by Gordon Jack
“What’s wrong?” Julia asked.
“Nothing,” Brian said.
“I wonder if our families would be from the same hemisphere,” Julia said.
“They would, if we went back far enough. That’s what I like about genetics. How it connects us all together.”
“Yes, but it’s complicated,” Julia said. “What if you were black and found out none of your DNA came from Africa? Would that make you any less black?”
“No, because race and DNA are different things.”
“But your geography determines your race, right?”
“It’s a contributing factor.”
“So if you know your geography, you should know your race.”
Ask her! Stacey screamed in Brian’s ear. Ask her what race she is right now!!
Brian shook his head clear of Stacey’s screaming. “Then how can someone who’s black not have any African DNA?” he asked instead.
“I don’t know. Maybe the tests are flawed. Maybe they can’t go back far enough.”
Okay, do this, Stacey’s voice suggested. Just ask, “What would you do if your DNA didn’t identify you as Latina?” Just ask her that.
“Just stop,” Brian said.
“Excuse me?” Julia said, taken aback.
“What?”
“It sounded like you said, ‘Just stop.’”
“What? No, I didn’t say ‘Just stop.’ What I said was, uh, ‘one drop.’ You know, the one-drop rule?”
“What about it?”
“It was used to categorize people as black. Which is to say, that race, you know, is usually defined for you, most often by some other dominant group.”
Julia nodded, accepting his point. Brian thought it was a quite excellent save on his part. He silently gave thanks to Ms. Watkins, his freshman history teacher.
“DNA may not be destiny,” Julia said, putting the book down between them. “But race certainly is. Depending on where and when you grew up, your race determined your future.”
“What about here and now?” Brian asked.
“Most definitely,” Julia said.
“So why would anyone need a DNA test?”
Julia paused. She tapped her toes together. The gesture reminded Brian of trying to start a fire by striking two stones against each other.
“It’s part of your story,” she said finally. “Like the table of contents in a book. The DNA results give you the broad outline but none of the specific details.”
Brian nodded. “I’d like to know that,” he said.
“So would I.”
A minute later, the library clerk appeared at the end of their row and beckoned Brian and Julia out.
“I just remembered I need to do something at home,” Julia said. “Can we finish this thing online tonight?”
“Sure,” Brian said. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Julia said, shoving her laptop and textbook in her bag and throwing it over her shoulder.
While Julia checked out the DNA book, Brian left through the sliding glass doors. He waited for Julia down by the bike racks. She arrived a few seconds later and unlocked her chain, coiled like a snake around her front tire.
“So, I guess we’ll have to find another secret rendezvous,” Brian said.
“Please don’t speak French,” Julia said, smiling. She took out a pair of sunglasses from her bag and put them on. “What about the bathroom stalls in the park?” she suggested, nodding in the direction of the playground off in the distance.
“Gross. One of us would have to stand on the toilet seat.”
“What about the back row at the movies?”
“Too public. I know at least three people who work at the AMC. There’s the darkroom at school. I don’t think anyone uses it at lunch.”
“Deal,” Julia said. “I’ll meet you there tomorrow.”
“It’s a little chemical-y,” Brian said. “But it’s dark, obviously. And quiet.”
“Sounds perfect,” Julia said.
Brian looked around once more, and seeing the coast was clear, he leaned in and kissed Julia on the lips. “Until then,” he said.
“Until then,” she repeated, and then pedaled away.
21
JULIA RACED HOME from the library, hoping to arrive before Gloria and her husband, Donald, got back from the twins’ ballet recital. She wanted the house to herself when she ordered her DNA test. She could go online while pretending to do her homework, but the twins had an uncanny ability to detect when people were lying. The other day, after her ice cream date with Brian, she had to bribe them both with gummy bears to keep them from snitching. The girls could have figured out where she’d been based on the dribble of melted ice cream on Julia’s top, but more likely they read her mind and knew just what price Julia would pay for their silence.
When she got home, the minivan was nowhere to be seen. Julia threw open the side gate and ran to the backyard, depositing her bike on the dried lawn. In a second, she was inside and rushing down the hallway to her room.
She left her door ajar and pulled open the curtains to keep an eye out for Gloria’s arrival. Julia still wasn’t allowed to have electronic devices in her bedroom, and if her aunt saw her, she might start threatening to deport her again. Running for president had given Julia some freedom outside the home, but inside, she was still treated with suspicion.
She typed “DNA test” into Google and scanned the hits for a reputable organization. The cost ranged from seventy to five hundred dollars and took between six to eight weeks. All of them required a credit card to ship a test kit. This was going to be problematic, Julia thought. She had a credit card, but her mom paid it, which meant she would see this charge on the next bill.
Julia leaned back and stared at the screen. Maybe it was time to discuss this with Mom again. She had always promised Julia could get a DNA test when she was eighteen. What difference could a year and a half make? She must understand how important this information was for her. She dialed her mom’s number in Canada.
“Hi, Mom,” she said when her mom picked up.
“Mon chéri!” she squealed. It was good to hear her mom’s voice. They hadn’t spoken in about a week, and Julia realized suddenly how much she missed speaking French with another native speaker.
“How are you?” Julia asked.
“Ugh, not good. I’ve taken in a family of Haitian asylum seekers, and the refugee agency is being very slow to find them permanent housing.”
“Wait, you what?”
“Didn’t I tell you? Now that you’re gone, I have the space, so I put Tamara and her two boys in your room.”
“My room?” Julia said. “But, Mom, that’s my room.”
“Don’t get mad at me. If you want to blame anyone, look to the president in your newly adopted country. His anti-immigration policies have made these vulnerable people come to Montreal seeking refuge from the land of the free.”
Ugh. As usual, her mother stood on the moral high ground, which made it impossible to argue with her without sounding like a selfish asshole.
“How are you doing?” her mom asked.
“Fine,” Julia said, walking over to the window and peering outside. Aunt Gloria would be home any minute now so she didn’t have much time. “I want to know something about my father.”
Her mom sighed. “Don’t call him that.”
“Fine,” Julia said. “My donor.”
“You don’t need to know anything about him. You’re my child. I raised you.”
“But he’s a part of me. Like it or not, I inherited half his DNA. I deserve to know something about him.”
“When you’re eighteen you can do a DNA test.”
“Do you think he was Latino?” Julia asked.
“Julia, we’ve been over this.”
“I know . . . I just . . . Well . . . with the election and all. People are asking.”
“They’re asking if you’re Latino? Why would they do that?”
“They want
to know what I am.”
“What you are? Do you hear how offensive that question is, Julia? You’re not an object to be classified. This is why I think running for office is a bad idea.”
“But, Mom. I want to know what I am too.”
“Why? So you can check a box on a form?”
“Race isn’t just a box on a form, Mom. It’s something I live every day. You don’t get that because you’re white.”
Her mom sighed. Pointing out her white privilege was the best way to make her question the logic behind her social experiment.
“It’s part of who I am,” Julia said, repeating the argument she’d made the last two years. “What if I have some horrible genetic disorder? Like schizophrenia? Or lupus?”
“Your doctors would have picked that up in your regular checkup, don’t you think? Honestly, Julia? Lupus?”
“We’re studying genetics in biology right now. It’s weird having half your Punnett square blank.”
“What’s a Punnett square?”
“A diagram scientists use to calculate the probability of inherited traits.”
“Listen to you. You didn’t get those smarts from me.”
Now it was Julia’s turn to sigh. “Mom, I need to know.”
There was a long pause, and then her mom said, “When you come home this summer, we’ll get you a DNA test. Okay?”
“But—” Julia was about to object, but then the full weight of her mom’s statement registered. “Wait. I’m coming home this summer?”
“Of course. I miss my baby. I’ll take some time off, and we can go someplace fun. There’s a meditation retreat in Montebello that looks fantastic.”
Julia started pacing the room. Summer was only a few months away. She had already envisioned spending most of it with Brian, biking around town, making out in air-conditioned venues. “I was kind of hoping to stay here. If I win the election, I’m going to have a lot of work to do before school starts in the fall.”
“But I miss you.”
“Why don’t you come out here and visit me?”
“You think my sister is emotional now,” her mom said, laughing. “You should see her when she’s with me. She’s bought into the whole suburban mom thing. That’s just not my scene.”
“We can road-trip somewhere then?” Julia said. “Go see Uncle Seth.” She was pretty sure her uncle lived in a church basement in Seattle, but Julia was desperate to stay in-country.
“Julia, when we talked about this arrangement, it was never a permanent move. You’re only in California while things settle down here.”
“But you can’t just bounce me from place to place. I like it here. I’m not ready to go back to my old school. Everyone still hates me there.”
“Maybe we can find another school for you, then.”
“Mom, I want to stay.”
Julia heard Aunt Gloria’s minivan pull into the driveway. She ran over to the window and watched her and Uncle Donald emerge, talking about some obnoxious parent filming the performance with an iPad. A few seconds later, the twins got out, still dressed in their tights and tutus. They stopped in front of Julia’s window and stared at her. From Julia’s vantage point, they looked like immobile porcelain figures in a music box, something that when opened played the theme from Jaws.
“I gotta go,” Julia said. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Fine,” her mom said. “Let’s Skype. I want you to meet Tamara and her family.”
Julia hung up and raced to the front to greet everyone. She needed to start working harder to become indispensible to her host family. She wasn’t much different from the Haitian refugees her mother had taken in. If she wanted to stay in this country, she would need someone to advocate for her. Aunt Gloria and her mom didn’t get along, but she was the best hope she had.
“Bonjour!” Julia said to the twins.
“Bonjour,” Madison and Olivia responded flatly.
“Comment était le récital de danse?”
“Très bien,” the girls answered in unison.
“Do you need any help with dinner?” Julia asked Gloria, now pulling out some Tupperware containers from the refrigerator.
“Well, aren’t you nice to offer,” Gloria said.
“She wants something,” Madison said.
“Or she’s in trouble,” Olivia said.
Julia turned on them with surprise. She wished she knew how rusty her aunt’s French was because she’d love to tell these little shits to go fuck themselves.
“Mon Dieu!” Madison gasped, reading Julia’s mind or her expression.
“I just want to help,” Julia said.
“That’s nice, dear,” Gloria said. “I’ve got everything under control. Why don’t you work on your homework?”
“Can I call my friend Jenny?” Julia asked. “I need to ask her a question about the campaign.”
“Who’s Jenny?” Gloria asked.
“She’s the ASB secretary,” Julia said, hoping the title would impress her aunt. “She’s kind of become my campaign adviser.”
“Of course,” Gloria said. “But keep the door open.”
Julia walked back to her room, wondering how long Gloria was going monitor her behavior like this. Even if she won the presidency, her aunt would probably never fully trust her. The scandal that brought Julia here was just too horrifying. She wasn’t a refugee escaping persecution; she was a parolee who might re-offend at any moment.
As soon as Julia reached her room, she dialed Jenny’s number. She hoped her new friend wasn’t weirded out about what Julia was about to do. Gloria needed to hear Julia talking about the campaign, but Julia needed to ask something much more private. Before she dialed Jenny’s number, though, she texted her the message: Calling you in a sec. But need to text you something private too.
Jenny texted back a confused emoji face.
Julia dialed her number.
“What’s up, girl?” Jenny said.
“I need to ask you a question about the campaign,” Julia said as loud as she could while still sounding natural. After she finished talking, she texted Jenny, Can you order the DNA testing kit for me? I can’t have Mom know I’m doing it.
“Sure, what’s up?” Jenny said. No prob, she texted back.
“Are campaign cupcakes a thing?” Julia asked. Thx so much! she wrote. Here’s the link. She copy and pasted the URL of one of the sites she had looked at earlier.
“Totally,” Jenny said. “Everyone bakes something to buy votes.” Got it, she wrote. I’ll order today.
“What should I make?” Julia asked. Pay you back tomorrow, she wrote. Can you have it delivered to your house?
“You should make conchas,” Jenny said. Done, she texted.
“What are conchas?” Julia asked.
“Mexican sweet rolls,” Jenny said. “They’re delicious. I’m going to text you my mom’s favorite recipe.”
A link to a page on Hispanic Kitchen appeared on her screen. Julia scanned the ingredients and was pretty sure Gloria had them in the kitchen. Flour, milk, eggs, sugar—the ingredients were like genes. There was very little variation from one breakfast roll to another. Whether something came from Hispanic Kitchen or European Kitchen depended on how they were combined and packaged.
“Thanks,” Julia said. “These look delicious.”
“I’ll meet you at brunch tomorrow to help pass them out. In case you’re worried about culturally appropriating my favorite breakfast treat.”
“Gracias,” Julia said.
“Shut the fuck up,” Jenny said, laughing.
Julia hung up and smiled. Jenny was another reason she wanted to stay in California. In the short time she’d known her, Julia already trusted her more than any of her girlfriends back in Canada. Her former crew had turned on her so quickly after Julia was hauled into the police station for questioning. Not one had reached out to her since she left for California. The thought of facing them again, after all that had happened, made Julia’s stomach turn.
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“Julia? You still on the phone?” Gloria called from the kitchen.
“No,” Julia said, walking back down the hall to the common area. Gloria was stirring a brownish mixture on the stove, bathing her face in the steam rising from the pan. “Can you help me make these?” Julia asked, showing her aunt the recipe page on her phone.
Gloria put on the glasses dangling from a chain around her neck. “Hmm,” she said. “I think so. Are these for tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Julia said, remembering what Brian said about Stacey’s cupcakes. She felt a pang of guilt about acting on that information, but according to Jenny, this kind of bribery was common practice in American elections. “Can we make, like, a hundred?”
“I don’t have enough flour for a hundred,” Gloria said, walking over to the cabinet and scanning the shelves. “How about fifty?”
“That’s fine,” Julia said. She walked over to where Gloria was standing and wrapped her arms around her broad shoulders. “Thanks, Auntie, you’re the best.”
“Told you she wanted something,” Madison said from the carpet on the other side of the kitchen counter.
“I still think she’s in trouble,” Olivia responded.
“POSTERGATE INVESTIGATION STALLED BY ADMINISTRATION”
by Lance Haber
It’s been five days since an anonymous assailant viciously attacked Julia Romero. Many of my readers are asking for updates on the investigation. Here’s what I can tell is currently happening.
Nothing.
After confiscating the poster as evidence, the administration hasn’t questioned a single suspect or witness about the crime.
When asked about what appears to be a stalled case, Principal Buckley issued the same standard talking point.
“This is an ongoing investigation, and I’m not at liberty to share details with you at this time.”
The one question that broke through Buckley’s impenetrable armor concerned her much beloved protégé Stacey Wynn.
