Right after I call Alex an idiot, Mrs. Peterson calls the class to attention. “You and your partner will pick a project from this hat,” she announces. “They are all equally challenging and will require meeting with your partner outside of class.”
“What about football?” Colin interjects. “No way I’m missing practice.”
“Or poms,” Darlene chimes in before I can say the same thing.
“Schoolwork comes first. It’s up to you and your partner to find a time that works for both of you,” Mrs. Peterson says as she stands in front of our table and holds out the hat.
“Yo, Mrs. P. . . . is one of them a cure for multiple sclerosis?” Alex asks with his cocky attitude that’s setting my nerves on edge. “ ’Cause I don’t think there’s enough time in the school year to complete that project.”
I can see that big D on my report card right now. The Northwestern admissions counselor won’t care that it was my chemistry partner who wanted to make a joke out of our project. The guy doesn’t care about his own life, why should he care about chemistry class? The thought of Alex controlling the grade I receive in this class is overwhelming me. Grades to my parents are a reflection of your worth. Needless to say, a C or D means you’re worthless.
I reach into the hat and pull out a little white slip of paper. I open it slowly while I bite my lower lip in anticipation. In bold letters I read HAND WARMERS.
“Hand warmers?” I question.
Alex leans over and reads the paper with a confused look on his face. “What the fuck are hand warmers?”
Mrs. Peterson shoots Alex a warning glare. “If you’d like to stay after school, I have another blue detention slip on my desk with your name already on it. Now, either ask the question again without using foul language or join me after school.”
“That’d be cool to hang with you, Mrs. P., but I’d rather spend the time studyin’ with my chem partner,” Alex responds, then has the nerve to wink at Colin, “so I’ll rephrase the question. What exactly are hand warmers?”
“Thermal chemistry, Mr. Fuentes. We use them to warm our hands.”
Alex has this big, cocky grin as he turns to me. “I’m sure we can find other things to warm.”
“I hate you,” I say loud enough for Colin and the rest of the class to hear. If I sit here and let him get the best of me, I’ll probably hear my mom tsk’ing in my head about reputations meaning everything.
I know the class is watching our interaction, even Isabel, who thinks Alex isn’t as bad as everyone thinks he is. Can’t she see him for what he is, or is she blinded by his chiseled face and popular status among their friends?
Alex whispers, “There’s a thin line between love and hate. Maybe you’re confusing your emotions.”
I scoot away from him. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“I would.”
Alex’s gaze turns toward the door to the classroom. Through the window, his friend is waving to him. They’re probably going to ditch class.
Alex grabs his books and stands.
Mrs. Peterson turns around. “Alex, sit down.”
“I got to piss.”
The teacher’s eyebrows furrow and her hand goes to her hip. “Watch your language. And the last time I checked, you don’t need your books in order to go to the restroom. Put them back on the lab table.”
Alex’s lips are tight, but he places the books back on the table.
“I told you no gang-related items in my class,” Mrs. Peterson says, staring at the bandanna he’s holding in front of him. She holds out her hand. “Hand it over.”
He glances at the door, then faces Mrs. Peterson. “What if I refuse?”
“Alex, don’t test me. Zero tolerance. You want a suspension?” She wiggles her fingers, signaling to hand the bandanna over immediately or else.
Scowling, he slowly places the bandanna in her hand.
Mrs. Peterson sucks in her breath when she snatches the bandanna from his fingers.
I screech, “Ohmygod!” at the sight of the big stain on his crotch.
The students, one by one, start laughing.
Colin laughs the loudest. “Don’t sweat it, Fuentes. My great-grandma has the same problem. Nothing a diaper won’t fix.”
Now that hits home because at the mention of adult diapers, I immediately think of my sister. Making fun of adults who can’t help themselves isn’t funny because Shelley is one of those people.
Alex sports a big, cocky grin and says to Colin, “Your girlfriend couldn’t keep her hands out of my pants. She was showin’ me a whole new definition of hand warmers, compa.”
This time he’s gone too far. I stand up, my stool scraping the floor.
“You wish,” I say.
Alex is about to say something to me when Mrs. Peterson yells, “Alex!” She clears her throat. “Go to the nurse and . . . fix yourself. Take your books, because afterward you’ll be seeing Dr. Aguirre. I’ll meet you in his office with your friends Colin and Brittany.”
Alex swipes his books off the table and exits the classroom while I ease back onto my stool. While Mrs. Peterson is trying to calm the rest of the class, I think about my short-lived success in avoiding Carmen Sanchez.
If she thinks I’m a threat to her relationship with Alex, the rumors that are sure to spread today could prove deadly.
