High School 2 - Diversity - The Clash

by Paul Swearingen

  “Fair enough. The Sunday board shift is sort of optional and up in the air anyway. No one likes to get up at 5:30 Sunday morning, and right now I’m doing it and wouldn’t mind getting rid of it, even though I can get some studying done. All I do now is punch buttons from six until eleven anyway; we run nothing but syndicated programs. The news is network news, so all I have to do is to record a weather forecast once or twice and run it between the programs. I’m licensed so I take transmitter readings, but you wouldn’t even have to do that.”

  “Like I said, I’ll let you know. I’ll have to get permission from the parent.”

  “Okay, and I give you permission to leave the tip. This one’s on me.”

  Carla nodded and rubbed her tummy. She’d have to be careful with Bob; first doughnuts and now Mexican food – what was he trying to do, fatten her up?

  Chapter Twelve

  “What do you mean, you’re not going to be able to tutor me any more?” T. J.’s nose was a scant five inches from Carla’s as they sat in the bleachers before the roll call lineup for weight training. Carla turned away and tried to retie a shoelace. Her fingers felt like bananas, but she knew that she had to keep at the laces so that her hands would remain steady.

  “It’s nothing personal. They just added to my hours at work, and I need the money. Know what I mean?”

  “Listen, I really need some help with stuff. My brother is on my butt, the coach is about ready to dump me, and I just had a talk with the principal that didn’t go very well. Know what I mean?”

  “T. J., I’m sure I’m not the only person in this school who can help you. Why don’t you get Jace to scout around a little? Tell you what; I’ll try to come up with someone. I’ll let you know. Okay?”

  T. J. stared at her. “Fine. Thanks a whole lot.” He looked at the coach in the middle of the floor, back at Carla, and then rose to his full height, still staring at her. Slowly, he sauntered to the middle of the floor and took one look back at her.

  Carla met his gaze. “Sorry,” she mouthed at him and then bent to concentrate on the knot she’d just made in her shoelaces but not soon enough to miss the gang sign that he shot at her with his fingers.

  * * *

  She made sure that she was dressed and into the hallway before any of the boys in the weight training class, and the first person she ran into was Frank.

  “I was looking for you, Carla. How’s the new job?”

  She didn’t remember telling Frank anything about her personal life lately, but she shrugged. “All right. More work now. Three hours a day, until 6:30, and a possible board shift on Sundays if things work out.”

  “Oh. Busy, huh? I don’t know how it would work out now, but I just wondered if you could find a little time to help the club out with decorations next Thursday for the winter dance on Friday. We’re co-sponsors, and we’re way short of people to work.”

  She looked at Frank carefully. Visions of Snooty Sandra on Frank’s arm danced through her head, but she decided not to shoot him down with the same ammunition that she’d used on him when he’d asked her to make burritos.

  “I don’t know … Pop expects me to show up at home after I get off work, and then there’s the question of getting my tummy filled.” She patted that part of her anatomy, and in response a low rumble ensued. Dang, if she talked to Frank much more she’d miss lunch.

  Frank smiled. “Luckily, we have the cafeteria reserved and some people are bringing slow cookers, so along with decorating we get to snarf up chili con queso, so you won’t have to worry about supper. We’ll probably finish up around 9:30, so even if you didn’t get there until around 6:45 you’d still be able to help us a lot.”

  “Just a fast minute here. This is the Hispanic Club that’s the co-sponsor? I don’t remember joining Hispanic Club.”

  “Oh, well. I had Sandra add your name to the list a couple of weeks ago. It’s free … well, it doesn’t cost anything to join … but you have to volunteer a little time for activities. And I thought you might like to help us out.”

  So Sandra was in on this, too? How nice! “I don’t know, Frank. I’ll have to let you know. Can … um … anyone come to the dance?”

  “Sure, couples, singles, whatever, as long as you register beforehand.” Frank looked at his watch. “Okay. No promises. I understand. Let me know when you can. I gotta catch a few more volunteers before lunch is over. See ya!”

  Carla opened her mouth to ask about the meaning of “bolilla” but had to watch him walk away. She envisioned him in a tux, arm-in-arm with Sandra, she in a powder-blue strapless gown. Then she imagined Sandra disappearing in a cloud of dust. Maybe she could try that on T. J., she thought to herself.

  And there right in front of her, as she turned the corner, was T. J. himself with brother Jace. This time she walked past them quickly, just as Jace handed T. J. a small wad of bills.

  * * *

  She had only one commercial on her hook to record, an easy thirty-second spot with a generic music bed, and she finished it in about ten minutes and then stepped into the studio to see if Bob had anything else for her to do. He motioned at a computer displaying the AP news feed and sat down and ran through the sections: Local, National, Features, Weather, Misc. One feature story headline caught her eye, and she printed it off and plopped into the newsroom chair, legs swinging, to read it: “Gang members tabbed in LA murders.” She recognized the name of the gang that supposedly Jace had belonged to when he lived in LA. Was he still connected with gang members? Would it be likely that someone would follow Jace to Kansas and deal with him, and his brother? She shuddered, and she knew that it wasn’t just because they’d turned down the thermostat in the newsroom.

  * * *

  She was ready to accept Bob’s offer of a ride home instead of having to ride the bucking, chilly city bus and walk several blocks, and she wasn’t surprised when they ended up at the Dairy Spot. She ordered a hamburger and hot chocolate, no fries, and was wiping ketchup off her chin when Frank and Sandra walked in. Frank gave her a perfunctory wave, and Sandra eyed Bob and tossed her head and led Frank to a booth as far away from them as possible.

  “Friends of yours, I suppose?” Bob nodded in the direction of their booth.

  “You suppose a little too much. Let’s just say that we end up at the same building from eight to three every day.”

  Bob shot the two another glance. “Cute couple.”

  Carla snorted. “You must be quite the romantic in real life, huh?”

  Bob bit a fry in half and chewed and swallowed before he answered. “I saw the look in her eyes when he nodded at you. Green, as in jealous. And the look she gave us could cause permanent damage. I hope you three don’t end up in the same room very often.”

  Carla grimaced. “Ya know, I don’t think that would ever be a possibility.”

  “I bet.” He tossed his napkin onto his plate and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one.

  Without thinking, Carla helped herself to one and leaned towards Bob. He pulled his lighter out of his pocket and lit it without a word, and she puffed a cloud in the general direction of Frank and Snooty. Neither noticed her, as they were now in a deep conversation, faces just a few inches from each other’s. She rolled her eyes, and Bob cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “What? You never saw a midget smoke a cigarette before?”

  “I didn’t think I was further contributing to your bad habits when I pulled the pack out. When did you start, anyway?”

  “Oh, when I was six, right after I knocked off the bank. Made me so nervous that I had to do something to calm myself down, and this was it!”

  Bob just shook his head. “Well, puff up, and let’s get you home.”

  * * *

  The house was dark when she opened the front door, which meant that her father had not been home yet. She dropped her backpack next to the sofa and considered what homework she should be working on and decided to go easy this evening. She retrieved a box of caramel popcorn from the kitchen
and then lugged her lit book upstairs to her bedroom, flopped across the bed, dipped out a handful of sticky popcorn, and turned to Edgar Allan Poe.

  Around 10:00 pm she heard the front door bang shut. She waited for her father to appear at her door, but after the bathroom opened, all she could hear was his uncertain footsteps on the way to his bedroom and the door closing. So it had been one of those days for him. She tried to concentrate on the words of “The Raven”, but the bouncing rhythm of Poe’s famous poem kept bringing her back to the song that had been playing in the Dairy Spot when she walked out with Bob.

  Was she really jealous of Sandra? In other words, did she want to be more than just friends with Frank? Just how much of a threat was Sandra to her? And what about Bob, who was more like a big brother to her? Should she tell Bob anything about her problems with Frank, and T. J., and Sandra, and Jace, and her principal, and Marv, and … hm-m-m … the rest of the world? Was she going to be a little girl with a big chip on her shoulder for the rest of her life, fighting with everyone around her every time someone sent a pointed word in her direction?

  Nevermore!

  Chapter Thirteen

  The weather was almost balmy the next day, and the sun was coming up over a cloudless horizon as she walked to school. A better day, she thought to herself as she shut her locker door and turned to walk down the hall to her American History class. A tap on her shoulder brought her to a stop.

  “Jace told me to come talk to you again.”

  She turned and looked into T. J.’s face, which looked almost pleading, a look that Carla had never seen before on that face. Nevertheless, she gripped the locker latch firmly.

  “Look, T. J., I told you I’d see what I could do about getting someone else to help you out. And it’s nothing personal. I just have a job; that’s all.”

  “Well, Jace already checked with the counselor and the American History teacher. They couldn’t come up with anyone else. Or at least that’s what they said. So he told me to come and talk with you again to see if you can work something out.”

  “I told you, T. J., I’m booked solid until 6:30 every day. I’m not going to give up my evenings, because I need some study time, too, and I’m not going to give up my job, either. It’s not great money, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “All right, I understand all that. What about a half-hour or so before school? The library opens up at seven. Would that work for you?”

  Carla rolled her eyes. “You want me to give up some of my beauty sleep now? I don’t know, T. J. I think it would be easier for you to scare up someone else.”

  She was about to walk away, but that pleading look in T. J.’s eyes held her.

  “Tell you what. Let me check around today, and maybe I’ll find someone with some extra time to spend after school. I’ll let you know.”

  T. J. shook his head. “I need to know something pretty soon, or I’m going to be off the team. We’ve got a test coming up tomorrow, and … well, I’m clueless about the Civil War. I read the stuff, but it all jumbles up. All those battles and stuff. Doesn’t make much sense. And there’s no one in the Weener’s Circle after school that knows anything more than I do.”

  The five-minute bell rang, and Carla glanced down the hallway. “I’ll try to get someone. Meet me here after school. Okay?”

  “Okay. Help a brother out, will ya?”

  Carla almost smiled. This was a far call from the T. J. that she had heard about just a few weeks ago. That Jace must have more influence over his little brother than she realized. “I’ll do my best, T. J. But no promises.”

  * * *

  The school was in an upbeat mood, with the usual banners and streamers in the hallways and cheerleaders in uniform, football players wearing jerseys, and volleyball players wearing t-shirts embossed with a picture of a rather buff chick with an oversized hand serving an oversized volleyball. Carla stopped two students, a boy and then a girl who were in her class, and tried to ask them if they would be willing to tutor T. J., but as soon as the initials of his name passed her lips, she was instantly refused. She slid through the American History classroom door just as the tardy bell sounded and went directly to her seat in the back.

  The usual off-key band music sounded through the window for a few minutes while Carla jotted down some random ideas in response to the bell-ringer exercise printed on the chalkboard. Mr. Brady was pretty much a pushover, she thought. And for bonus points, say nice things about his stupid pets. Lord knows what a girlfriend might do if faced with his menagerie that he usually found some time to describe during slow times in the class, she thought, and almost laughed aloud. She caught herself in time and looked around to see if anyone noticed that she’d almost made a fool of herself. No problem; two guys were almost asleep already, and the girl to the right of her had already slipped out a sheet of notebook paper and was inscribing a long note to someone, probably her boyfriend.

  Hm. Maybe she could go right to the source and see if she could convince Mr. Brady to come up with someone. She laid her pencil above her notebook so that it wouldn’t roll and approached his desk.

  “Mr. Brady, could I talk to you in the hallway for a second?”

  He glanced at the clock and at the classroom. It was too early in the day for anyone to be awake enough to cause problems, and he nodded at her. He followed her into the hallway.

  “What’s up, Carla? You got a problem?”

  “Well … not really me, Mr. Brady …”

  He held up a hand. “Wait. I think I know already. A certain football player needs a tutor. Right?”

  She opened her mouth but just nodded.

  “Hmph. I can certainly understand why you’d want him to find someone else, Carla.” He sighed and leaned against the wall. “I’ve already talked with his brother, and I told him straight up that it would be hard to find someone to work with him, given his reputation, and that maybe it would be better to find someone on the football team to help him out. You know what I mean?”

  Carla nodded again.

  “I mean, I’m impressed with you trying to help out, considering … well, never mind. No, I can’t really recommend anyone. Sorry.”

  The sound level of voices from the classroom increased, and he shook his head. “Let’s see what we can discover about the end of the Civil War now. Okay?”

  She nodded for the third time. Bobble-head Carla. Well … she tried. Mr. T. J. Watkins was now officially on his own

  She was able to stay awake for the rest of the period, but she almost missed her name being called after class in the hallway. She turned and found herself face-to-face with a boy who was only slightly taller than she.

  “Carla. I … tried to … ah … would you like to go to the Winter Dance with me?”

  Carla blinked. Who was this? She didn’t recognize him at all.

  “I’m sorry. I guess you don’t remember me from consumer ed class. I sit in the back of the room. I’m Tim.” And he stuck out his hand.

  Automatically, she took it. What a geek, she thought.

  “Ah … pleased to meet you. No, I guess I don’t look around in that class too much. Sorry.”

  “No, me either. Well …”

  She realized he was waiting for an answer to his invitation. “Tim … I don’t think … that is, I already … well, you know. Thanks, and all that.”

  Tim took a step back. “Yeah. I just thought I’d ask you early. Well, thanks, anyway. Have fun.” And he brushed past her and walked away with his head down.

  Okay, Carla, shoot yourself in the foot again, she thought. Dang it, why do they always have to sneak up on you? She wasn’t ready for surprises like that. And he probably wouldn’t bite. Or hit.

  The restroom was right on her way to English class, and she ducked into the doorway and into a stall, ignoring the smell that would become unbearable by the end of the day. She felt in her purse for a cigarette but then quickly decided against it. Too obvious, too dangerous, too stupid, too many people around. She leane
d her head against the door for a second. It was a nice day before she got here, she thought. Maybe it would be a nice day outside.

  She waited until the voices and sounds of running water stopped and then stepped out of the stall and towards the doorway but halted at the sound of male voices outside. She recognized T. J.’s voice and then Jace’s, but the echoing acoustics in the bathroom made them hollow and hard to hear.

  “Tony … wanted me to … steroids … field …” That was T. J.

  “Don’t think that you … LA source … courier …” Jace, that time.

  Then the voices trailed off, and she realized that they were walking down the hallway. She cautiously poked her head out the door as the pair went around the corner and the one-minute warning bell sounded, and she headed in the other direction at double-time speed, her mind racing.

  Steroids? Courier? LA? Was Jace running steroids and having T. J. sell them? And who was Tony? She needed to find Justin and Kerry, and fast.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She knew that in order to avoid being tardy to English class she needed to pick ‘em up and put ‘em down, and she clutched her backpack and ran around a corner right into a teacher she didn’t know.

  He bounced off the wall, his face a study in anger. “What … slow down, young lady. Who do you think … ?”

  His nose wrinkled, and he touched her jacket. “Have you been smoking?”

  The tardy bell rang. She was going to catch it from Mrs. Hill, too, when she got to class, and Mrs. Hill wasn’t one to forgive when it came to kids not having paper in hand when they walked into her class late. Damn!

  “No way. My dad smokes when he brings me to school.”

  “Ri-i-ight. And drinks when he drags you home, I bet.”

  “Wha …? You don’t know me. OR my father, and you have no right to …”

  She turned and stomped away before she could add more, down the hall and out the back door, book bag slapping at her hip. She expected to hear the teacher yelling at her to stop, but maybe he was on the way to his own class. Whatever. Just as long as he didn’t follow her.