Read Perfect Chemistry 1 for Free Online Page A

I wonder if she believes
    the rumors she's heard about me. No, we'll never be friends. But I can
    tell we'll never be enemies, either.
    After practice I walk to my car with Sierra, who's busy texting her
    boyfriend, Doug, on her cell.
    A piece of paper is tucked under one of my windshield wipers. I pull
    it off. It's Alex's blue detention slip.
    Crumpling it up, I shove it into my book bag.
    "What was that?" Sierra asks.
    "Nothing," I say, hoping she gets the hint that I don't want to talk
    about it.
    "Guys, wait up!" Darlene yells, running up to us. "I saw Colin on the
    football field. He said to wait for him."
    I look at my watch. It's almost six and I want to get home to help
    Baghda make my sister's dinner. "I can't."
    "Doug texted me back," Sierra says, "He's invited us for pizza at
    his house."
    "I can come," Darlene says. "I've been so bored now that Tyler is
    back at Purdue and I probably won't see him for weeks."
    Sierra is still texting away. "I thought you were gonna visit him
    next weekend."
    Darlene stands with her hands on her hips. "Well, that was until he
    called and said all the pledges in the fraternity had to sleep at the frat
    house for some crazy initiation thing. As long as Tyler's penis is intact
    when it's all over, I'm happy."
    At the mention of ‘penis,’ I search for my keys in my purse. When
    Darlene gets to talking about penises and sex, stand back because she
    never stops. And since I'm not one to share my sexual experiences (or
    lack thereof), I'm out of here. A perfect time to escape.
    As I dangle my keys on my fingers, Sierra tells me she'll get a ride
    from Doug, so I'm alone during the drive home. I like being alone.
    Nobody to put on an act for. I can even blast the music if I want.
    Enjoying the music is short-lived, though, when I feel my phone
    vibrate. I pull my cell out of my pocket. Two voice messages and one
    text message. All from Colin.
    I call him on his cell. "Brit, where are you?" he asks.
    "On my way home."
    "Come over to Doug's."
    "My sister has a new caretaker," I explain. "I have to help her out."
    "Are you still pissed because I threatened your gangbanger
    chemistry partner?"
    "I'm not pissed. I'm annoyed. I told you I could handle it and you
    totally ignored me. And you caused a whole scene in the hallway. You
    know I didn't ask to be partners with him," I tell Colin.
    "I know, Brit. I just hate that guy. Don't be mad."
    "I'm not," I say. "I just hate seeing you get all riled up for no
    reason."
    "And I hated seeing that guy whispering in your ear." I feel a
    headache coming on, full force. I don't need Colin to make a scene
    every time a guy so much as talks to me. He's never done that before
    and it left me open for more scrutiny and gossip, something I never
    want to happen.
    "Let's just forget it ever happened."
    "Fine by me. Call me tonight," he says. "But if you can get out early
    and can come to Doug's, I'll be there."
    When I get home, Baghda is in Shelley's room on the first floor.
    She's attempting to change her special leak-proof undergarments, but
    she has Shelley in the wrong position. Her head is usually where her
    feet are, one leg is dangling off the bed . . . it's a disaster and Baghda
    is huffing and puffing as if it's the most difficult task she's ever
    attempted. Did my mom check her credentials?
    "I'll do it," I tell Baghda, pushing her aside and taking over. I've
    changed my sister's underwear since we were kids. It's not fun
    changing the undergarments of a person who weighs more than you do,
    but if you do it right it doesn't take long and it doesn't become a big,
    drawn-out deal.
    My sister smiles wide when she sees me. "Bwiee!" My sister can't
    enunciate words, but she uses verbal approximations.
    ‘Bwiee’ means ‘Brittany,’ and I smile back while situating her better
    on her bed. "Hey, girlie girl. You hungry for dinner?" I ask as I pull
    wipes from the container and try not to think about the task I'm doing.
    As I slip new leak-proof