Chapter 8 #2
It’s trash-talkin’ times like these that give us a bad rep.
Not that rich kids don’t talk trash, I’m sure they do.
But when my friends go at it, it’s no-holds-barred.
To be honest, I think my friends are damn entertaining when they’re ragging on someone else.
When they’re ragging on me, I don’t find it half as funny.
“What’cha talkin’ about?” Paco asks, joining us with a plate of food from the cafeteria.
“I bet Alex my car for his motorcycle he can’t get into Brittany Ellis’s pants by Thanksgiving.”
“You loco, Alex?” Paco says. “Makin’ a bet like that is suicide.”
“Lay off, Paco,” I warn. It isn’t suicide. Stupid, maybe. But not suicide. If I could handle hot Carmen Sanchez, I can handle vanilla cookie Brittany Ellis.
“Brittany Ellis is out of your league, amigo. You might be a pretty boy, but you’re one hundred percent Mexicano and she’s as white as Wonder Bread.”
A junior named Leticia Gonzalez walks by us. “Hi, Alex,” she says, flashing me a smile before sitting with her friends. While the other guys drool over Leticia and talk to her friends, Paco and I are left alone by the tree.
Paco nudges me. “Now she’s a bonita Mexicana, and definitely in your league.”
My eye isn’t on Leticia, it’s on Brittany. Now that the game’s on, I’m focusing on the prize. It’s time to start flirting, but no bullshit come-on lines will work with her. Somehow I think she’s used to those from her boyfriend and other assholes trying to get into her pants.
I decide on a new tactic, one she won’t expect. I’m going to keep riffling her feathers until I’m all she thinks about. And I’ll start next period when she’s forced to sit next to me. Nothing like a little foreplay in chemistry class to spark things up.
“?Carajo!” Paco says, throwing down his lunch. “They think they can buy a U-shaped shell, stuff it, and call it a taco, but those cafeteria workers wouldn’t know taco meat from a piece of shit. That’s what this tastes like, Alex.”
“You’re makin’ me sick, man,” I tell him.
I stare uncomfortably at the food I brought from home. Thanks to Paco everything looks like mierda now. Disgusted, I shove what’s left of my lunch into my brown paper bag.
“Want some of it?” Paco says with a grin as he holds out the shitty taco to me.
“Bring that one inch closer to me and you’ll be sorry,” I threaten.
“I’m shakin’ in my pants.”
Paco wiggles the offending taco, goading me. He should seriously know better.
“If any of that gets on me—”
“What’cha gonna do, kick my ass?” Paco sings sarcastically, still shaking the taco. Maybe I should punch him in the face, knocking him out so I won’t have to deal with him right now.
As I have that thought, I feel something drop on my pants. I look down even though I know what I’ll see. Yes, a big blob of wet, gloppy stuff passing as taco meat lands right on the crotch of my faded jeans.
“Fuck,” Paco says, his face quickly turning from amusement to shock. “Want me to clean it off for you?”
“If your fingers get anywhere close to my dick, I’m gonna personally shoot you in the huevos,” I growl through clenched teeth.
I flick the mystery meat off my crotch. A big, greasy stain lingers. I turn back to Paco. “You got ten minutes to get me a new pair of pants.”
“How the hell am I s’posed to do that?”
“Be creative.”
“Take mine.” Paco stands and brings his fingers to the waistband of his jeans, unbuttoning right in the middle of the courtyard.
“Maybe I wasn’t specific enough,” I tell him, wondering how I’m going to act like the cool guy in chem class when it looks like I’ve peed in my pants. “I meant, get me a new pair of pants that will fit me, pendejo. You’re so short you could audition to be one of Santa Claus’s elves.”
“I’m toleratin’ your insults because we’re like brothers.”
“Nine minutes and thirty seconds.”
It doesn’t take Paco more than that to start running toward the school parking lot.
I seriously don’t give a crap how I get the pants; just that I get ’em before my next class. A wet crotch is not the way to show Brittany I’m a stud.
I wait at the tree while other kids throw away their lunches and head back inside.
Before I know it, music starts playing through the loudspeakers and Paco is nowhere in sight.
Great. Now I have five minutes to get to Peterson’s class.
Gritting my teeth, I walk to chemistry with my books strategically placed in front of my crotch, with two minutes to spare.
I slide onto the stool and push it as close to the lab table as possible, hiding the stain.
Brittany walks into the room, her sunshine hair falling down the front of her chest, ending in perfect little curls that bounce when she walks. Instead of that perfection turning me on, it makes me want to mess it all up.
I wink at her when she glances at me. She huffs and pulls her stool as far away from me as possible.
Remembering Mrs. Peterson’s zero-tolerance rule, I pull my bandanna off and place it in my lap directly over the stain. Then I turn to the pom-pom chick sitting next to me. “You’re gonna have to talk to me at some point.”
“So your girlfriend can have a reason to beat me up? No thanks, Alex. I’d rather keep my face the way it is.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend. You want to interview for the position?” I scan her from top to bottom, focusing on the parts she relies on so heavily.
She curls her pink-frosted top lip and sneers at me. “Not on your life.”
“Mujer, you wouldn’t know what to do with all this testosterone if you had it in your hands.”
That’s it, Alex. Tease her into wanting you. She’ll take the bait.
She turns away from me. “You’re disgusting.”
“What if I said we’d make a great couple?”
“I’d say you were an idiot.”