Getting It by Alex Sanchez Page B

friends leaning toward him, their eyes wide with curiosity. “What did she say?”
    Carlos fell into his chair, still in a daze. “She likes my hair.”
    â€œShe wants you, dude!” Pulga raised his palm and high-fived him. “So you’re really not gay?”
    Not that again. “Shut up!”
    Pulga responded with a huge smile. “Well, you had me worried,
pendejo”
    â€œSo are you going to e-mail her?” Toro asked.
    Only Playboy failed to share their enthusiasm. “Don’t waste your time,” he told Carlos. “She’s a nine-point-eight—out of your league.”
    â€œLay off!” Toro punched Playboy in the shoulder. “That’s a crappy thing to say.”
    Playboy shrugged. “Well, it’s true.” He turned to Carlos. “You really think Roxy is going to give it up to you just because your queer little boyfriend gives you a fag haircut?”
    Pulga rested a hand on Playboy’s shoulder. “Hey, ease up, man.”
    But Carlos wasn’t fazed. Sal’s encouragement and Roxy’s words had fortified his determination. Calmly, he looked Playboy in the eye. “Well … at least I’m not snot.”
    Toro and Pulga gaped at Carlos in astonished admiration. Had he really stood up to Playboy? Then they burst out laughing.
    Playboy’s eyes narrowed at the three of them. “Screw you, losers!”
    But Carlos no longer felt like a loser. He chomped happily on his chicken nuggets, feeling like the luckiest boy at Lone Star High. After lunch he grabbed Sal and told him about Roxy’s compliment.
    â€œCool!” Sal clapped him on the back. “Hey, have you been cleansing your face? It’s already looking better.”
    â€œNo lie?” Carlos rubbed a hand across his chin. “Hey, can you and Javier come over again Saturday?”
    â€œSure.” Sal nodded. “I can. But Javi works on Saturdays. He only took the day off ‘cause I asked him to help you.”
    Carlos hadn’t realized that.
    â€œGot to go,” Sal said as the bell rang. He started to walk away, then whirled around. “Crap, I forgot to tell you: Harris approved the GSA—thanks to your little ACLU speech. You are
The Man!”
    Carlos beamed. Not only did he no longer feel like a loser, he almost felt like a champion.

Thirty
    S ATURDAY APPROACHED, AND Carlos debated what to do about visiting his pa. He hadn’t really missed seeing him the previous weekend, and he didn’t much feel like seeing him the coming weekend. But he’d feel like a creep to tell him that. Instead, he put off saying anything till his pa phoned Friday evening.
    â€œMi’jo,
are you coming over this weekend?”
    â€œUm …” Carlos gripped the phone, his palms damp. “I’m land of busy.”
    â€œLook …” His pa’s voice became stern. “I’m not going through this each weekend. You call me when you decide you want to come over again. Okay?
Adios.”
    The line cut off. And as Carlos had predicted, he felt like a creep.
    Saturday morning when Sal showed up, Carlos asked him, “Can you, um, help me write Roxy an e-mail?”
    Even though she surely got a million e-mails a day and would never answer, he’d decided to give it a shot. But in order to send e-mails, the Hot-or-Snot website required a user to first post his or her own profile and photo.
    Carlos and Sal worked on his description. It started out easy:
Six feet tall, brown hair, brown eyes …
But then he got stuck. “What else?”
    â€œâ€˜Nice smile,’” Sal suggested.
    â€œYou don’t think it’s too yellow and dingy?”
    Actually, it did seem a little brighter since he’d cut out cola drinks like Sal had recommended and started brushing twice a day like he was supposed to.
    â€œType it,” Sal ordered, and Carlos did. Then Sal suggested, “‘Hot