Chapter 1 #2
We go in Alex’s apartment. He’s definitely not living in the lap of luxury.
A twin bed with a thin black fleece blanket is off to the side of the room, a table and four chairs are on the right, and a kitchen so small that two people would have a hard time fitting in together is by the front door.
This isn’t even a one-bedroom apartment. It’s a studio. A small studio.
Alex points to a door next to his bed. “There’s the bathroom. You can put your stuff in the closet across from the kitchen.”
I toss my duffel in the closet and walk farther into the apartment. “Um, Alex . . . where do you expect me to sleep?”
“I borrowed a blow-up bed from Mandi.”
“Está buena—she’s cute.” I check out the room again. In our house back in Chicago I shared a much smaller room with Alex and Luis. “Where’s the TV?” I ask.
“Don’t have one.”
Shit. That’s not good. “What the hell am I supposed to do when I’m bored?”
“Read a book.”
“Estás chiflado, you’re crazy. I don’t read.”
“Startin’ tomorrow you do,” he says as he opens the window to let in some fresh air. “I’ve already had your transcripts sent. They’re expectin’ you at Flatiron High tomorrow.”
School? My brother is talkin’ about school?
Man, that’s the last thing a seventeen-year-old guy wants to think about.
I thought he’d at least give me a week to adjust to living in the U.S.
again. Time to change course. “Where do you stash your weed?” I say, knowing I’m pushing his patience to the limit.
“You should prob’ly tell me now so I don’t have to go rummagin’ through your place tryin’ to find it. ”
“Don’t have any.”
“Okay. Then who’s your dealer?”
“You don’t get it, Carlos. I don’t do that shit anymore.”
“You said you work. Don’t you make money?”
“Yeah, so I can afford to eat, go to college, and send whatever’s left to Mamá.”
Just as that news is sinking in, the apartment door opens.
I recognize my brother’s blond girlfriend immediately, her keys to his apartment and her purse in one hand and a big brown paper bag in the other.
She looks like a Barbie doll come to life.
My brother takes the bag and kisses her.
They might as well be married. “Carlos, you remember Brittany.”
She opens her arms out wide and pulls me close. “Carlos, it’s so great to have you here!” Brittany says in a cheery voice. I almost forgot she used to be a cheerleader back in high school, but as soon as she opens her mouth I can’t help but remember.
“For who?” I say stiffly.
She pulls back. “For you. And for Alex. He misses having his family around.”
“I bet.”
She clears her throat and looks a little uneasy. “Umm . . . okay, well, I brought you guys some Chinese food for lunch. I hope you’re hungry.”
“We’re Mexican,” I tell her. “Why didn’t you get Mexican food?”
Brittany’s perfectly shaped eyebrows furrow. “That was a joke, right?”
“Not really.”
She turns toward the kitchen. “Alex, want to help me out here?”
Alex appears with paper plates and plastic utensils in his hands. “Carlos, what’s your problem?”
I shrug. “No problem. I was just askin’ your girlfriend why she didn’t get Mexican food. She’s the one who got all defensive.”
“Have some manners and say ‘thank you’ instead of makin’ her feel like crap.”
It’s crystal clear whose side my brother is on. At one time Alex said he joined the Latino Blood to protect our family, so Luis and I didn’t have to join. But I can see now that family means crap to him.
Brittany holds her hands up. “I don’t want you two getting in a fight because of me.” She pushes her purse farther on her shoulder and sighs. “I think I better go and let you two get reacquainted.”
“Don’t go,” Alex says.
Dios mío, I think my brother lost his balls somewhere between here and Mexico. Or maybe Brittany has them zipped inside that fancy purse. “Alex, let her go if she wants.” It’s time to break the leash she’s got him on.
“It’s okay. Really,” she says, then kisses my brother. “Enjoy the lunch. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Carlos.”
“Uh-huh.” As soon as she’s gone, I grab the brown bag off the kitchen counter and bring it to the table. I read the labels on each container. Chicken chow mein . . . beef chow fun . . . pu-pu platter. “Pu-pu platter?”
“It’s a bunch of appetizers,” Alex explains.
I’m not goin’ near anything with the word “pu-pu” in it. I’m annoyed that my brother even knows what a pu-pu platter is. I leave that container alone as I scoop myself a plateful of the identifiable Chinese food and start chowing down. “Aren’t you gonna eat?” I ask Alex.
He’s looking at me as if I’m some stranger.
“?Qué pasa?” I ask.
“Brittany’s not goin’ anywhere, you know.”
“That’s the problem. Can’t you see it?”
“No. What I see is my seventeen-year-old brother actin’ like he’s five. It’s time to grow up, mocoso.”
“So I can be as borin’ as shit like you? No thanks.”
Alex grabs his keys.
“Where you goin’?”
“To apologize to my girlfriend, then head to work. Make yourself at home,” he says, tossing me a key to the apartment. “And stay out of trouble.”
“As long as you’re talkin’ to Brittany,” I say as I bite off the end of an egg roll, “why don’t you ask her for your huevos back.”