at it.”
Brittany stands with her hands on her short skirt, contemplating how she’s going to get them. She struts over to the long stick hanging on the wall that’s used to pull drowning people from the water. “Piece of cake,” she tells me.
But as she sticks the pole into the water, she finds out it’s not a piece of cake. I suppress a laugh as I stand at the edge of the pool and watch her attempt the impossible.
“You can always strip and go in naked. I’ll watch to make sure nobody comes in.”
She walks up to me, the pole gripped firmly in her fingers. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, stating the obvious. “I have to warn you, though. If you have granny undies on, you’ll blow my fantasy.”
“For your information, they’re pink satin. As long as we’re sharing personal info, are you a boxers or briefs guy?”
“Neither. My boys go free, if you know what I mean.” Okay, I don’t let my boys go free. She’ll just have to figure that out herself.
“Gross, Alex.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” I tell her, then walk toward the door.
“You’re leaving?”
“Uh . . . yeah.”
“Aren’t you going to help me get the keys?”
“Uh . . . nope.” If I stay, I’ll be tempted to ask her to ditch the football game to be with me. I’m definitely not ready to hear the answer to that question. Toying with her I can handle. Showing my true colors like I did the other day made me take my guard down. I’m not about to do that again. I push the door open after taking one last glance at Brittany, wondering if leaving her right now makes me an idiot, a jerk, a coward, or all of the above.
At home, when I’m far from Brittany and her car keys, I look for my brother. I promised myself I’d talk to Carlos this week and I’ve delayed it long enough. Before I know it he’ll be jumped in and get the ritual beating as the initiation into the Latino Blood just like I got.
I find Carlos in our bedroom, in the process of shoving something under his bed.
“What was that?” I ask.
He sits on his bed with his arms crossed. “Nada.”
“Don’t give me that nada bullshit, Carlos.” I push him aside and look under his bed. Sure enough, a shiny .25 Beretta is staring back at me. Mocking me. I pull it out and hold it in my hand. “Where’d you get this?”
“None of your business.”
This is the first time in my life I’ve seriously wanted to scare the crap out of Carlos. I itch to stick that gun in between his eyes and show him what it’s like for gang members all the time, to feel threatened and unsure of what day will end up being your last. “I’m your older brother, Carlos. Se nos fue mi Papá, so that leaves me to knock some sense into you.” I look at the gun. From the weight I can tell it’s loaded. Geez, if it accidentally went off, Carlos could be killed. If Luis found it . . . shit, this is bad.
Carlos attempts to stand but I push him back on the bed.
“You go around strapped,” he complains. “Why can’t I?”
“You know why. I’m a gangbanger. You’re not. You’re gonna study, go to college, and have a life.”
“You think you’ve got our lives all planned out, don’t you?” Carlos spits out. “Well, I’ve got a plan, too.”
“It better not include gettin’ jumped in.”
Carlos is silent.
I think I’ve already lost him and my body is as tense as a steel rod. I can prevent the jumping in from happening but only if Carlos is willing to let me intervene. I look at the picture of Destiny above Carlos’s bed. He met her this summer in Chicago when we watched fireworks from Navy Pier on July Fourth. Her family lives in Gurnee and ever since they met he’s been obsessed with her. They talk on the phone every night. She’s smart, she’s Mexican, and when she eyed me and my tattoos when Carlos tried to introduce us she got so scared her eyes darted around as if she’d get shot just being within five feet of me.
“You think Destiny’ll want to date you if you’re a strapped gang member?” I ask.
No response, which is good. He’s thinking.
“She’ll dump your ass as soon as you can say ‘twenty-five caliber.’ ”
Carlos’s gaze wanders to the picture of her on his wall.
“Carlos, ask her where she’s goin’ to college. I’ll bet she has a plan. If you want the same plan, it’s doable.”
My brother looks up at me. He’s waging a war within himself, choosing between what he knows is coming easy to him—the gang life—and the harder things he wants to go for, like Destiny.
“Stop hangin’ around Wil. Find some new friends, and join the soccer team at school or somethin’. Start actin’ like a kid and let me take care of the rest.”
I stuff the Beretta in the waistband of my jeans and walk out of the house, heading for the ware house.
