High School Diversity – The Clash
Paul Swearingen
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Paul Swearingen
Discover other titles by Paul Swearingen at Smashwords.com:
High School Football – The Temptation
High School Yearbook – The Drama
High School Newspaper – The Danger
High School History – The Treasure
High School Diversity – The Clash is a work of fiction, and all characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblances to real events, locations, or people, living or dead, are coincidental..
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High School Diversity – The Clash
Chapter One
“You been messin’ with my boyfriend.”
Carla slowly raised her eyes from her food tray, looked around, and counted: One, two … four girls stood behind their leader, Miranda, who as usual had spread too much makeup across her face. The others stood behind Miranda and glowered at Carla; she recognized two of them, but the others didn’t register in her memory. All obviously were Miranda clones, as their lipstick looked as if it had been applied with butter knives.
Carla stood and slowly wiped her lips on her napkin, trying to stretch her five-feet-plus-most-of-an-inch as tall as she could. “Excuse me? What boyfriend would that be?”
Miranda took a step closer and stood directly in front of Carla and looked down. Their noses were perhaps five inches apart.
“That would be the boyfriend whose car you got into last Friday night.”
Carla pretended to think for a second as she tracked an adult who seemed to be headed in their direction. “Oh. That was your boyfriend. Well, excu-u-use me. When someone offers me a ride home in the cold, I accept first and ask questions later. Maybe I didn’t feel like freezing my ass off that night.”
“Maybe you’d feel more like having it kicked tonight? Or right here and now?”
“All right, that’s enough, Miss Ruiz. All of you - move it OUT!” Coach Greene suddenly was in the middle of the group, and the four followers slowly moved away from Miranda, who stood her ground, staring down at Carla.
“Oh, hi, Coach. Didn’t see you there.” Carla shot a fake smile at Coach Greene. She could probably have handled Miranda herself, but four more females were a bit much.
“This isn’t over,” Miranda hissed at her before she turned abruptly and stalked away across the cafeteria, weaving her way through tables and a maze of students headed towards the conveyor belt to drop off their trays.
Coach Greene watched her retreat for a moment before he turned to Carla. “You all right?”
She looked down at her tray and realized that she was still clenching her napkin and had wadded it to the size of a peanut.
“Oh, sure. We were just working out a little misunderstanding.”
“Takes four of them to back her up, does it?”
Carla held up her fists, which weren’t much larger than his thumbs. “You bet. See these? Fists of steel. ”
He laughed and shook his head. “I’ll try to remember that the next time I need to look for a bodyguard. Well, I’ll keep an eye out for Miranda and her posse, okay?”
Carla looked up at the coach, all six-foot-three of him. “It’s all right, Coach. It’s no big deal. She’s just instantly jealous if anyone gets within smelling distance of any guy that she thinks is her boyfriend.”
He shook his head again. “I’d be a little careful for the next few days if I were you, young lady. Okay? Now, I need to get back on duty.” He waved and moved quickly towards a table from which a milk carton had been thrown.
Carla looked down at her tray again. There wasn’t much left on it, and she wasn’t really hungry any more. She dropped the napkin onto the tray, picked it up, and walked to the conveyer belt and put it on the moving belt.
In spite of pretending to be a tough little girl, she suddenly realized that her knees felt like Jell-O and that she needed a time-out. She pushed open the restroom door next to the outside cafeteria door. The stalls were empty, and the one girl standing next to a basin and staring at her had her hand in an oversized purse.
“Sweetie, you look like you just saw dead people,” the girl said, and she slowly pulled a pack of generic cigarettes from the purse. “Need a smoke?”
That was the best idea she had heard in a long time. “Sure. Thanks. Second time my life’s been saved in the last five minutes.”
The other girl gave her a searching look but didn’t say anything as she flicked a BIC and lit her own cigarette first and then Carla’s. “Better smoke it quick,” she said. “Or just smoke half and flush it.”
Carla took a drag and then blew smoke towards the vent in the ceiling. “I know.”
She moved into a stall, closed the door and gagged slightly. It had been six months or so since the last one of these cancer sticks, and she didn’t really like the experience then or now. Smoking was one of those bad habits her father seemed not to care about, and she was determined not to pick up any of those habits … smoking, drinking, sometimes coming home so late. She usually saw Pop only at breakfast over a big bowl of oatmeal, next to his mug of coffee a slowly burning cigarette that quickly filled the air in the small kitchen and diminished her appetite.
It was just the two of them at home, and when she was in school, she was also still pretty much alone. From her experience, survivors were usually loners, too, and she wanted to be a survivor while others gave up. She didn’t need anyone to watch her back. Well, until now. Maybe it was time to find some larger friends?
The other girl’s voice echoed off the concrete walls. “Better finish it up quick, sweetie. They check restrooms after lunchtime pretty carefully.” A toilet flushed, and the outside door banged.
Carla took one more long drag, dropped the butt into the bowl, and flushed and waved the smoke away from her. She reached into her purse and fished around for the small can of body spray she always carried. It would have to do, and she’d better get moving before she had to deal with another tardy. She paused for a moment and glanced into the mirror, testing it with a fake happy face. Then she pulled open the restroom door and almost bumped into Coach Greene.
Chapter Two
“Oh. Hi, Coach.” That was pretty lame, she thought, but it was a little too late for her to duck back into the bathroom until he went on into the main building.
The coach turned, flared his nostrils, and glared at her. “Interesting perfume you seemed to have picked up in the restroom, Miss Cross.”
She offered him her most innocent smile.
“Thanks, coach. You smell pretty good yourself.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. At least I don’t use Eau de Tobaccy. What are you trying to do, chase off mosquitoes? I suppose you keep repellent handy in your purse?”
She opened her mouth and discovered that she didn’t have any fight left in her. “No, I borrowed a drag from someone else. I really, really, really needed it.”
“And I suppose you just now quit, too?”
“Something like that. I don’t think I’m going to need that again very soon. I hope. If you know what I mean.” She stared at him hopefully.
“I tell you what, Carla. You’re going to be late to class if I keep nagg
ing you. And you’re old enough to know what’s right and what’s wrong, but I still don’t think you can say ‘no’ when you need to. Let’s just say that it never happened and move on. But if you need someone to talk to when bad stuff does happen … why don’t you head for the counselor’s office instead of the bathroom, okay?”
“Maybe. Thanks, Coach.” She smiled a little more securely at him. He held the main building door open for her and shook his head.
“I hope your seat in your next hour class is at the back of the room in good ventilation, Miss Cross.”
She pulled her coat around her, and he turned and strode down the corridor without a backwards glance. He had a point – her seat in the Algebra II classroom was right next to the teacher’s desk, and with only about twenty in the class, it wouldn’t take anyone very long to figure out that she was the one with the invisible nicotine-and-tar aroma around her.
Oh, well, she was already living dangerously today. And maybe her teacher would have a cold and not be able to smell anything. She looked around for Miranda or any of the rest of the group, but the coast was clear, and she managed to make it to her classroom just as the bell rang.
She was in luck, as a substitute was at the teacher’s podium. He gave her a sharp look but said nothing when she flashed him her most dazzling smile. No one else spoke to her the entire period.
After school she stood in front of her locker, trying to decide what to ditch and what to take home. She had about decided on taking nothing with her when she felt a presence behind her and whirled around.
“Easy, girl. It’s just me.”
She took a deep breath. “Frank. Don’t ever sneak up behind me like that again. Damn!”
He gave her a searching look. “Sorry. Next time I’ll just whack a pipe along the locker doors and … Oh, never mind. I just wanted to ask you if you would be able to help us with our Hispanic Club fundraiser next week?”
“Your what?”
“Hispanic Club. You know. Being part Hispanic and all, like me, I thought you might …”
“Damn! Don’t call me that! I’m half white, too, you know!”
“Whatever. Can you make a dozen burritos and bring them in next …?”
“Oh, hell, no! What are you trying to do, stereotype me now as a beaner? Go get someone else to do your cooking and baking for you, why don’t you?”
Frank took a step backward and almost collided with a girl who stopped and looked at the both of them. “Hey, Sandra, Carla here says she can’t bring burritos to our fundraiser next week because she’s too white.”
Sandra cocked her head and regarded Carla. “Thanks a lot, bolilla. I don’t think we need your help anyway.”
“What did you just call me?” Again Carla doubled up her fists, and she took a step toward Sandra, who stepped back, her eyes wide. But a large figure slipped between them, and Carla felt both wrists enclosed by huge hands. She looked up, and the dark face of Justin Jefferson stared down at her.
“Whassup, shorty?” Justin added a wink to his question.
Carla felt like going limp all over, but she merely relaxed her fists and shook her head.
Justin slowly released her, and she leaned against a locker door. He looked at Frank and Sandra questioningly.
“Are you coming, Frank?” Sandra hitched her purse over her shoulder and plucked at Frank’s sleeve.
“All right.” He turned and marched away with Sandra a half step behind. She turned her head and threw Carla a look that could have damaged concrete.
“Damn! Who do they think they are?” she muttered. She took another look inside her locker and slammed the door shut.
“And what kind of army do you think YOU are? I saw you try to take on those four girls in the cafeteria. You having a bad day or what?”
“Five. And you could say that.” Her eyes felt moist, but she refused to allow a tear to fall from them this time.
“All right, sista. Talk to me. You help me with my tire-changing, I help you with your social situations, but I gotta know what’s going on with you. Fair enough?”
“I’m fine, Justin.”
“Liar.”
He was right, and she finally relaxed and giggled. “Pants on fire.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and leaned against her locker door. “I guess you don’t know what it’s like to be picked on, because you’re short and half something and half something else, do you?”
“Not quite like that, but I grew up on the east side in Topeka. After dark in the projects, you’re on your own, and you have about a fifty-fifty chance of seeing the sun rise next day, and if you aren’t one-hundred percent sure of yourself, it drops to about zero percent. Doesn’t matter if you’re black, like me, or white or Mexican or whatever.”
“You didn’t have your posse to watch your back?”
“Yeah, well … sometimes I did, sometimes it was just me and myself.”
Carla nodded. “I know how that goes. I don’t even have a brother, or a sister, to watch mine.”
“Well, I do have a little punk sister, but about all she can do is run like the wind, which actually might be just enough for her.”
“I’m not much of a runner; short legs, you know.” She waved in the general direction of her knees. “You still have two parents, right?” She couldn’t remember anything about the rest of his family, but she had told him once that her mother had disappeared right about the same time that she was in kindergarten.
Justin stared at her for a moment before he answered. “No. My mom’s here, but … well … let’s just say that my father is where he won’t be going anywhere for quite awhile.”
Carla shot a glance at him. “At least you know where he is. My father hasn’t heard from my mother since I was little, and I don’t think even he knows where she is.”
Justin shook his head. “Yeah. I know how it goes. Sorry. Listen, I gotta go. Sharice will be waiting to be picked up, and little sisters can get awfully crabby if they have to wait more that three seconds for a ride.
“All right, Justin. And … thanks.”
Justin turned and looked at her. “No problem. But you’d better learn when to run your mouth and when just to run. Ya know?”
Carla sighed. “Well, that certainly narrows my options, doesn’t it?”
He just chuckled, waved, and disappeared down the hallway.
She looked into her locker again. There was nothing that she really wanted from it, either, and she slammed the door. It didn’t catch. She pulled the door open, adjusted her backpack so that the strap wasn’t caught between the door and the locker frame, slammed it again, and jammed the lock shut.
Chapter Three
Even though the sun was bright this morning, the north wind was picking up, and Carla increased her pace to try to keep warm, rubbing her bare hands against her thighs inside her pockets while trying to keep her backpack from falling off her left shoulder. Her house was only about eight blocks away from the school building, but she was already freezing.
Suddenly, as she was crossing the parking lot, she saw what had to be the back of Miranda’s head with her long, dark hair as she walked through the back door, and Carla kneeled abruptly and stared at a dust-encrusted fender for a few minutes. The last thing she wanted today was any kind of encounter with Miranda, or the principal, or anyone else. Time to get out of here. Maybe she could just take the day off.
“I wish Pop would let me get a cell phone,” she muttered again to herself. Yeah, that way I wouldn’t be talking to myself all the time. I could call someone and invite them to skip with me, maybe catch some breakfast and start the day right. She mentally reviewed a potential list of breakfasters and rejected all, ending up with a blank list in her mind. Forget the stupid cell phone. She’d go it alone. Again.
She was careful to stay low as she made her way between the cars and then walk along the south edge of the lot and out onto the street so that the surveillance camera covering the area would catch only her back. She had better than a 50
-50 chance of being identified anyway – how many short girls with glossy, dark hair, of somewhat obvious Mexican-American heritage, and wearing a bright red hoodie would be counted absent at Niotaka High School this period anyway? – but at least she’d make them work a little for the ID.
Usually she could count on at least one or two cars moving along the street so she would be able to bum a ride downtown, but perhaps the chilly weather was responsible for the lack of traffic. She glanced back at the school parking lot. Oh, well, at least she’d be warm by the time she made it downtown …
A screech and a horn blasting right next to her woke her from her reverie, and she almost did a meltdown right in the middle of the crosswalk. The car had stopped just six inches from her left hip, and the driver rolled down his window and leaned out.
“Hey, little girl, you trying to be my hood ornament or what?”
She took a deep breath, glared at him through the cracked windshield, and banged her fist on the hood. “Sure, why not? At least you’d have SOMETHING that looked good on this piece of crap.”
“Hey, you’re talking about a classic Mustang here. Show a little respect, midget!”
“Who are you calling a midget, ya jerk?” He looked like one of the many college students running loose around Niotaka, and he didn’t look very dangerous, even though he was revving the engine, which sounded ragged. He’d better not have an automatic tranny in that thing.
“Listen, I have a better idea. Instead of you blocking my progress so I can’t get to work, why don’t I give you a ride somewhere so you can get warm. Anywhere you say. Just get out of the way or get in.”
A gust of cold wind that picked up a piece of paper and slammed it against her legs made up her mind for her. “Okay, fine. But you better have a working heater in that rust bucket.”
“All the finest comforts, milady. Just get in so we can make some progress here.”
The door creaked and a few crumbling leaves fell out. She dropped her backpack onto the floor and plopped into the bucket seat. Big mistake. The padding was non-existent, and her rear bounced off what felt like a concrete block.
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