High School 2 - Diversity - The Clash

by Paul Swearingen

  Nothing else had been waiting for her on her hook, other than a note from Bob to record the two spots and then to sit in the studio and watch Marv run the controls so that she’d get an idea of how to time things. She kept her distance and sipped her soda, but Marv barely gave her a wave when she slipped into the torn chair behind the console, and she refrained from asking any questions and just watched. Marv kept his conversation to a minimum, only pointing out the differences between the control room mike volume control, or pot, and the other controls on the board. He barely noticed when she slipped out of the studio. She filled out her time slip, put on her coat, and walked to the bus stop.

  Luckily for her, the bus ran right past the Dairy Spot, and she waved a good-bye at the driver and almost ran into the restaurant.

  Justin, Buck, Kerry, several other athletes and cheerleaders whose names she couldn’t quite remember, and another tall girl whom she realized was probably a relative to Kerry were all in their usual circular booth. Eric was on the outside, and he got up, let her sit next to Justin, and then good-naturedly squashed against her when he sat down.

  “Hey, you big oaf! What are you trying to do, flatten me like a pancake?”

  “Hardly – you’re already about hotcake size, anyway!”

  She dug her elbow into his side.

  “Oh, my, do I feel that pizza roll I had for lunch kicking me again?” The others chuckled, and he scooted over an inch or two so that she could breathe again.

  “Anyways,” Kerry said, “I’m glad you could make it, Carla.”

  “Just got off work. What’s up?”

  “Here’s the deal. My cousin, Kelly, here, is visiting from LA, and she hears things and passes them on to me. She says that Mr. Jace Watkins seems to have been involved in gang activity in La-La land. Right, cuz?”

  “Involved and active,” Kelly said with a wave of her well-manicured nails. “I remember reading about him being involved in some trial involving gang members, but he wasn’t convicted or anything like that. And shortly afterwards, according to my dear cuz Kerry here, he showed up in your fair city.”

  Buck leaned forward. “I can’t say that my dad tells me everything that goes on, but I do know that the school board did a thorough investigation of Jace; you know they don’t want gang scum among our impressionable youth here. And they didn’t turn up anything that would seem to make him ineligible to be a Rule 10 coach. I guess he apparently was an assistant coach for some private school in LA County.”

  Kerry took a sip of her drink. “So there you have it, Carla. We just want you to watch yourself when you’re dealing with Jace – and of course his brother T. J., the budding young basketball star.”

  Justin rolled his eyes. “Other than being able to dunk, I haven’t seen anything special yet. His defense is full of holes, and you should hear him wheeze after those wind sprints. Okay, we need a solid offense, but I’d say that it won’t make much difference to the team whether or not Mr. T. J. is able to cut it or not, so whatever Shorty here does in the Weener’s Circle may not make any difference.

  Carla applied her other elbow to Justin’s side, and he leaned an elbow on her head for a few seconds.

  “Hey, watch the bouf! Okay, guys, I appreciate your watching out for me, but I can take care of myself. I think. Except when someone like the walking sofa on my right sits on me. Ow!”

  Eric removed a ponderous elbow from her shoulder. “Well, you’re not the only thing I can choose to sit on, you know, so show a little respect here!”

  “Always good to know whom I have to respect around here. Might turn out useful some day. Hey, can someone give me a ride home?”

  The group broke up, and Carla found her self in the front seat of Eric’s car. Neither said anything until he pulled into her driveway, behind her dad’s pickup.

  “Hey, thanks, big guy.”

  “No problem, little girl. We meant what we said about taking care of you, too. We’ve seen T. J. in action a time or two before, and we don’t believe in that stuff.”

  “I appreciate it, but you know, he’s like anyone else; he has his problems, too.”

  Eric snorted. “Baloney. T. J. is NOT like anyone else around here.”

  Carla nodded her head slowly. “I just hope that he’s a little more like his brother, who at least seems to be a gentleman.”

  “Whatever. Look, I gotta get home before my dad creams me. I still have chores to do.”

  “All right. Thanks again!” She barely got the door shut before the car started moving, and she watched it as it disappeared down the street.

  * * *

  Something smelled good as soon as she opened the door, and her dad leaned through the kitchen door.

  “Hope you like pot roast, Carla. I got off early today and decided to fix up something decent for a change instead of bringing home bagged burgers.”

  “Mmm! You bet!”

  She had forgotten what a great cook her father could be when he wanted to, and the good food seemed to loosen both of them up at dinner so that the conversation flowed. Afterwards, she washed the dishes, and he dried.

  “Pop, you remember Alaina? She’s my old babysitter who lived down the street and got married and moved to LA a couple of years ago? She used to fix pot roast just like you did.”

  “Well, there aren’t too many different ways to fix pot roast, you know. With onions, without – that’s about it.” He dried the last plate, put it in the cupboard, and pushed the door closed and draped the towel over a kitchen chair.

  Carla suddenly remembered. Alaina now lived in LA, where she worked for an information retrieval service. She’d be the perfect one to check on the Watkins brothers!

  “Um … you know, I haven’t talked to her since last Christmas. Do you mind if I call her tonight? I promise to keep it under an hour. Okay, a half-hour.”

  “Well. Twenty minutes or less would be better. But, okay. I’m going to watch a little TV, so keep it down.”

  “No problem, Pop.” Carla dried her hands and practically skipped up the stairs to her room. Her father would be snoozing within a few minutes of turning on the tube and would hear nothing, and he wouldn’t holler too much about the phone bill. As long as she kept it under a hundred bucks for the month. Okay, thirty.

  With the two-hour time difference between Kansas and California, she knew that Alaina would still be at work. She heard the receiver click after the second ring.

  “LA Information Retrieval. This is Alaina. How may I help you?”

  “Hey, Alaina. This is Carla. Cross. Back in corny Kansas. You busy?”

  She heard a low chuckle on the other end. “Like a coon caught in a crossfire in a catalpa tree. What’s up, kid?”

  “Listen, Alaina. I know you’re busy, but I need to know if you can help me out with a little four-one-one. LA stuff.”

  “That’s our specialty here, and it’s a little slow right now. Sure. What do you need?”

  “I need to know about a Jace, J-A-C-E Watkins, and his brother T. J.; that’s …”

  “Okay, okay, I got it.”

  “Duh. Sorry.” Carla could hear the clicking of long fingernails on a keyboard through the receiver. She waited.

  “Bingo. It looks as if Mr. First Initial “T” Second Initial “J” has had a rap sheet which has been expunged, so he may have been in trouble, maybe did some public service work, but this Jace Watkins … Carla, are you in some kind of trouble?”

  Carla giggled. “Not yet, anyway. Jace is an assistant coach here, and he’s asked me to tutor his brother so he can stay eligible for sports, and … well, I just wanted to know what I’m dealing with.”

  “Well, you’re dealing with someone who was in a gang, Carla. And you know what they say … once in, always in. Says here, though, that he turned state’s witness in a murder trial and that all charges against him were dropped. Apparently he was a good witness, because the defendant was convicted.”

  Carla took a deep breath. Murder?

  “Um
… Alaina … does it say what he’d been charged with?”

  “Accessory. But that could mean anything; I see that when they just want to hold someone until they can squeeze info out of them or convert that charge to something more serious. Carla, be careful, will you?”

  “You got it, sister. But I have a lot of friends here, and Niotaka is a small town. My business is their business. You dig?”

  “How could I forget? They knew that I was pregnant almost before I did!”

  They chatted for a few minutes more; Carla thanked her and hung up. Twelve minutes. That would hardly be a blip on the old phone bill. And wait until she told the others tomorrow.

  Chapter Eleven

  The fare for the day at the cafeteria was, wonder of wonders, pot roast, mashed potatoes, and gravy, plus peas and canned peaches. Carla stared at her portions and mentally shook her head. Just great – a déjà vu cafeteria meal. She glumly stirred her mashed potatoes and then tasted her fork. Even worse – instant mashed potatoes. Eww.

  Justin, Buck, and Kerry arrived at the same time, slapped their trays onto the table, and started forking in the noon fare. Buck even smacked his lips. She wondered who had the responsibility of feeding him at his house; maybe the superintendent didn’t make enough money to keep his wife at home to do the cooking?

  Buck stopped long enough to eye her. “What’s the problem, shrimp? I got mashed potatoes on my chin or something?”

  She realized that she had been staring at him. “Oh, no; I was just wondering if you needed to replace the batteries for that headlight on your nose!”

  He dropped his fork and felt his nose. “Why, you little …”

  “Just kidding, Buck. Really! No, I was wondering how your father could let a gang-banger like Jace Watkins slip through the filters and join our lily-pure faculty.”

  The rest of the group stared at her.

  It was Kerry’s turn to break the silence. “Explain.”

  “Well. I just happen to have a friend in LA who checked up on the Watkins clan. Turns out that Coach Jace has a history as a banger.”

  “Wait a minute!” Buck jabbed his fork at her. “Where …”

  “Public knowledge, my friend. She has access to court records where she works, and it turns out that he was with a gang when another banger was shot. And he turned state’s evidence afterwards, with all charges against him being dropped. So she says.”

  “Oh. Well, it actually takes a conviction, not just charges, for anything to show up on the records that our district has access to,” Buck said. He took another forkful of roast and chewed on it vigorously.

  “Yeah. So what is it going to take for him to get bounced?”

  “Carla, you really, really don’t like our star coach much, do you?” Justin tried to get a forkful of peas to his mouth and succeeded in doing so, at least with most of them. Two bright green objects bounced off his leg and under the table.

  “Justin, my tall friend, I really don’t have anything against your favorite basketball coach. But T. J. … well, I don’t need to tell you why I am less than enthusiastic about anyone named Watkins, do I?” She tried not to think about the back hallway scene that she’d been the only witness to, and the look on T. J.’s face as he stood over his latest sparring partner, barely moving on the floor.

  “And we don’t need to remind you that we got your back, do we?” Kerry finished her mashed potatoes and started in on the peas.

  “I know that, and I appreciate it. But I can’t depend on you all to be around me twenty-four/seven. And I’d rather be safe than sorry, and safe to me means NO Watkinses in town. Dig?”

  “Carla, we understand that,” Buck sighed. “But really, you’re in more danger of injury in your strength conditioning class from dropping a weight on your head than from almost anyone in this school.”

  Carla fixed him with a stare. “Almost anyone?”

  “All right. Everyone. No one’s out to get you, Carla. Word’s out that you’re our pet munchkin, and they’re terrified of us. Especially of Kerry.”

  “Munchkin!? Why, you …” She aimed a kick at Buck under the table, but her leg was simply too short to reach him. However, Kerry took care of him with a short jab from an elbow, and he doubled up. Carla high-fived her across the table and giggled.

  “All righty, then. I get the point. And yes, I trust you all.”

  But she couldn’t forget T. J.’s rep. Friends were for now, but enemies were forever, she thought. “Enemies”, as in plural, if Jace and T. J. were really alike.

  * * *

  Today was her day off from KNTK, so she found herself in the school library instead of in front of a microphone after school. The room was rather crowded, and Carla made sure that she was sitting at a table with two other students whom she recognized as jayvee basketball team members. She spread out her papers and book before T.J. slouched through the door, spotted her, and dropped into the wooden chair opposite of her. She hit him with her most dazzling smile.

  “Good evening, star pupil. Hope you’re ready for an hour of hard work.”

  T. J. stared at her for a long moment. “Whatever. My brother told me to meet you here. Didn’t think you’d show up.”

  “Well, I did, and I hope you brought your stuff.”

  “Yuh.” He dug a notebook and textbook out of his backpack and dropped them onto the floor with an audible thud. The monitor at the central desk glared at him, and he waved his hand.

  Carla leaned in towards him so that her voice would carry only to his ears. “Here’s the way it is, T. J. We have permission to talk in here. We talk only about American History. We meet only in the presence of others, including adults. And we work only on American History. Dig?”

  He stared at her. “Whatever, chick.”

  Carla stared back for a count of five, still gripping the table edge. “And so let’s get started. Chapter Seven. Textbook.”

  He muttered something under his breath and slapped his book open.

  * * *

  Carla pulled her coat around her as she exited the school building; there was talk of snow later on in the evening, and her father had informed her that he had to work late and she was on her own for the evening meal. She wasn’t as hungry as she usually was at this time of the day; most of the reason was because she had not been able to relax in front of T. J. Giving him orders was a new thing for her, and maybe it would continue to be a habit, as they were able to cover two chapters in the American History book under her direction.

  No snow yet, but the sky was darkening, and the cars on the street – Niotaka rush hour, ha! – all had their headlights on. She stopped at the crosswalk and waited for them to slow down, but apparently she was now invisible, as six cars buzzed by before one slowed and stopped in front of her. Again, a long arm swung the door open and motioned her inside. It was Bob.

  “Get in, short one – you’re holding up progress here. Or do you want to freeze your little tushie off in this weather?”

  She dropped her backpack onto the front floorboards. “You watch your mouth when you’re talking about my anatomy, Mr. Radio Star. Show some respect.”

  He laughed. “Sorry. Saw you standing there, all alone, and thought you might go for some pizza. All right?”

  “You think I would go just anywhere with you, huh? How about Mexican food instead? I could get around some enchiladas, maybe some horchata. You know, the real stuff.”

  “Okay, I know what place you’re talking about. But does your father know that I’m taking you out to the city limits?”

  “Don’t worry about it. He’s working late, but when he gets home I’ll just tell him that I was kidnapped and forced to eat until my tummy popped. And he’ll deal with you at the appropriate time.”

  Bob pulled the car into gear, peered behind him, and stepped on it. “I bet he would.”

  * * *

  Carla ended up ordering two enchiladas con carnitas and horchata, or cinnamon-flavored rice water, and discovered that she actually was h
ungry. Bob actually stared at her.

  “What’s the matter; you never seen a hungry girl before?” she tossed at him.

  “Oh, is that what I’m observing? Looked to me like a piranha ripping into a man’s leg.”

  She wadded up her napkin and bounced it off his head.

  He picked it off the floor and dropped it onto his plate. “Okay, fine. You’re a lady and need to be treated like one. So wipe the sauce off your chin, madam!”

  Carla giggled. “And you’d better watch where you’re spitting crumbs, Mr. Manners!”

  Bob brushed his shirt front and leaned toward her. “Just in case you think this is purely a social occasion, I’ve got some business news for you. Marvin is now history since he couldn’t show up on time almost every day during the past month or so. And the boss wants me to see if you’d be interested in increasing your hours at the station. He wants me to take over Marvin’s old air shift and someone else to take over production, at least after school and into the evening, say from 3:30 to 6:30 or so, four days a week, possibly a few hours on the weekends including a full board shift early Sunday. What do you think?”

  Carla stared at him. “Almost 20 hours a week. Are you sure the boss really wants me? I’ve only been there for less than a week.”

  “Listen, kid. You might as well get used to the radio biz. It’s a revolving door system in radio; you can get out as easily as you can get in. Marvin found that out the hard way. If you can be on time and punch buttons, you’re in.” Bob finished his taco and wiped the fragments of grated cheese off his shirt.

  “Tell you what. I’ll let you know tomorrow, okay? I’ve sort of committed to tutoring someone after school, but I can get out of it.” Carla finished her second enchilada and took a long swig of the cold, sweet, cinnamon-flavored horchata.