Chain Reaction (Perfect Chemistry #3)

Chain Reaction (Perfect Chemistry #3) Page 8

I know why mi'amá wanted to come back and live in this town, in our old house. It’s not just because Fairfield is close to Evanston, where Alex and Brittany live. It’s because of the past … the memories of mi papá she’s desperate to hold on to.

I watch as mi'amá puts the key in the lock, takes a big breath, then opens the door. She sent in a deposit and a check for the first month’s rent while we were still in Colorado, for fear that someone else would snatch it up. I didn’t tell her she had nothing to worry about, that nobody would be standing in line to rent the dump we used to call home.

I was wrong.

We stand in the small living room, and I do a double take. The old, ripped carpeting has been replaced by new hardwood floors. The walls have been freshly painted a bright white. I hardly recognize the place.

“Luis, look!” mi'amá says as she steps into the kitchen and runs her hand over the new granite counters and stainless steel appliances. She smiles wide, then hugs me tight in excitement. “It’s a new beginning for us.”

A loud knock on the front door echoes through the house. “It might be Elena. She said she was going to stop by after work,” mi'amá says, hurrying to open the door.

I’m about to check out the old bedroom I used to share with Alex and Carlos when I hear mi'amá exclaim, “Can I help you, officer?”

Officer?

The cops are here?

The only experience I’ve had with Fairfield cops was when my brothers got into trouble or when they’d question us about gang activity when I was younger. When most of your family have been gang members, the last thing you want is a police officer knocking on your door. Even though Alex is in grad school and Carlos is in the military, old habits are hard to break.

I walk into the living room and watch as a cop in uniform smiles wide at mi'amá. He’s got dark brown hair in a short military cut and is standing in one of those cop stances that means business. “I saw you pull up and wanted to introduce myself,” the guy says, then holds out his hand. “I’m Cesar Reyes, your landlord and next-door neighbor.”

Mi'amá reaches out to shake his hand, then pulls it back quickly as she eyes the gun strapped to his holster. “Thanks for introducing yourself, Officer Reyes,” she says.

“Call me Cesar.” The cop looks down, noticing what she’s focused on. “I didn’t mean to intimidate you, Mrs. Fuentes. I was about to go to work, and I didn’t know the next time I’d catch you home.” His eyes dart to me. “Is that your son?”

She opens the door wider and steps back, so now I’m in full view. “Officer Reyes, this is Luis—my youngest.”

Reyes nods in my direction. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, not thrilled to suddenly be living next to a cop who happens to be our landlord.

“I’m having a barbeque at my place Sunday night. You both should hop on over if you get a chance.”

Neither of us answers.

He shrugs. “All right. I guess I’ll see you around then.” He pulls a business card from his front pocket and hands it to mi'amá. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

He walks to his car, then drives away.

“Glad that’s over,” I say.

Mi'amá closes the door slowly, then sighs as she leans against it.

“You all right?” I ask her.

“I’m fine. Just … let’s get started unpacking.”

On Sunday, Alex calls to say he got me an interview at the Brickstone Country Club in Evanston, which is a twenty-minute walk from our house. I need a job to help out and told Alex to be on the lookout if he hears of any openings. My cousin Enrique has a body shop, but Alex works there already a few days a week, and since the economy turned to shit Enrique doesn’t have enough work for two extra employees.

At four I head over to Brickstone. It’s a huge place with a private eighteen-hole golf course, Olympic-sized indoor and outdoor pools, and an exclusive dining room solely for club members.

The interview process doesn’t take long. This lady, Fran Remington, calls me into her office after I fill out an application.

She puts her hand on her desk and gives me a once-over. “I see here that you’re a straight-A student and were on the soccer and swim teams at your old high school. Tell me, Luis, why do you want a job here?”

“I just moved here from Colorado and need to help my mom with bills. I’ve got college applications due in a few months, and those cost a lot of money.”

She lays the paperwork on her desk. “Where do you want to go to college?”

“Purdue University. They’ve got an aeronautics program,” I tell her. “After my bachelor’s I plan on applyin’ to NASA’s astronaut trainin’ program.”

“You’re ambitious.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She looks over my application again. “You don’t have any serving experience. I really need a server for the dining room.”

“I can do it,” I tell her. “It’s not a problem.”

“Our members expect top-notch food and the best service Illinois has to offer. I don’t tolerate any bad attitudes, tardiness, or slovenly employees. When members walk into the club, they’re treated like royalty by each and every person on my staff. Our members pay a tremendous amount of money to be part of this club. They’re demanding, and so am I.”

“I can handle it.”

The woman hesitates just a few more seconds before smiling at me. “I like a young man with ambition like yours. Even though you don’t have experience, I’ll give you a shot. You’ll start as a busboy for a month, then move up to server if you have what it takes. You can start on Saturday.”

“Thank you for the opportunity, ma’am,” I tell her. “I won’t let you down.”

“Good. It’s settled then.”

Back at home, I find Officer Reyes standing on our front stoop, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He’s got a Budweiser in his hand, and he’s talking with mi'amá. I wouldn’t think anything of it, but the guy has a big grin on his face, and he just touched her elbow as she laughed at something he said.

Oh, man.

I know how a guy acts when he’s flirting with a girl, because I do it all the time. There’s no doubt in my mind that our neighbor/landlord/cop has the hots for mi'amá.

How the hell am I gonna explain that one to my brothers?

10

Nikki

Ugh, I couldn’t sleep last night. It’s the first day of my senior year, and I’m so ready for it. I’m ready to graduate, get out of Fairfield, and start my life.

I take a shower, get dressed, then head downstairs for breakfast.

“You look nice,” Mom says, eyeing my jeans and turquoise silk tank she bought me when she went shopping in downtown Evanston last week. “Here, I made some eggs for you and Ben.”

My brother walks into the kitchen, his hair practically falling into his eyes as he reads some gaming magazine. It’s his first day of freshman year and he’s wearing ripped jeans and a T-shirt that has seen better days. You’d think he’d at least dress up for the occasion, but no.

“Ben, you need a haircut,” I tell him.

“No, thanks,” Ben responds absently as he reads an article about some new combat game coming out with digital graphics. I only know this because I glimpse the title of the article, which says “Combat Forces II—Stunning Digital Graphics!”

“Ben, you do realize that you’re in high school now, don’t you?”

“So?”

“So you should take care of your appearance.”

He sets his gaming magazine on the kitchen table. “I put on a shirt that didn’t have holes in it. That should count for something.”

“It says MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU!”

He looks down at his shirt. “I know … cool, huh?”

I look at Mom for support in this.

“Everybody has their own definition of cool, Nikki,” Mom says.

Ben gives Mom an exaggerated wink. “Don’t you think it’s time to tell Nikki the truth—that I’ll be a self-made millionaire by the time I’m twenty and Nikki will probably be asking me for loans?”

Mom sets a plate in front of him and starts heaping eggs and toast onto it. She even pours orange juice into his glass. “The truth is that you better sit on your butt and eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

“Social skills count for a lot, you know,” I tell him.

“Social skills are overrated,” my brother says right before he takes a huge bite of bread.

Mom pats Ben on the shoulder. “Stop antagonizing your sister.”

“She makes it so easy,” Ben says, then leans back in his chair. “So who wants to name my next Queen of the Dragon Empire in the game I’m in the middle of coding?”

“How about you name her Nicolasa after your sister?” Mom suggests.

“I need a tougher name than that,” Ben tells her. “This is a queen who can yield a sword and wear chain mail.”

“Why not Bertha?” I jokingly suggest. I hate when Ben starts talking about cartoon characters as if they’re real … I hate it more when he sucks me in and I actually validate his obsession.

“Queen Bertha? Nope, doesn’t work for me.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Mom gets her keys out. “Oh, I almost forgot. Nikki, you can’t take your car today. Your father took it in for repairs this morning when he realized that it was leaking oil. Why don’t you two walk to school? Start off the year being active instead of lazy and spoiled.”

“I’m proud of my laziness,” Ben says, amusing himself. “And what’s wrong with being spoiled?”

“Everything.” She turns around just as I’m about to finish the last bite of my food and says, “I’ll tell you what … I’ll drive you both to school because I have to go to work anyway, but you can either walk or take the bus home.” She smiles serenely.

Having your mommy drive you to school as a senior? “If Dad took my car, let me take his.”

“Not going to happen,” she says. “Unless you get all As, you’re never getting hold of the keys to his Lexus. It’s a goal to work toward.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Mom, Nikki has never gotten all As.”

“Yes, she has,” Mom says.

Ben laughs. “I’m not talking about kindergarten.”

I kick my brother under the table. Just because he doesn’t try, hardly studies, and gets all As doesn’t mean he has to be arrogant about it.

“I’m having dinner with some clients tonight, so I won’t be home. I’m decorating their house using all antiques,” Mom says excitedly.

“Have fun,” I tell her, knowing she will. My mom is an interior designer who loves turning boring spaces into themed rooms she calls “eclectic showstoppers.” Each room in our house has a theme and has been turned into one “eclectic showstopper” after another. My life is inundated with themed rooms.