Perfect Chemistry

There’s only a half hour left in gym. As I change into my gym clothes, I think of what happened in Dr. Aguirre’s office. Mrs. Peterson was blaming me as much as she blamed Alex.

Alex Fuentes is already ruining my senior year, and it’s hardly even begun.

As I pull up my gym shorts, the sound of tap-tap-tapping on the hard cement floor alerts me that I’m not alone in the locker room. I clutch my gym shirt to my chest as Carmen Sanchez comes into view.

Oh no.

“It must be my lucky day,” she says, staring me down and looking very much like a cougar ready to attack. Although cougars don’t have long, straight brown hair . . . they sure do have claws. And Carmen’s claws are painted bright red.

She steps closer.

I want to step back. Actually, I want to run. But I don’t, mainly because she’d probably follow.

“You know,” she says, her mouth quirked in a wicked grin. “I always wondered what color bra Brittany Ellis wore. Pink. How fitting. I bet it was as expensive as your dye job.”

“You don’t want to talk about bras and dye jobs, Carmen,” I tell her while I pull my gym shirt over my head. I swallow hard before I add, “You want to kick my ass.”

“When a ho moves in on my man, I get territorial.”

“I don’t want your man, Carmen. I have my own.”

“Oh, please. Girls like you want every guy to like them, just so you can have them when you decide you want them.” As she’s talking, she’s getting more riled up. I’m in trouble. “I heard you talkin’ shit about me. You think you’re all that, Miss High and Mighty. Let’s see what you look like with a busted lip and a big, black eye. Would you come to school with a garbage bag over your head? Or would you stay holed up in your big house and never come out?”

I look at Carmen as she walks toward me. Really look at her. She knows deep down how much importance I put on controlling the image I portray, while she doesn’t care if she’s suspended . . . or expelled.

“Answer me!” she yells, then shoves my shoulder. It collides with the locker behind me.

I guess I wasn’t listening because I don’t know what I’m supposed to answer. The consequences of me coming home bruised and having been in a fight are insurmountable. My mom will be furious and blame the entire thing on me for not preventing it from happening. I hope to God she doesn’t start talking about sending Shelley away again. When stressful stuff happens, my parents talk about sending Shelley away. As if magically all of the Ellises’ external problems will be solved if Shelley disappeared.

“Don’t you think Coach Bautista will come here looking for me? You want to be suspended?” I know, lame questions. But I’m trying to buy time here.

She chuckles. “You think I give a shit about being suspended?”

Not really, but it was worth a try.

Instead of cowering next to my locker, I stand tall. Carmen tries again to push my shoulder, but this time I manage to swat her arm away.

I’m about to get into my first fight. A fight I’m bound to lose. My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. My whole life I’ve avoided situations like these, but this time I have no choice. I wonder if I can pull the fire alarm to avoid this, like I’ve seen in the movies. But of course I don’t see one of those little red boxes anywhere near me.

“Carmen, leave her alone.”

We both turn to the sound of a girl’s voice. It’s Isabel. A nonfriend. A nonfriend who just might save my face from getting bashed in.

“Isa, stay out of my business,” Carmen growls.

Isabel comes toward us, her dark brown hair in a high ponytail that sways when she walks. “No chingues con ella, Carmen.”

“¿Por qué no?” Carmen asks. “Because you think you’re BFFs with blondie here now that you both wave stupid-ass pom-poms together?”

Isa puts her hands on her hips. “You’re mad at Alex, Carmen. That’s why you’re acting like a perra.”

At the mention of Alex, Carmen goes rigid. “Shut up, Isa. You don’t know anything.”

Carmen turns her fury on Isabel and yells at her in Spanish. Isabel doesn’t back off, she stands tall in front of Carmen and spouts Spanish right back at her. Isabel is a short girl and probably weighs less than I do, so I’m shocked she’s standing up to Carmen. But she’s holding her own. I can tell by the way her words make Carmen back off.

Coach Bautista appears behind Carmen. “You three having a party and didn’t invite the rest of the class?”

“We were having a little chat,” Carmen says, not missing a beat and acting as if we’re all friends hanging out.

“Well, then, I suggest you chat after school instead of during class. Miss Ellis and Miss Avila, join the rest of your classmates in the gym. Miss Sanchez, go to where you’re supposed to be.”

Carmen points her red-painted fingernail at me. “Later,” she says, then walks out of the locker room, but not before making Isabel move out of the way for her to pass.

“Thanks,” I say softly to Isabel.

Her answer is a nod.