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After parking in the west lot, far from a certain gang member with a reputation that could scare off even the toughest Fairfield football players, Sierra and I walk up the front steps of Fairfield High. Unfortunately, Alex Fuentes and the rest of his gang friends are hanging by the front doors.
“Walk right past them,” Sierra mutters. “Whatever you do, don’t look in their eyes.”
It’s pretty hard not to when Alex Fuentes steps right in front of me and blocks my path.
What’s that prayer you’re supposed to say right before you know you’re going to die?
“You’re a lousy driver,” Alex says with his slight Latino accent and full-blown-I-AM-THE-MAN stance.
The guy might look like an Abercrombie mode with his ripped bod and flawless face, but his picture is more likely to be taken for a mug shot.
The kids from the north side don’t really mix with kids from the south side. It’s not that we think we’re better than them, we’re just different. We’ve grown up in the same town, but on totally opposite sides. We live in big houses on Lake Michigan and they live next to the train tracks. We look, talk, act, and dress different. I’m not saying it’s good or bad; it’s just the way it is in Fairfield. And, to be honest, most of the south side girls treat me like Carmen Sanchez does…they hate me because of who I am.
Or, rather, who they think I am.
Alex’s gaze slowly moves down my body, traveling the length of me before moving back up. It’s not the first time a guy has checked me out, it’s just that I never had a guy like Alex do it so blatantly…and so up-close. I can feel my face getting hot.
“Next time, watch where you’re goin’,” he says, his voice cool and controlled.
He’s trying to bully me. He’s a pro at this. I won’t let him get to me and win his little game of intimidation, even if my stomach feels like I’m doing one hundred cartwheels in a row. I square my shoulders and sneer at him, the same sneer I use to push people away. “Thanks for the tip.”
“If you ever need a real man to teach you how to drive, I can give you lessons.”
Catcalls and whistles from his buddies set my blood boiling.
“If you were a real man, you’d open the door for me instead of blocking my way,” I say, admiring my own comeback even as my knees threaten to buckle.
Alex steps back, pulls the door open, and bows like he’s my butler. He’s totally mocking me, he knows it and I know it. Everyone knows it. I catch a glimpse of Sierra, still desperately searching for nothing in her purse. She’s clueless.
“Get a life,” I tell him.
“Like yours? Cabróna, let me tell you somethin’,” Alex says harshly. “Your life isn’t reality, it’s fake. Just like you.”
“It’s better than living my life as a loser,” I lash out, hoping my words sting as much as his words did. “Just like you.”
Grabbing Sierra’s arm, I pull her toward the open door. Catcalls and comments follow us as we walk into the school.
I finally let out the breath I must have been holding, then turn to Sierra.
My best friend is staring at me, all bug-eyed. “Holy shit, Brit! You got a death wish or something?”
“What gives Alex Fuentes the right to bully everyone in his path?”
“Uh, maybe the gun he has hidden in his pants or the gang colors he wears,” Sierra says, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“He’s not stupid enough to carry a gun to school,” I reason. “And I refuse to be bullied, by him or anyone else.
”
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