High School 2 - Diversity - The Clash

by Paul Swearingen

  Bob eyed her. “You trying to set me up?”

  She laughed. “Of course, you idiot. I just happen to know someone who’s free. And she’s almost your age; she’s a senior, was one of the Homecoming queen candidates, and likes older guys. Says she’s tired of high school guys.”

  He snorted. “Like I’m ancient. I’m only a junior in college, so I’m like three years older. So … tell me more. Got a picture?”

  This is too easy, Carla thought. Guys are such pushovers.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A cold front had come through during the night, and the sky outside was steely gray and much darker than it had been the day before. Her father was at the kitchen range, stirring oatmeal for their breakfast, and she pulled the box of brown sugar from the upper cabinet and waited for the oatmeal to finish cooking. Not her favorite, but not a bad idea, either, on a day like this. Captain Crunch would just have to wait until spring.

  “Water problems at work still, Pop?”

  “That’s what they said last night. Told us not to come in this morning unless they announced otherwise on KNTK. Oh, hey, better turn on the radio just in case. The news comes on in just a few seconds.” He spooned oatmeal into a bowl and placed it in front of her. She poured milk and dumped a generous amount of brown sugar over the mound and glanced at the clock: 6:59.

  She reached behind her and flicked on the radio. The clock was a little slow; Mike the morning man was just starting the news: “… brought to you by Herbert West Chevrolet. Cloudy and cold today is the forecast, with a possibility of light snow later this afternoon. In the news … a local man was arrested yesterday morning just west of Ft. Fremont and charged with possession of crack cocaine. He was pulled from his burning car by sheriff’s deputies after it apparently spun into a field after a high-speed chase in which the car caught fire and burned several acres of open land. The suspect, Marvin Ord, 23, who listed Niotaka as his home, was injured slightly in the crash but was treated and released into custody. Deputies say they are looking for a passenger in the car who disappeared after the car crashed and burned.”

  Carla almost choked, and her father looked at her questioningly. “Too hot, honey?”

  She took a swig from her glass of orange juice. “Almost, Pop. I’ll be all right.”

  Mike was finishing the story: “… did not get a good look at the passenger, whom he said was either very short or hunched down in the seat. A sheriff’s spokesman stated that the suspect said he didn’t remember seeing a passenger in the car. One deputy clocked the car at 121 miles per hour as it passed him. The investigation of the incident is continuing.”

  Her father spooned oatmeal into his bowl, carefully scraping the pan and dropping it into the sink. He sat across from Carla, poured milk over it carefully, spooned brown sugar on top, and took a bite.

  “Just right. Not too hot. So Marv had drugs on him, huh?”

  She stared at him and opened her mouth to ask, “Marv who?” But what came out was “I … guess so, Pop.”

  He took another bite. “I wonder if they’ll ever find his companion?”

  She eyed her father. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t think they’ll ever find … her. Probably a hitchhiker that he picked up, don’t you think?”

  “Probably. The silly goose. Imagine getting into a car with that scumwad.”

  “Oh, fast car, slick talker. Probably had a bag of candy with him. No young girl can resist candy. Right?”

  She sighed. “Okay, Pop. I didn’t tell you that he had drugs in the car, and you know that if I’d known he was holding that I would have run like hell. Cross my heart. And I didn’t tell you about spinning out into the field. I didn’t want to worry you.” That sounded lame, even though it was completely the truth.

  “Anything else that you forgot to tell me?”

  Carla pushed the vision of the steak knife out of her head. “Well, he spun out once before in gravel when he tried to get around a hay wagon, on the wrong side of it. I thought it was all over then.” She stirred her oatmeal so that the brown sugar ended up as a swirl in the middle of the bowl.

  Her father eyed her and shook his head slowly. “Listen, daughter of mine, I’m not going to go into a lot of detail. But if I ever find out again that you got into a car with a druggie …”

  She waved her hand. “Pop, I swear I didn’t know what was going on until we were halfway there. But, yeah, I get it. I’m staying out of cars driven by scumbags from now on. I promise I’ll be careful. I had enough adventure yesterday on the highway to last me a lifetime, and I suppose I was lucky.”

  “Lucky isn’t the word for it. Someone was watching out for you.”

  Carla rarely heard her father discuss anything remotely concerning religion, and she looked up at him. He looked away, and she saw that he was somewhere else for a moment.

  “Yeah. Well … you want to give me a ride to school this morning? It’s cold out there.”

  Right on cue, Mike finished the newscast and weather report: “… Outside it’s 27 degrees under cloudy skies. And that’s the news, brought to you by Herbert West Chevro …” She rose, snapped the volume knob off, ran some water into her bowl, and dropped it into the sink.

  Her father chuckled. “Sure. I need to get some stuff at the hardware store anyway. Need a ride after school?”

  She shook her head. “I can get to work all right. Might even see if I can get Frank to give me a ride.”

  “Frank? Who’s this Frank? If he’s anything like …”

  “Oh, cool it, Pop. Frank’s a nice guy, president of Hispanic Club and all that.”

  He crossed his arms. And then uncrossed them and shook his head. “Okay. Bring him over some time. I suppose I should meet him, huh?”

  “No problem. You’d probably even let him get out of the house with minor flesh wounds and powder burns, I’d bet!”

  He pretended to mess up her hair, and she ducked and giggled and pretended to box him with her tiny fists. “Enough. I need to get to school a little early; I got a deal going to tutor Justin and T. J. and some other dude in American History.”

  “And who are …? Oh, the sports stars. All right; get your coat and stuff and let’s get a move on.”

  * * *

  It was early enough when she walked into the library so that no one seemed to be there except the librarian, who barely gave her a glance before she returned to her computer screen. No T. J., huh? Some scholar he was. And what had happened to Justin and the other guy? Was her career as an early-morning tutor finished already?

  She turned and walked back to her locker. Sandra was coming from the other direction, and they met in front of a window overlooking the parking lot.

  “Early, huh?” Sandra said. “Get some sleep last night?”

  “I slept like the dead. I guess when you get that close to it you can sleep like it. You hear about Marvelous Marv?

  “In jail. Serves him right for kidnapping my friend.”

  “Yeah, talk about a bad influence. Next thing you know he’ll be pulling a knife and stuff on people.”

  Sandra looked at her, tried to hold in a laugh, and failed. “Carla, you’re … terrible. How’d it go with your father yesterday?”

  “He’s pretty cool with it. And he knows everything, except about how I hold a steak knife when I’m getting ready to start carving on things.”

  “Oh. I thought you’d hold back a few things.”

  Carla shook her head. “Not with my pop. He’s too much like me, I guess. You know, smart like that?”

  Sandra cocked her head and looked down at Carla. “I’m sur-r-re. Okay, we cool with each other? And our stories? I went out to sell ads; I happened to see you yesterday and took you with me, and it all took a little longer than we planned?”

  “Sounds good. Hey, you seen Kerry or Buck? I need to talk with them.”

  “’Fraid not. But how about if I send Frank your way instead?”

  Carla crossed her arms. “Don’t even th
ink about it. But if you get a phone call from a guy named Bob … just be nice, okay?”

  “You gave out my phone number to some guy I don’t even know?”

  “Not yet, silly. But how about it? I work with him; he’s a nice guy, working his way through college … and he’s not nearly as ugly as the guy I pulled the knife on yesterday.”

  Sandra shot a look at Carla that reminded her of the times she’d seen her with Frank in the hallways. Then she shook her head. “Okay, fine. I’m certainly no expert when it comes to picking them. Do it. But if he turns out to be another low life … “

  “Not going to happen.”

  Behind Carla, a voice floated across the hall. “All right, ladies.” It was Justin, who was followed by Buck and Kerry.

  “Justin! I’ve been looking for you!”

  “Lucky me. What’s up?”

  “Carla, I gotta go. Thanks … for everything.” Sandra arched an eyebrow, smiled, and swirled around the four and down the hallway.

  Kerry watched her go, one hand on a hip. “New friend, Carla?”

  “You could say that. We sort of came to an understanding yesterday.”

  “So … “

  “Well. Justin, it’s probably just as well that you’re a little late and T. J. didn’t show up this morning.” Carla drew the three closer to her and whispered. “How do I deal with a situation that involves drugs?”

  “Just go to the hospital and tell them that you need to be pumped out!” Justin high-fived with Buck.

  “Not like that, you moron. Yesterday I was in the bathroom and heard voices outside, talking about steroids. I recognized T. J.’s and Jace’s voices. I didn’t catch it all, but it really sounded as if they were going to deal them to the team, maybe by using Tony as a courier.”

  “Whoa, little girl,” Buck said. “That’s pretty serious hearsay. You’d better be sure of what you heard before you start accusing anyone of running drugs, even a low-life like Tony.”

  “I know, and that’s just it. I didn’t really hear much besides the word “steroids”. But …”

  “Not enough,” Kerry interrupted.

  “Listen, I know what I heard.”

  “All right. I suppose you’d better go to my dad and tell him about it. He’ll know how to handle the situation, but he’s going to tell you the same thing that we just did.”

  Carla looked at the three in turn. “Okay. But only if you go with me. For moral support.”

  Justin shook his head. “I’d rather just stay in the background on this one, if you don’t mind. Under the radar and all that.”

  Buck looked at Kerry, and she nodded. “We’ll go with you, Carla. Been there, done that. And I can assure you that my old man doesn’t bite, and he’ll take you seriously.”

  Carla looked down at her feet. Why weren’t they moving down the hall? She looked back up at Buck and Kerry.

  “All right, guys. How about right now before I change my mind?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Carla, I appreciate your coming with Buck and Kerry to tell me about all this. But what you don’t know is that yesterday afternoon both T. J. and Jace were here to talk about steroids.”

  Carla leaned forward in her chair, only the tips of her toes touching the floor. Here it comes, she thought. The headline will read something like “Young girl busts drug ring; offered reward; turns it down”. No, “accepts it and … “

  “Turns out that this Tony you mentioned was indeed involved in all this. He’d approached Jace about running steroids and other drugs for him; he tried to threaten him, but Jace, being from LA, knew how to handle him. He’d offered to meet Tony in the evening somewhere outside of town and then made a call to the sheriff, and when Tony took him up on the offer, Tony was arrested on the spot and now calls the county jail home. Seems that he had certain samples on him that he got from some character named Marvin, whom it seems crashed and burned in the next county and is in jail, too.”

  Carla’s eyes widened, and she tried not to breathe too deeply.

  “That’s all a matter of public record, but what I’m going to tell you next isn’t. Carla, we’re aware of T. J’s past problems and the fact that you went out of your way to help tutor him. But what you’re not aware of is that T. J.’s home life situation has been going downhill. Let’s just say that his mother is … incapacitated and unable to … be a parent to him, and Jace has been trying to get a temporary guardianship of T. J. established so his mother can be hospitalized for her … problem.”

  “She’s a lush, dad?”

  The superintendent glared at his son. “She has a problem, son, and you’re going to have a problem pretty soon too if you keep talking about our parents like that.”

  Buck shrank into his seat, but Carla leaned forward, most of her weight on her toes now. “Wait. You mean that T. J. and Jace tried to deal with a problem; I misunderstood them, and then I came in here and almost ruined T. J.’s reputation and probably jeopardized Jace’s job?”

  “Well, we have to look into allegations pretty carefully, and sometimes when a staff member is involved they are suspended with pay until the investigation is complete. But Jace came to us right away, and the situation has pretty much been taken care of. Tony will be expelled as soon as we have a mandatory hearing and get the papers signed. He’s eighteen anyway, so you’ll never see him around this school again.”

  Carla leaned back. What might have happened if she’d gone directly to the superintendent from the restroom after hearing Jace and T. J. talking yesterday? Again, she shuddered. Maybe she owed one to that nasty teacher after all …

  “That’s it, folks. Except for the disclaimer where I have to tell you to keep what I told you about Jace and T. J. under wraps. That’s personal and confidential, and if you weren’t directly involved in all this, you never would have heard any of that from me. All right?”

  They all nodded. The superintendent scribbled on three passes and handed them to each of them. “Back to work for all of us. Thanks for coming in.”

  * * *

  “All right, people; you have two minutes to get at your stations. Extra laps for the laggards.” Coach Greene was always delivering ultimatums in weight training class, but Carla wiggled her way through other students and plopped down next to T. J., who looked at her sideways.

  “I looked for you this morning in the library, T. J. Where were you?”

  “What?” He stopped tying his shoes.

  “I thought you needed tutoring the worst way. Was that a big story or what?”

  “Um … no … I didn’t realize … “

  “Listen; if you’re going to be a big star on the field, you need to be a big scholar in the classroom. Right?”

  T. J. sighed and resumed tying his shoes. “That’s what they tell me.”

  “So tomorrow and from now on you’ll be in the library sharp at seven … make that seven-ten. Right?”

  This time T. J. looked directly at her. His mouth opened and closed, and he seemed to be struggling with a decision.

  “Okay. I’ll be there.”

  “Book, paper, pencil; the whole bit.”

  “Sure. Whatever you say, boss.” The corner of his mouth seemed to be twitching, but he leaned back and nodded.

  “And if you don’t show up with the rest of the team … like Justin and I don’t know who all … they’ll probably hunt you down and drag you into the library. You dig?”

  “All right, I got it. I’ll be there, okay?”

  Coach Greene blew his whistle. “Ten seconds, people.”

  Carla and T. J. stood. “See ya,” Carla mouthed at him.

  * * *

  The cafeteria, as usual, was crowded, noisy, and steamy hot, and Carla had troubling finding Frank, who was at a corner table with his back to the rest of the students. She circled his table. “Um. Frank? Mind if I join you?”

  His head snapped up. “What? Oh. Sure … “And he waved vaguely at the seats across from the table.

  Carla s
at and pinched her burrito. It didn’t give.

  Frank snorted. “Some authentic Mexican food today, huh?”

  “Yeah, right. More like authentic bricks.” Carla poked a fork at the burrito, and this time she succeeded in denting it a little.

  “Frank … you’re pure Mexican, right?”

  He eyed her. “That’s like saying someone is pure American. No such thing.”

  “What do you mean? I thought you were Mexican. Not Guatemalan or whatever.”

  “Okay. Take my name. It’s “Frank”, not “Francisco” as it would be in Spanish. My parents named me “Frank”, and that’s what’s on my birth certificate.”

  Carla gnawed carefully on her burrito.

  “Frank” is really an English name, but that name came over to England from France, and lord knows where from before that. Does that make me French?”

  Carla shook her head. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

  He put down his fork and rummaged in his backpack. “Here, take a look at this photo. I took it a couple of years ago when we were in Mexico City. It’s of a huge bronze plaque just off the Zócalo, the city center of Mexico City.

  She looked at it and read a few of the words: “De Dónde venimos? Adónde vamos?” “Okay, I understand a few of the words, but not all of them.”

  Frank took the photo from her and translated: “Where do we come from? Where are we going? Carla, the author is talking about the dual heritage of the Mexican people, or at least most of them. You remember the other day when I was talking about the telenovela actresses, the ones with red and blonde hair, that don’t look much like me? Many of them are descended directly from Spanish or even other European families that settled in Mexico. Well, of course most of us are from not only European descent but also native people.”

  He tapped the photo. “This inscription, written by a man named Ignacio Ramirez, describes the problem. If we call ourselves “Spanish”, we are on the side of the conquest of this country when the Aztecs ruled. But if we try to call ourselves “Aztec” or Indian we are trying to call ourselves something that no longer exists as one entity in us.”