I’m done worrying about getting detentions—staying after school for an hour is obviously going to be a common occurence so I might as well embrace it. In fact, the last time I had a detention I actually got some homework done. The problem is getting a detention from a teacher who insists that you serve the detention in her classroom instead of in the cafeteria with all the other delinquents.
I’m sitting on my usual lab stool and I pull out homework. I’m about to work on math problems when Peterson stands over me.
I look up at her. She’s giving me the evil eye, which would make me laugh if I didn’t think she’d give me another detention if I did.
“Hi,” I say.
“Don’t Hi me. What’s going on with you?” She crosses her arms on her chest, and I can just sense the wrath of Nadine Peterson is about to hit like a tornado. “You know better than to cuss in my class. You also know having private spats in the middle of a class experiment is unacceptable.”
“I’m havin’ a bad day.”
“From the look of the bruises on your face, I’d also say you had a bad weekend. Want to talk about it?” she asks as she sits on Derek’s chair and leans on the lab table. I get the sense that she’s parked in that spot and isn’t about to move until I spill.
“Not really.”
“Okay, don’t talk. I’ll do the talking, and you can listen.”
I put a hand up, stopping her. “You can save your breath.”
“My motto is you can’t have too many lectures. Ask your brother to confirm my philosophy.
“Sometimes you’re on a great path, and you reach a fork in the road. Sometimes you decide to go straight, and all is fine and dandy. But then sometimes the other paths look a little interesting, so you choose to switch things up a bit.”
“And your point is?”
“Don’t switch things up, Luis. I’ve known your family since you were eleven years old. You’re smart like Alex, you have the drive like Carlos, and you’ve got a boyish charm all your own that’s endearing. You can lose it all like this,” she says, snapping her fingers.
“Sometimes you have no choice about what path you follow. Sometimes you’re forced into it,” I respond.
She sighs. “I know it’s not easy. Alex started out on a destructive path, but found a way to make it right. I know you will, too.” She waves a finger in my face, acting like the stern teacher she’s always been. “And if you cuss in my class again, I’m going to personally drag you down to Dr. Aguirre’s office.”
“You’re not as mean as you think you are, you know,” I tell her. “Your zero tolerance policy has too many gray areas.”
She gives a harrumph and slides off the stool. “It’s the pregnancy. I assure you after I push this kid out I’ll come back to school meaner than ever.”
“Somethin’ to look forward to,” I say sarcastically.
After detention, I head over to Brickstone.
“You’re late,” Fran says as I pass her in the lobby.
“I know. My chemistry teacher made me stay after school. It won’t happen again.”
“Make sure it doesn’t. I don’t tolerate tardy employees.” She narrows her eyes and steps closer. “What happened to your face?”
Oh, hell. I could lie and tell her I fell down the stairs, but I doubt she’ll believe me. I might as well just fess up. “I got in a fight.”
She motions for me to follow her into her office. “Sit down,” she says, pointing to the guest chair. She folds her hands on top of her desk and leans forward. “I’ve hired and fired more employees in my career then I’d like to admit. I know you’re a new employee, but today you’re late and have bruises on your face. My guests don’t want to be served by delinquents. I’ve seen kids like you who are on a downward spiral that only gets worse. I’ve given them chance after chance, but to be honest, it never works out in the end. I wish I had better news for you, but my instincts tell me I’m going to have to let you go.”
“I’ve had a bad week. Just give me another chance,” I say, but she’s already walking toward the door.
“I’m sorry. Your last paycheck will be sent to your home.” Fran glances at her watch, a sign that my time is up. “I wish you all the best in your future endeavors. Bill!” she yells out. “Mr. Fuentes here is no longer an employee. Please escort him off the property.”
First she fires me, then she gets a bouncer to kick me out. Talk about adding insult to injury.
I follow Bill to the front entrance. “It’s not you,” he says as I hand over my name tag and am told to get in his security vehicle, also known as a golf cart. “We’ve had some incidents in the past with former employees who stayed on the premises to cause havoc.”
“No prob, man. You’re just doin’ your job.”
After being escorted off of Brickstone premises, I take my time walking home. How the hell am I gonna explain getting fired to mi'amá? It’s bad enough she hasn’t talked to me since she picked me up from the police station on Saturday night. On top of that I’ve got Chuy telling me I’m already a Latino Blood; Nikki, who thinks I’m a piece of shit drug dealer; Peterson breathing down my neck; a cop making moves on mi'amá; and now I get fired.
Talk about a week from hell.
A big black SUV pulls up beside me. It’s Chuy. “Hey, Fuentes. Get in the car.”
When I was a kid I knew to stay away from Chuy. I once overheard Alex tell Paco that Chuy was a crazy motherfucker who’d profess to be your best friend one minute and point a gun at your head the next. Chuy’s older now, with weathered skin and empty eyes. Mi'amá warned me to stay away. I’m not afraid of him, and I want to know what he’s up to. I don’t know if that makes me tough or just plain stupid.
I get in the car and admire the clean leather seats and sweet sound system. “Where are we goin’?”
“The warehouse.” He blows out smoke from his cigarette. It lingers in the car before slowly disappearing. “You ever been there?”
“No.”
“It’s time, amigo.” He drives through town. I notice him looking through the rearview mirror and glancing around, probably making sure we’re not being followed. He makes a quick turn onto a small street between the railroad tracks and an industrial park. It doesn’t take long before we drive through a wooded area and come upon a building that has a big sign on it saying QUINTERO SHIPPING AND RECEIVING. It’s always been a front for the Latino Blood hangout. And now that Chuy is back, the place is buzzing again.
I take it all in, wondering how come this guy trusts me.
“Come on,” Chuy says. “You and I need to have a little chat.”
A few guys are hanging out front. He flags the Latino Blood gang sign, and they flag back, before parting and letting us pass.
He leads me to a room off to the side, with a huge leather couch facing a big flat-screen TV.
“Sit down,” Chuy orders as he pulls out another cigarette and lights it.
I want to know what the hell he wants from me, without the bullshit. “I’m fine.”
He shrugs, then sits on the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. “I want to be friends. I’ve kept an eye on you since you left Fairfield. You’re a smart kid, Luis. Smarter than most pendejos out there.”
“You kicked the shit out of my brother and left him for dead. You don’t want to be friends, Chuy. You want to use me as a pawn.”
“We’re all pawns, Luis. The bottom line is that the Blood needs you, and it’s your time to step up. Everyone has to step up sometime.”
“To fill my brother’s spot?”
“Sure, if you want to rationalize it that way. The Blood is comin’ back to Fairfield. You’re either with us or against us. Alex knew the score and was smart enough to come on board. He knew the consequences of not joinin’ when approached to be a part of our brotherhood. He’s out. The burden is on you now.”
“What are you sayin’?”
He pulls out a Glock from the waistband of his jeans, places it on the coffee table with a loud thud, then looks up at me with a stern, serious expression. “You want to keep your family safe, don’t you?”