But what if it’s blood money, or drug money? Shit, I’m a Latino Blood with a damn conscience. Not a good combination.

I quickly fill my backpack with the cash, then take the bus to the local library, hoping I’m not being tracked. If Chuy knows I’ve been to the bank, then he knows I’ve seen what’s in the box. Is he expecting me to just hand over the cash and give him the numbers on the paper? If I don’t give them to him, will he kill me? If I do give them to him, what does he need me for, then? Best bet is that I’ll be smoked either way.

If Nikki and I were together, she’d be in danger. I’m glad I gave her up, although it’s killing me inside.

I can’t tell Alex and Carlos what’s goin’ down. They’re already involved more than they should be. I swear they haven’t let me out of their sight for one minute since they came back home. If Carlos gets involved, and something goes wrong and he gets arrested, he’ll most likely be dishonorably discharged from the army. Alex could lose his scholarship, his family … if he’s in jail, he’ll miss the birth of his second child.

I’ll never let either of them get involved. I might be a Martinez, but I still feel like a Fuentes.

I look back and realize that I’m being tailed by a black Camaro. The guy driving looks suspiciously like the pendejo who opened the door in that house Marco and I went to in the F5 territory to collect the five Gs.

Luckily I know Fairfield like the back of my hand. I walk toward the police station, which is right behind the library. I walk inside the station lobby and wait while the car passes, then go behind the station and head to the back door of the library.

Once inside, I sign up for an hour of computer use. I Google the set of numbers I found in the safety deposit box, but nothing comes up. What would Hector do with the numbers? Probably not a phone number, but the number starts with double zeroes. I deduce that it’s either some kind of code, a password, or an account number. A bank account, maybe. But what bank? There’s probably thousands of banks. How the hell am I supposed to figure out which one? Or maybe it’s not a bank account, and the numbers don’t mean shit.

It’s no use. My hour is up and I still don’t have a clue what the numbers mean. I look behind me and see someone else waiting to use the computer. Damn. I need more time.

At home, I sneak back in through my window when I catch sight of Reyes smoking a cigarette on his back porch. He’s shirtless and his back is to me. Plain as day I see a tattoo between his shoulder blades. F5.

Reyes is a gangbanger posing as a cop? Holy shit. What has he been doin’, spying on me like the others? Was this all planned out? Chuy said he’s been watching me all along, even when I was in Colorado. Could Chuy secretly be fuckin’ with me?

I’m so fucking confused it feels like my head is about to explode. Not wanting Reyes to know I’ve seen him, I sneak around to the front of the house. When I walk through the door, Peterson is sitting at the kitchen table peering at me over her glasses.

“Weren’t you supposed to give birth already?” I ask her.

She touches her protruding stomach. “Any day now. I’m on maternity leave, so you’ll have a break from me for a few months. Don’t be too broken up about it.”

“I’m not.”

“You almost missed our tutoring session,” she says, then glances at her watch.

Considering my chances of surviving the next few weeks are slim, she doesn’t need to waste her time. “Listen, Mrs. P., I know my brothers kind of coerced you to be here, but it’s a waste of your time.”

“I’m not giving up on you,” she says, patting the chair next to her.

“I would.”

“I didn’t give up on Alex, and I’m not giving up on you. Alex had every reason to throw it all away but he didn’t.”

Alex never had the connection to the LB that I do.

“Show me your math homework,” she orders in a no-nonsense voice.

“Not to be disrespectful, Mrs. P., but I’d bet I’m better in math than you.” My brothers must have found my textbook and binders in my room and “helpfully” left them on the table for me. I pull out the math sheet I finished in five seconds.

“Mr. Gasper gave me a new worksheet. I made a copy of it. I bet I can finish the worksheet faster than you.”

“How much?”

She pulls her wallet out, opens it, then slips a five-dollar bill out of the top. Attached to one side of her wallet are her checks … with a row of numbers at the bottom. The first two numbers are zeroes.

“What are those numbers?” I ask her, pointing to the bottom of the check.

“The bank routing number, and the bank account number. Why?”

I glance at my palm with the numbers written on it, and adrenaline pumps through my veins. That’s it. The bank routing number, and bank account. “No reason. I’ve never had checks,” I tell her.

Mrs. P. takes ten minutes to explain how checks work, and even pulls one of hers out of her wallet and makes me write one out.

“Sign your name here,” she says, pointing to the bottom right corner. “This is a life skill that you should know, Luis.”

“I’ve got other life skills,” I tell her.

“Yeah, well, I don’t consider cussing a life skill. Or fighting.”

“I do. Necessary ones.”

She shakes her head and sighs in frustration. “I will give you this important information about checks.” She writes the word VOID in big bold letters on the front of the check she told me to practice on. “Let this be the last time you write your name on someone else’s check. If you do, or forge someone’s name on a check, it’s a felony. You go to jail. Make good decisions, Luis. Focus on math and science and doing well in school. Those will help you. The fighting won’t.” She places Gasper’s worksheet in front of me. “You ready for the challenge?”

I pick up a pencil. “You’re on, Mrs. P. But I’ve got to warn you, I’m a numbers guy.”

“Good,” she says, patting me on the hand. “That skill will serve you well in college, and when you’re up in space.”

It’s more likely I’ll end up in hell before heaven or space.

48

Nikki

I gave Derek a note to give to Luis. He texted me that he delivered it. Now I’m waiting. If he won’t come to me, I’m going to him.

I debated what to wear, and now I’m second-guessing myself. What if he doesn’t remember this dress, the one I wore the night I met him? What if he doesn’t remember what room we were in when we first laid eyes on each other?

But the setup doesn’t matter. What matters is that Luis knows I love him, and I’m not giving up on us trying to make this work.

I know he’s a Latino Blood now, but if he realizes what we have is stronger than any bond he could have to a gang, everything will work out. I have to believe he really doesn’t want to be in the LB and will find a way to get out.

I look at my cell phone. No call from Luis, no text, and it’s nine o’clock. I told him in the letter to meet me here at nine. Every second that passes makes me nervous that he might not show, but I don’t give up hope. Even at nine fifteen when there’s no sign of him, I still have faith he’ll come. I feel like that movie where the girl is standing on the pitcher’s mound, waiting for the guy. When all hope is lost, the hero comes running onto the field and they live happily ever after.

Luis is my hero, even if he doesn’t know it yet. He’ll know tonight … if he shows up.

I check my clock again for the hundredth time. Nine thirty.

When I called the private grounds where Brittany and Alex got married, the lady on the phone told me I had to call their management office to inquire about a daily rental. To my surprise, Hunter answered the phone. Ends up his family owns the property, and he told me the house would be unoccupied for two days, so I could stay there for free. When I told him he might change his mind about letting me use the place because I was going to be with another guy, all he said was, “Lucky guy. I hope he’s worth it.”

“He is,” I tell him.

At ten, I’m losing hope. I take the key out of my purse, ready to close the place up, when the door opens.

Luis is in the doorway. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“Derek gave me your note. Sorry I’m late. There was a little mishap with my dog.”

“What happened to Granny?”

“She kind of wandered off, but I found her. Why did you want me to come here?”

“You haven’t been at school.” I step closer to him. “I missed you.”

“You’re wearin’ the same dress you had on when we met.”

“You remembered.”

“How could I forget. I thought you were an angel from heaven.”

“I’m still your angel, Luis.”

“We can’t do this.” He looks around the room. “You pushed me away that night at your place … You were right.”

“No. I was scared, Luis. The second I laid eyes on you, I knew you were dangerous … because I felt a connection.”

“The same you felt with Marco,” he says with a sad tone to his voice.

“No. Very different. Very, very different. You’re a genius in chemistry class, Luis. Explain the electricity in the room right now. It’s flowing between us … even you can’t control it.”

“It’s lust.”

“I think it’s something else. Follow me,” I say, then slide past him and head outside to the dance floor.

“You were a shitty dancer back then,” he says, watching me as I play music I’d already set up from my portable iPod speakers.

I smile sheepishly. “I’m still a shitty dancer.”

“I’m not who you think I am, or who I thought I was. I found out that my father was Hector Martinez, the head of the Latino Blood. I’m following in his footsteps.”

I’m shocked, but everything makes more sense now. “Why follow in his footsteps?”

“Because I have to, Nik. It’s my legacy. I was born a Latino Blood,” he says. “And I’m gonna die one.”

“Not tonight, you’re not.” I take his arms and put them around me as we sway to the music. I wrap my arms around his neck as a slow love song plays in the background. “I love you, Luis … unconditionally.”

“Nik, don’t do this,” he whispers.

I hold him tighter. “I’m not holding back anymore. Luis, tell me you love me, too.”

“I never stopped lovin’ you, mi chava.” I hear him curse under his breath. “But I can’t drag you down with me. This can’t happen between us, because you know I’ll have to leave you.”

I take his hand and lead him onto the beach, and into one of the many abandoned lifeguard stations. Flickering candles in glass containers surround the cramped space—candles I lit over an hour ago.

He stands against the wall, watching my every move.