by Gordon Jack
“I wanted a healthy baby.” Her mom stumbled. “There were other factors for me that were more important than race.”
“But what color did you choose. Did you choose a white donor or not?”
Her mom paused. “Yes, I chose a white donor.”
“That’s what I thought,” Julia said, and hung up. She threw the phone down on the ground and rushed inside so that the neighbors wouldn’t hear her screaming.
36
“YOU SEEM IN an especially good mood today,” Shirley said, taking a seat across from Kyle. She was probably responding to the hug he had given her in the waiting room. After the day he’d had at school, Kyle felt like hugging everyone. With one text, he had destroyed Stacey’s chances of winning the election. Now all he had to worry about was Julia’s little quinceañera protest tomorrow, but he had a plan to bring that down too.
“I am in a good mood,” Kyle said, reclining on the couch, putting his hands behind his head. Today was probably the first day he had looked forward to going to therapy. Nowhere else could he talk freely about what had happened at the school assembly, and he needed to brag about it to someone. It helped that his therapist would keep his secrets. Even though Shirley wasn’t a real doctor, Kyle was sure she took some oath protecting client-patient privilege.
“Tell me more,” Shirley said, removing her glasses and folding her hands in her lap.
“Well, the candidates gave their speeches to the student body this morning,” Kyle said. “It’s their one time to address the voters directly.”
“Your candidate must have done well,” Shirley said.
“My candidate was awesome. I was a little worried he’d blow it, but he nailed it. He was himself, and people loved him.”
“Did you coach him at all? I know how busy you’ve been working for his campaign.”
“I helped in other ways,” Kyle said, smiling.
“How so?”
“I made sure his closest rival went down in flames.”
“And how did you do that?”
“I shared some information with her about her campaign that she needed to know.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.” Shirley looked down at her notes resting in her lap.
“I shared it with her, just before she gave her speech,” Kyle said, choking back a laugh. “She got so freaked out, she misquoted Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and told everyone to go fuck themselves. It was awesome.”
“Sounds like she was pretty upset.”
“Oh, she was, trust me.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“About what?”
“About being the cause of her distress?”
“I don’t feel anything,” Kyle said. “It’s politics. That’s the game. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen, right?”
“Hmm.” Shirley consulted her notes. “This is your brother’s friend, right? The one you called an ‘eco-lutionary.’”
“That’s her.”
“Do you think you dislike her so much because she’s your brother’s friend?”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s talk about why you’re so invested in this campaign.”
“You’re the one who encouraged me to get more involved in school, remember?” Kyle sat up, preparing himself for a fight. Leave it to his therapist to ruin his good day by asking him too many personal questions.
“I did. But you’re the one who chose to get involved in politics. Why do you think that is? Is it because you’re interested in student government or because it’s something that matters to your brother?”
Kyle shrugged. “Both, I guess.”
“Talk more about that.”
“What? You want me to say I hate government because my brother loves it?”
“I don’t want you to say it if it isn’t true.” Shirley paused. “Is it true?”
“It used to be. Maybe. After what the government did to my dad, I wanted to see the whole corrupt system destroyed. But now that I’ve worked for Tony’s campaign, I can see the appeal.”
“What’s the appeal?”
“I like manipulating people.” Brian stared at Shirley. “Just like you.”
“Oh?” Now it was his therapist’s turn to squirm in her seat. “How do you see me manipulating people?”
“It’s what therapists do, right? You make people relaxed and comfortable and then ask them questions to undermine their self-confidence.”
“I ask questions to help people understand their motivation,” Shirley said.
“Same thing,” Kyle said. “I think you like being in control. These sessions probably benefit you more than any of your clients. At the end of the day, you must feel pretty superior after listening to all the fucked-up things people tell you.”
“That’s not how I feel at all.” Shirley’s ever-present smile vanished for a second, and Kyle knew he had struck a nerve.
“It’s cool,” he said. “I get it. I like being in control too. Most people are sheep. They need a good shepherd.”
“You’re the shepherd?”
“Yeah. The way I see it, you can either control people or be controlled by them. I’d rather be in charge of my own destiny than be at the mercy of someone else.”
“So, you and your brother are more alike than you like to think.”
“No, we’re not,” Kyle said, his hands clenching involuntarily into fists. “We may both like politics, but we disagree on the means and the ends. Criminals and police both like guns, but they use them for different purposes.”
“Who’s the criminal and who’s the police in this scenario?”
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” Kyle said, leaning back down on the coach. “That’s something for future generations to decide.”
Protests
37
ELECTION DAY
THE QUINCEAÑERA PROTEST was to take place in the quad at brunch before the students voted for their representatives in their third-period classes. The hope was that the performance would remind everyone about the important issues at stake in this year’s election. Just two weeks ago, Julia’s campaign poster was vandalized with a racist slur. The campus needed to deal with this hateful attack and not be distracted by Tony’s desire to stock more munchies in the cafeteria.
Julia had begged Principal Buckley to give her back the defaced poster, but Buckley claimed it was evidence in an ongoing investigation and refused. “Why do you want it back anyway?” she’d asked, crossing her arms and staring at Julia with suspicious eyes. Julia had said something lame about wanting it for her scrapbook, and beat a hasty retreat. This protest required absolute secrecy, or the administration would shut it down. Instead of holding her original poster, Julia made a duplicate and smeared it with the same ugly message. This will do fine, she thought, folding it into her backpack and biking to school.
All the girls participating in the march met after first period to go change into their gowns. To avoid campus security, they drove to the public library five blocks away and used their larger and more private bathroom facilities. The girls cycled in and out of the room in groups of four so as not to drown in a sea of taffeta.
“We’ll have Julia walk into the quad first,” Maria said to the girls crowded around the bathroom mirrors, applying their makeup. “Followed by the rest of us in a show of solidarity.”
Maria was the only one who looked uncomfortable in her billowing gown. She wasn’t girlie like the others. She reminded Julia of that actress who kicks ass in all those Fast and Furious movies. It was easier to imagine her behind the wheel of a souped-up Lamborghini than waltzing in a tiara.
“After that, we march in a circle until a crowd has gathered,” Maria went on.
“And then we do our dance!” Jenny said, snapping her fingers in the air.
“What do we do with our posters during the dance?” someone asked.
“As soon as you hear the music start, put them on the ground,” Jenny
said. “Just make sure not to step on them.”
“What if security tries to shut us down?” Rosa asked.
“They won’t,” Maria said. “There was a flash mob last week for the dance show, and nobody did shit.”
Julia pulled a stack of paper towels out of the rack and held them under her armpits. She was starting to get nervous. It didn’t help that she was standing with five other girls in a cloud of hair spray and perfume. Once again, the enormity of her falsehood acted like a virus in her body, raising its temperature and constricting her breathing.
“Girl, let me add a little sparkle to those lips,” Jenny said, dabbing Julia’s lips with her fingers.
Up close, Jenny must have seen the beads of sweat on Julia’s forehead and heard her gasps for air. “You okay?” she asked.
“I think I’m having a panic attack,” Julia said, putting her hands on the sink and holding her head down.
“Let’s clear the room, people,” Jenny said. “Julia needs a moment.”
Julia grabbed Jenny’s wrist to prevent her from leaving. “Stay,” she said. “Please.”
The girls left the bathroom, and the atmosphere became more hospitable to human life. Julia breathed into the porcelain sink and felt Jenny’s hand make tiny circles on her back. Her heart slowed from a hyphy beat to a slow jam.
“What if I’m not Latina?” Julia said, keeping her head down, staring at the sink drain. “All this feels like such a big lie.”
“You’re not doing this to get elected,” Jenny said. “You’re doing it to make a statement.”
“It feels like the same thing,” Julia said.
“It’s not,” Jenny said. “You didn’t ask for your poster to be vandalized. But it was. You’re helping us take a stand against racism. That’s a good thing.”
Julia straightened up and looked at herself in the mirror. “I really hope I am Latina,” she said.
“No matter what that test says, you’ll still be my hermana.”
“Gracias,” Julia said, hugging Jenny and getting a mouthful of hair. “We’d know sooner if my mom would tell me.”
“Yeah, I don’t get that,” Jenny said, looking into the mirror and adding a touch of lipstick.
“I don’t either.” Julia sighed. “My mom’s always played by her own rules. Most of the time, it’s what I like best about her.”
Ten minutes later, the girls were crammed into Maria’s car and heading back to school. Julia still felt a little lightheaded, but she attributed that to the excess of hair spray fumes trapped in the minivan.
The girls excitedly showed off their posters. Most of them had written some statement in support of immigration rights. Jenny, who couldn’t pass up an opportunity to stand out in a crowd, wrote “We Were Here First!” in bold, sparkly letters.
The girls arrived at the student parking lot with fifteen minutes to spare. Maria opened the sliding side door, and the girls spilled out like brightly colored gumballs. Julia took her phone out of her purse to snap a few selfies with the protesting princesses when she saw a message from a number she didn’t recognize. The text contained the photo Julia had sent Brian when she first tried on her quinceañera dress, along with a news article about the lawsuit her mom brought against the fertility clinic. Meet me behind the cafeteria, or this goes out to everyone, the text below read.
Julia stumbled backward in shock. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” she said to the girls.
“We just came from the bathroom,” Rosa whined.
“I know. Sorry. I’ll be right back.” Julia lifted her gown up and walked as quickly as she could in her heels through the parking lot toward the cafeteria.
The back of the cafeteria faced the school’s marquee, near the pick-up-and-drop-off zone. Julia was terrified about who she’d find waiting for her there. The last person she expected to see was Brian.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I got this text five minutes ago,” he said, holding up his phone for her to see. It was the same message she had received. “What is this article all about? Is this your mother?”
“Yes,” Julia said. “I’ll explain later. How did this photo of me get out? Did you share it with anyone?”
“It was my brother,” Brian said. “The other night at dinner, I left my phone at the table. It was the night you texted it to me. He’s the one blackmailing you. Only he would do something so despicable.”
“It’s political, not despicable,” a voice said off in the distance. Stacey emerged from behind the marquee and walked toward them slowly and deliberately. “Don’t you look pretty, Julia!” she said, once she was standing next to them. “Like a real Latina princess.”
Julia and Brian both gave yelps of surprise.
38
FOR A SECOND, Stacey almost felt sorry for Julia. She looked so helpless and weak in her quinceañera dress, as if she were a princess in need of saving. But if Julia were the princess, what did that make Stacey in this scenario? The evil stepmother? The wicked witch? Her mother? Stacey didn’t like her options here, so she put a stop to this analogy.
“Stacey, what are you doing?” Brian asked.
“Do you want to tell him, or should I?” Stacey asked, turning to Julia.
“I don’t have a father,” Julia said finally.
“Well, scientifically speaking, that’s impossible,” Stacey said. “You have someone’s DNA. We’re just not sure the man’s Latino.”
“So?” Julia said.
“So, if your mom’s white, it means you can’t really lay claim to the Latino cultural heritage. I think people at this protest would be interested in knowing what a liar and fraud you are.”
“Stacey, come on,” Brian said.
“I never lied,” Julia said.
“You never told the truth, either. Look at you. All dressed up like you’re one of them.”
“Maybe I am Latina,” Julia said. “You don’t know that.”
“But you don’t either. Be honest. You only decided to become Latina when you realized it would help you win the election. It’s the whole reason you vandalized your poster.”
“That’s not true,” Julia said, turning to Brian. “You know I didn’t do that, right, Brian?”
Brian nodded. He was completely brainwashed, Stacey realized. Even when confronted with evidence, he refused to believe his candidate was a liar.
“Stacey, who sent you this photo of Julia?” he asked.
“She did,” Stacey said. “Just before I was about to make my speech.”
“How could I do that?” Julia asked. “You were sitting right next to me.”
“I don’t mean you did it personally,” Stacey said. “You had one of your supporters do it. Probably Jenny Ramirez. She worships you.”
“I did not do this,” Julia said. “Think about it. Why would I want to hurt Brian by sending this to you?”
“Because you want to be president,” Stacey said.
“I do want to be president, but I want to be with Brian too,” Julia said. “He would never forgive me if I destroyed his relationship with you. You’re his best friend.”
“Was his best friend,” Stacey said.
“Kyle sent you this photo, Stacey,” Brian said. “I saw him at the assembly. He held up his phone to me and smiled. He wanted to ruin you because you were a threat to Tony. He’s the one who vandalized Julia’s poster, too. I would bet my life on it.”
Stacey felt her moral high ground crumbling; the bedrock she thought she was standing on was starting to feel more like a swamp. “Even if that were true,” she said, “which I’m not saying it is, Julia could have come clean at any point in the campaign, but she didn’t.”
Julia seemed to be having trouble breathing. She nodded in response to what Stacey said. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “I should have said something. But you can understand why that would be difficult, right?”
“You should have thought of that before you decided to run,” Stacey said.
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Stacey was hoping to feel vindicated in this moment. This was her triumphal scene. The part of the story where she confronted the liar and the cheat with the hard evidence she had gathered against them. So why didn’t she feel heroic right now? She had done an excellent job channeling her mother’s cold toughness. But that was the problem. Pretending to be Mom had come too easy. She didn’t have to reinvent herself to impersonate her; it was a role she was born to play.
Stacey looked at Julia, in her pretty sequined gown and tiara. Brian was holding her up by her shoulders and whispering words of comfort into her ear. What was he saying now to make her feel better? Stacey felt her anger returning. Julia didn’t deserve his support. She did. After all Julia had put them through, how could he be offering her consolation? Even after knowing the truth, he still supported her.
Oh God. Was it Brian the two of them were really competing over? It couldn’t be. Stacey didn’t have those feelings for Brian, did she? Things were so messy and confusing, and Stacey hated messy and confusing. She preferred organized and clear. Why couldn’t she chart this all on a Venn diagram or spreadsheet? All she saw right now were two columns: gains and losses. Julia couldn’t win both Brian and the election. She could have one, but not both.
Stacey pushed Brian out of the way and faced her rival, as if challenging her to a duel. “It’s time to decide, Julia. Drop out of the race, or Priya sends the text to the whole school. Which is it going to be?”
39
BRIAN SQUEEZED BETWEEN the two girls, hoping he might absorb some of the tension that existed between them. The position probably struck Julia and Stacey as an appropriate one for a mediator. Or worse, a border wall. From his perspective, he felt like the toy two children were fighting over. Pretty soon his seams would tear and all his stuffing would burst from his body.
“Stacey, please,” he said. “You can’t do this.”
Stacey turned and regarded Brian coldly. “I can and I will.”
“You’re just mad at me, and you’re taking it out on Julia.”
