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Authors: Simone Elkeles
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cares about her. That’s reality. Derek might even think he’s being sincere … but how long will that last?
“He hates me,” I tell her.
“No, he doesn’t.” She turns to me. “He just thinks you’re overly cynical.”
As soon as she says the word cynical , I hear an old familiar voice speaking in Spanish echoing from across the hall. Marco. Just hearing the deep rumble of his voice used to make me grin from ear to ear. Now his voice is like nails on a chalkboard.
I look over at Kendall. She touches my forearm sympathetically.
“Ignore him,” she advises.
Of course I’ll ignore him, just like I’ve done the past two years. He’s changed way too much, and so have I. I pretend to scratch my chin with my shoulder as I peek across the hall at his locker. Marco is talking to some guy who looks familiar …
Wait.
One.
Second …
No, it can’t be.
It’s Luis Fuentes, the guy whose clothes I hid when his brother got married years ago. The last time I saw him, he was naked. That was so long ago, I bet he doesn’t remember me. I remember him, though. He’s the boy who reminded me that I was vulnerable. The night I met him I became cynical. I glance again.
Oh, no.
He’s staring right at me.
11
Luis
Exotic eyes. Wavy brown hair. An attitude a mile long. Older, but she’s still got that unique “angel with an edge” aura about her.
I’d know that girl anywhere. I could pick her out of a crowd of a thousand girls. She denied her Mexican blood, danced like a robot, and dissed me all in the same night.
“That’s Nikki Cruz, ¿verdad? ” I ask Marco, a friend of mine from grade school. It’s kind of weird how it’s like I never left. I never realized how deep my roots are in this town, even though I’ve been gone from Fairfield for almost six years. I came to school early this morning and got my schedule from the front office. As soon as I walked to my locker, I was recognized by a bunch of old friends I used to hang out with.
Marco glances at the girl, then nods. “How do you know Nik?”
“Had a run-in with her a couple years ago at my brother’s weddin’.” No need to go into detail about how she hid my clothes and left me to fend off the overly aggressive girl I’d been skinny-dipping with that night. “ ¿Cuál es su historia? ” I ask him.
“Her story is that she’s filthy rich and has a body made for fuckin’ around,” Marco says. “She’s a puta . Keep your ass far away from that pocha if you want to stay sane.”
I look her way and our eyes meet. Does she remember me?
While Marco talks to a couple guys, I keep my eyes on Nikki. She quickly turns her gaze away, says something privately to the tall blond girl standing next to her, then tosses her hair back and they both strut down the hall without a backward glance.
I fly through my first two classes; it’s cool to see old friends that I thought I’d never see again. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Marco is hanging with the big boys outside of school. Nobody has to talk about his gang affiliation—it’s obvious. Most of the families who lived in my ’hood were connected. Some still are.
The south side of Fairfield might not be overflowing with active gang members anymore, but we’re still the poor kids at school. The elementary and middle schools weren’t integrated, but the high school merged all the schools from both sides of Fairfield into one multicultural melting pot.
The first time I realize how different things are here than in Boulder is when we have to change for gym class.
“You’re sitting in my spot, Mex,” some beefy white guy says to me as I sit on a bench in the locker room after being handed my gym uniform. “Move.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes my mouth. “Mex? Did you just call me Mex? ”
“You heard me. Now go sit your dirty immigrant ass somewhere else.”
Unlike my brothers, I don’t like to fight and I’m not looking to start one now.
I
“He hates me,” I tell her.
“No, he doesn’t.” She turns to me. “He just thinks you’re overly cynical.”
As soon as she says the word cynical , I hear an old familiar voice speaking in Spanish echoing from across the hall. Marco. Just hearing the deep rumble of his voice used to make me grin from ear to ear. Now his voice is like nails on a chalkboard.
I look over at Kendall. She touches my forearm sympathetically.
“Ignore him,” she advises.
Of course I’ll ignore him, just like I’ve done the past two years. He’s changed way too much, and so have I. I pretend to scratch my chin with my shoulder as I peek across the hall at his locker. Marco is talking to some guy who looks familiar …
Wait.
One.
Second …
No, it can’t be.
It’s Luis Fuentes, the guy whose clothes I hid when his brother got married years ago. The last time I saw him, he was naked. That was so long ago, I bet he doesn’t remember me. I remember him, though. He’s the boy who reminded me that I was vulnerable. The night I met him I became cynical. I glance again.
Oh, no.
He’s staring right at me.
11
Luis
Exotic eyes. Wavy brown hair. An attitude a mile long. Older, but she’s still got that unique “angel with an edge” aura about her.
I’d know that girl anywhere. I could pick her out of a crowd of a thousand girls. She denied her Mexican blood, danced like a robot, and dissed me all in the same night.
“That’s Nikki Cruz, ¿verdad? ” I ask Marco, a friend of mine from grade school. It’s kind of weird how it’s like I never left. I never realized how deep my roots are in this town, even though I’ve been gone from Fairfield for almost six years. I came to school early this morning and got my schedule from the front office. As soon as I walked to my locker, I was recognized by a bunch of old friends I used to hang out with.
Marco glances at the girl, then nods. “How do you know Nik?”
“Had a run-in with her a couple years ago at my brother’s weddin’.” No need to go into detail about how she hid my clothes and left me to fend off the overly aggressive girl I’d been skinny-dipping with that night. “ ¿Cuál es su historia? ” I ask him.
“Her story is that she’s filthy rich and has a body made for fuckin’ around,” Marco says. “She’s a puta . Keep your ass far away from that pocha if you want to stay sane.”
I look her way and our eyes meet. Does she remember me?
While Marco talks to a couple guys, I keep my eyes on Nikki. She quickly turns her gaze away, says something privately to the tall blond girl standing next to her, then tosses her hair back and they both strut down the hall without a backward glance.
I fly through my first two classes; it’s cool to see old friends that I thought I’d never see again. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Marco is hanging with the big boys outside of school. Nobody has to talk about his gang affiliation—it’s obvious. Most of the families who lived in my ’hood were connected. Some still are.
The south side of Fairfield might not be overflowing with active gang members anymore, but we’re still the poor kids at school. The elementary and middle schools weren’t integrated, but the high school merged all the schools from both sides of Fairfield into one multicultural melting pot.
The first time I realize how different things are here than in Boulder is when we have to change for gym class.
“You’re sitting in my spot, Mex,” some beefy white guy says to me as I sit on a bench in the locker room after being handed my gym uniform. “Move.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes my mouth. “Mex? Did you just call me Mex? ”
“You heard me. Now go sit your dirty immigrant ass somewhere else.”
Unlike my brothers, I don’t like to fight and I’m not looking to start one now.
I
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