Perfect Chemistry

I turn on my cell and call home before chemistry to see how my sister is doing. Baghda isn’t too happy because Shelley was freaking out about the way her lunch tasted. Apparently Shelley swiped her bowl of yogurt onto the floor in protest.

Was it too much to hope that my mom would take a day off from hanging out at the country club to transition Baghda? Summer is officially over and I can’t be there to pick up where the caretakers usually leave off.

I should be focusing on school. Getting into my dad’s alma mater, Northwestern, is my main goal so I can go to a college close to home and be there for my sister. After giving Baghda some suggestions I take a deep breath, paste on a smile, and walk into class.

“Hey, babe. I saved you a seat.” Colin motions to the stool next to him.

The room is arranged with rows of high lab tables for two. This means I’ll sit next to Colin for the rest of the year and we’ll do the dreaded senior chemistry project together. Feeling foolish for thinking things wouldn’t be okay between us, I slip onto the stool and pull out my heavy chem book.

“Hey, look. Fuentes is in our class!” a guy calls out from the back of the room. “Alex, over here, ven pa’ca.”

I try not to stare as Alex greets his friends with pats on the back and handshakes too complicated to reproduce. They all say “ese” to each other, whatever that means. Alex’s presence catches every eye in the classroom.

“I hear he was arrested last weekend for possession of meth,” Colin whispers to me.

“No way.”

He nods and his eyebrows go up. “Way.”

Well, the information shouldn’t surprise me. I hear most weekends Alex spends drugged out, passed out, or doing some other illegal activity.

Mrs. Peterson closes the door to the classroom with a bang and all eyes move from the back of the room, where Alex and his friends are sitting, to the front where Mrs. Peterson is standing. She has light brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. The woman is probably in her late twenties, but her glasses and perpetual stern expression make her look way older. I hear she’s tough now because her first year teaching the students made her cry. They didn’t respect a teacher who was young enough to be their older sister.

“Good afternoon and welcome to senior chemistry.” She sits on the edge of her desk and opens a folder. “I appreciate you picking your own seats, but I make the seating arrangements . . . alphabetically.”

I groan along with the rest of the class, but Mrs. Peterson doesn’t miss a beat. She stands in front of the first lab table and says, “Colin Adams, take the first seat. Your partner is Darlene Boehm.”

Darlene Boehm is co-captain of the varsity pom squad with me. She flashes me an apologetic look as she slides onto the stool next to my boyfriend.

Down the list Mrs. Peterson goes, students reluctantly moving to their assigned seats.

“Brittany Ellis,” Mrs. Peterson says, pointing to the table behind Colin. I unenthusiastically sit on the stool at my assigned place.

“Alejandro Fuentes,” Mrs. Peterson says, pointing to the stool next to me.

Oh my God. Alex . . . my chemistry partner? For my entire senior year! No way, no how, SO not okay. I give Colin a “help me” look as I try to avoid a panic attack. I definitely should have stayed at home. In bed. Under the covers. Forget not being intimidated.

“Call me Alex.”

Mrs. Peterson looks up from her class list and regards Alex above the glasses on her nose. “Alex Fuentes,” she says, before changing his name on her list. “Mr. Fuentes, take off that bandanna. I have a zero tolerance policy in my class. No gang-related accessories are allowed to enter this room. Unfortunately, Alex, your reputation precedes you. Dr. Aguirre backs my zero tolerance policy one hundred percent . . . do I make myself clear?”

Alex stares her down before sliding the bandanna off his head, exposing raven hair that matches his eyes.

“It’s to cover up the lice,” Colin mutters to Darlene, but I hear him and Alex does, too.

“Vete a la verga,” Alex says to Colin, his hard eyes blazing. “Cállate el hocico.”

“Whatever, dude,” Colin says, then turns around. “He can’t even speak English.”

“That’s enough, Colin. Alex, sit down.” Mrs. Peterson eyes the rest of the class. “That goes for the rest of you, as well. I can’t control what you do outside of this room, but in my class I’m the boss.” She turns back to Alex. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Sí, señora,” Alex says, deliberately slow.

Mrs. Peterson goes down the rest of the list while I do everything in my power not to make eye contact with the guy sitting next to me. It’s too bad I left my purse in my locker or I could pretend to look for nothing like Sierra did this morning.

“This sucks,” Alex mumbles to himself. His voice is dark and husky. Does he make it that way on purpose?

How am I going to explain to my mother I have to partner with Alex Fuentes? Oh, God, I hope she doesn’t blame me somehow for screwing this up.

I glance at my boyfriend, deep in conversation with Darlene. I’m so jealous. Why couldn’t my last name be Allis instead of Ellis so I could sit next to him?

It’d be cool if God gave everyone a Do Over Day and you could yell “Do Over!” and the day would start new. This would definitely qualify for a DOD.

Does Mrs. Peterson actually think it’s reasonable to pair the captain of the pom-pom squad with the most dangerous guy in school? The woman is delusional.

Mrs. Delusional finally finishes assigning seats. “I know you seniors think you know everything. But never think of yourself as a success until you can help treat diseases that plague mankind or make the earth a safer place to live. The field of chemistry plays a crucial role in developing medicines, radiation treatments for cancer patients, petroleum uses, the ozone—”

Alex raises his hand.

“Alex,” the teacher says. “Do you have a question?”

“Uh, Mrs. Peterson, are you sayin’ the president of the U.S. isn’t a success?”

“What I’m saying is . . . money and status aren’t everything. Use your brain and do something for mankind or the planet you live on. Then you’re a success. And you’ll have earned my respect, which not many people in this world can boast about.”

“I got things I can boast about, Mrs. P.,” Alex says, obviously amusing himself.

Mrs. Peterson holds up a hand. “Please spare us the details, Alex.”

I shake my head. If Alex thinks antagonizing the teacher will get us a good grade, he’s sadly mistaken. It’s obvious Mrs. Peterson doesn’t like smart-asses and my partner is already on her radar.

“Now,” Mrs. Delusional says, “look at the person sitting next to you.”

Anything but that. But I don’t have a choice. I glance over at Colin again, who seems pretty content with his assigned partner. Darlene already has a boyfriend or I seriously would be questioning why she’s leaning a bit too close to Colin and flipping her hair back too many times. I tell myself I’m being paranoid.

“You don’t have to like your partner,” Mrs. Peterson says, “but you’re stuck together for the next ten months. Take five minutes to get to know each other, then each of you will introduce your partner to the class. Talk about what you did over the summer, what hobbies you have, or anything else interesting or unique your classmates might not know about you. Your five minutes start now.”

I take out my notebook, flip to the first page, and shove it at Alex. “Why don’t you write down stuff about yourself in my notebook and I’ll do the same in yours.” It’s better than trying to have a conversation with him.

Alex nods in agreement, although I think I caught the corners of his mouth twitch as he hands me his notebook. Did I imagine that twitch or did it really happen? Taking a deep breath, I wipe that thought from my mind and write diligently until Mrs. Peterson instructs us to stop and listen to each other’s introductions.

“This is Darlene Boehm,” Colin begins, being the first to speak.

But I don’t hear the rest of Colin’s speech about Darlene and her trip to Italy and her experience at dance camp this summer. Instead, I glance down at the notebook given back to me by Alex and stare at the words on the page with my mouth open.