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 casually take off my shoes and remind myself that this guy isn’t worth getting kicked out of school. I’m not gonna let him bully me, though.
“Sorry to break the news to you, gringo,” I tell him. “But I ain’t movin’. It’s the first day of school. You don’t have a ‘spot’ yet.”
Other guys start piling in the locker room. Gringo slams his fist hard on the locker right above my head, causing everyone to look our way.
“I’m warning you,” he growls through clenched teeth, then kicks my shoes across the room.
I roll my eyes. He wants me to throw the first punch so I’m the one who gets in trouble. He has no clue that I have the patience of a saint. At least that’s what Carlos says, although that isn’t saying much, considering his fuse is about as short as an eyelash.
Pedro, a guy who lived across the street from me since before we moved, motions to the back of the locker room. “Ah, dejalo y mueveté,” he says to me.
In other words, avoid the conflict.
“Listen to your friend,” Gringo says, then grabs my T-shirt and attempts to push me away from his precious spot.
Not happening.
I push back. He doesn’t expect it, because his body slams against the lockers hard. He loses his balance and lands on his ass with a thud.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ kick your ass!” he screams.
He’s about to charge his full weight against me when one of his friends stands between us. “Dougan, chill out. Seriously, man, it’s not worth getting kicked off the team.”
Dougan stares me down before turning his back and walking to another row of lockers with his friends following behind him. I sit and take a deep breath. I’m not in Boulder anymore, that’s for damn sure.
Everyone who has fourth-period lunch ditches the cafeteria and instead chooses to eat outside. The courtyard is filled with students. The south siders sit under the trees, while the north siders have flocked to the picnic tables as if they were personally made for them. I notice Nikki sitting with a bunch of jocks, all vying for her attention. She smiles at them and laughs at their jokes, but I can tell she’s being fake. None of them are holding her attention for long.
I sit next to my old friends under a big maple tree.
“So what you been up to, Fuentes?” Pedro asks as he reaches into a brown paper bag and pulls out his lunch. “Besides pissin’ off Dougan in the locker room.”
I shrug. “Lived in Mexico for a while. Then moved to Colorado.”
“What made you come back to this shithole?” Marco Delgado asks. He sits across from me and I catch a glimpse of a pocketknife peeking out of his sock.
“Familia brought me back,” I tell them.
“Speaking of familia,” Marco says. “Your brother Alex used to be a Blood, didn’t he?”
I nod.
I’d be an idiot not to think that subject would come up sooner or later. My brother was an active member of the Latino Blood, until Hector Martinez betrayed him.
“Chuy got busted a while back. Most of the OGs got sent to the DOC,” Delgado explains.
The DOC—otherwise known as the Department of Corrections.
“I heard.”
Chuy used to be second in command. Once Chuy went down, the rest of the OGs went down with him. My cousin Enrique almost served time, but Alex helped him get a good lawyer who got the case against him dismissed.
“You think Alex had somethin’ to do with the bust?”
Alex, responsible for bringing down the Latino Blood? I don’t think so. “My brother isn’t a narc,” I say. Fuentes pride runs deep, and I’ll do anything to protect my brothers and my family name. “¿Comprende?”
Marco nods. “I’ve got no problem with him. It’s all good, man.”
Mariana Castillo, the girl every guy had a crush on in second grade, sits with us. A bunch of girls follow her lead. Mariana was always the leader of the girls … whatever she did, the other girls followed. She’s got a flawless complexion, long legs, thick lips, and a gleam in her eyes that reveals a raw and ruthless spirit.
“Well, well. I guess the rumors are true,” she tells me. “Luis Fuentes has definitely grown up.”
Marco laughs. “I think you’ve got yourself a fan club, Luis.”
“You should come out with all of us on Saturday night,” Mariana says.
“I’ve got to work,” I tell her.
“That sucks. What if we—”
A blaring voice over the loudspeakers scattered throughout the courtyard cuts her off. “Luis Fuentes, please report to Principal Aguirre’s office immediately. Luis Fuentes, report to Principal Aguirre’s office immediately,” the voice bellows again just in case for some miraculous reason I hadn’t heard the first time.
Marco lets out a low whistle. “In trouble with Aguirre on the first day of school, Fuentes?” he asks, amused. “He’s probably been alerted that we were friends back in grade school. Got in our share of trouble, didn’t we?”
“Sure did.” Marco and I had been in the same homeroom and sat next to each other for practically every class. I always earned good grades, but Marco could always convince me to be his partner in crime.
“Did you get called in, too?” I ask him.
“First thing this mornin’. Aguirre’s a hard-ass and will try to scare you into playin’ by his rules. He’ll try to get you to talk, but keep your mouth shut. It’ll totally piss him off. It’s hilarious watchin’ his face get all red.”
“I bet it has to do with that fight with Dougan in the locker room,” Pedro chimes in.
“Good luck,” Mariana says.
“Thanks,” I say, hoping that I don’t need it.
I find the front office a few minutes later. An old woman behind the front desk looks frazzled as students stand around impatiently requesting class schedule changes or signing up for appointments with the guidance counselor.
I figure I’ll wait in line instead of announcing my arrival. I’m not looking forward to facing Aguirre. Marco isn’t the only one who declared him a hard-ass. My brothers warned me that their old principal didn’t take any prisoners.
The door opens to Aguirre’s office and a tall guy wearing a suit and tie appears. “Fuentes!” he yells above the noise. He scans the room until his eyes lock on mine. He doesn’t look thrilled to see me. “In my office,” he orders.
I weave my way through the crowd.
Aguirre is holding a manila folder with my name typed on it as he sits on the edge of his desk. “Come in, Luis. Sit down.”
I sit in one of his guest chairs and look around the room. Fairfield High School memorabilia is scattered on the walls, as well as pictures of Aguirre with old alumni. A tennis player, an NFL quarterback, and a news anchor are a few of the alumni pictures posted. Impressive.
I wonder if in ten years I’ll be in a picture with Aguirre that’s permanently displayed in his office.
Not right now, though. Right now Aguirre is looking at me with a mixture of annoyance and anger.
“The last time I had a Fuentes called into my office, it was your brother Alex. He was a magnet for trouble.” He slaps my file on the table. “I assumed you’d be different, Luis. You were a straight-A student at Flatiron High. That school is ranked as the second-best high school in Colorado for academics. You were in the honor society, active in student council, played soccer, and were cocaptain of the swim team.”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
He leans forward. “So why the hell are you getting in fights in the locker room?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
Aguirre lets out a deep breath. “If I had a dollar every time I heard a student say I don’t know, I’d be a millionaire. No, a billionaire. I have a zero tolerance policy. Whatever altercation happened between you and Justin Dougan in the locker room has become my problem. You want to know what I do with my problems?”
I don’t answer.
He leans forward again and speaks in a quiet, slow voice meant to capture my undivided attention. “My problems get a detention. After that comes suspension. Three strikes, and you’re expelled.”
When he takes a blue slip off his desk and hands it to me, I swallow hard. My first detention. I am not, no matter what, going to get two strikes. Even if it means being called Mex for the next nine months.
“Does this go in my permanent file?” I ask, looking down at the offending blue slip.
“I’m afraid so.”
Shit. I briefly have a vision of breaking into the school office in the middle of the night and making the detention disappear. In movies people break into offices and steal files all the time. It would definitely be an adrenaline rush, especially if I was able to pull it off.
“Now get out of here,” Aguirre says. “I don’t want to see your face back in my office unless it’s to tell me you’re on the honor roll. Keep your head in your books, and we’ll get along just fine.”
“Is that it?” I ask him.
“No.” He smiles and opens his arms out wide. “Welcome to Fairfield High.”