But today, for whatever reason, Adam was late. I stepped out of line as one of the boys who sat at our lunch table went by with his tray. “Rob? You see Adam?”
“Yeah. He was in Une right behind me when this girl comes up with a green band on her arm and says, “Back of the line, Orange!” Rob's eyes scanned the lunch crowd. “I couldn't believe it. Adam bowed to her like she was royalty, or something. Then he goes to the back of the line. What's going on, Amy?”
“Tell you later.” I moved slowly along the lunch line searching for Adam. A light green armband caught my eye. Odd, how I checked arms before looking at faces since getting my own blue band. “Justin?” I touched him. “Have you seen Adam?”
Justin's face flushed as he glanced at my band. For an instant he seemed uncertain what to do. Then, with a flourish, he bowed before answering, “He's in back with the Oranges.”
I was about to look further when I stopped myself. Why this ridiculous frantic feeling? Hadn't I just resolved to play the game exactly as Otero had set it up, to try to be independent of Adam for a while? Even if I reached him, we couldn't talk. G4's might be watching. Others could report me and I didn't want to be demoted. Not now.
I turned about and went back to my place in line. If Adam and I couldn't talk at the lunch table, there was the telephone and other places where we might not be seen. Resolutely, I picked up a tray and piled on a tossed salad, strawberry yogurt, and a container of milk.
Justin arrived at the lunch table before Adam did. He set his tray down on my side of the table, with Penny, Rob's girl friend, between us.
“What are those funny bands you guys are wearing?” Melissa asked, echoing the curiosity of the others. “Is that the Color Game you were talking about?” She addressed the question to Justin, although sitting opposite me.
Melissa never spoke directly to me if she could help it, I thought with a stir of annoyance. There was a pecking order of some kind. She'd address Adam first, if he was present, then Justin, then Rob, then any other girls, before me.
“I'm a lowly Light Green,” Justin said. “You know, in the same class with the enchiladas.” He laughed.
I hated it when Justin called Latinos that. Did he call me rice cake or slant eyes when I wasn't around?
“Light Greens don't speak up when Blues are present,” I said lightly, surprised at how angry I felt. It would do Justin good to get a taste of his own superior attitude, but under the table my legs began shivering.
“Hey, Amy …” Justin protested.
“Well, how does it work?” Melissa asked again, addressing me this time. It felt good explaining the game with everyone listening. Just because I wore a blue armband!
Adam slipped his tray down next to mine, then immediately turned away. “Where are you going?” I called after him. He waved a hand in reply and wove through the noisy lunch room to Paul Thomas's table. Something Paul said brought loud laughter from the other black students and a low bow from Adam. Then Adam picked up Paul's tray and took it to the refuse can. He dumped the paper plates and napkins in the bin, left the tray, then returned to our table, scowling.
“Boy, I've had it!” he exclaimed. “All I've done since third period is bow and run errands for higher colors. And now I gotta put up with Thomas's smart-ass jokes.”
“What did he say?”
Adam swung his long legs over the bench and sat beside me, face still flushed with anger. “How many Oranges does it take to screw in a light bulb?” He laughed bitterly. “You know. One to hold the bulb and nine to turn the chair.”
“Fun-ny!” Justin said, “coming from them!”
“But that's the whole point, Justin,” Adam said. “We make jokes like that about them all the time. It sure doesn't feel very good being on the receiving end.”
“They deserve it, though. If they weren't so lazy they could have what we got. Nobody in America has to be poor.”
“I'm not so sure,” Adam said, biting into a sandwich. “My father's always saying that. It's easy to say when you've got a multimillion-dollar business handed down by your grandfather, and when you're white with roots in Plymouth Rock.”
“Ah, it's time those guys stopped blaming their poverty on color. Who's stopping them from going to college or working hard? I'm a Light Green now, but just watch me get to be a Blue. All I gotta do is figure out the system, then do whatever I gotta. If I have to kiss ass, so …”
“That's what the blacks in the South did during slavery days,” I said quietly. “Yas'm, yas'm …” I craned my head around Penny to meet Justin's eyes. “It sure didn't get them very far.”
“Yas'm …” Justin replied, with mock servility. “Us black folks likes to serve yo’ white folks. It's in our blood. Cain't hep it if white folks is smarter….”
Melissa laughed appreciatively.
“Justin,” I said, surprising myself. “I'm going to make life miserable for you, just to see how you'll like it. After all, ‘Us Blues is lots smarter than yo’ low-down Light Greens.’ “
“Oh, Justin/” Rob cried. “Better watch out! Amy's got it in for you!”
“I'm scared. I'm really scared!” Justin pretended to shiver. “Can you imagine Adam's sweet, exotic Amy going after mean ole me?”
Adam laughed and kissed me on the side of the head. But that made me only angrier. So that's how Justin saw me, how the others thought of me. No wonder I often felt uncomfortable.
“Justin,” I said sweetly. “I finished my lunch and I know you'd just love to put my tray away.”
“I'm not done with my lunch.”
“That's a shame, but Light Greens do what they're told to do when they're told, or they get reported to G4's, don't they?” My voice came out in a quaver, but I tried to keep a gentle smile on my lips. Everyone watched Justin as he seemed to struggle with himself over what to do. Then he shrugged, got up, and came behind me to pick up my tray.
“Before you leave, Justin,” I added, trembling inside and determined not to show it, “you will of course bow to your superior.” I gave him an especially sweet smile, trying to take the sting out of my words.
A dark look crossed his face. He grimaced to show he was only humoring me, then swept his right arm in front of his stomach in a poor imitation of a bow.
The heat rose to my face at his attitude. “That was a pretty good bow, Justin, but I know you could do better. Why not try it again?”
Melissa held a hand over her mouth to hide her giggles, but the others were grinning openly. Justin bowed again, this time with an insolent flourish. I hesitated only a moment, then, bristling, said, “Again.”
“I'll be damned if—!”
“What's going on here, Blue? Is this Light Green being impudent? What's your name, fella?” Brian, the G4, took out a small pad and clicked a pen into readiness.
“It's nothing, Brian,” I said quickly, afraid I'd gotten Justin in real trouble. “Everything's under control. We were just testing each other, that's all.”
Had I gone too far? I sensed a chill at the table as Brian wrote Justin's name in a little book despite my protests, and it frightened me. Maybe I should apologize. I glanced uneasily at Adam as the bell rang, wishing he'd say something, anything, to make it all right. But he didn't. He hurriedly downed the last of his lunch and gathered up his things.
All my resolve to be more independent of him was forgotten. I wanted to know if he was angry with me, and when we'd get together again, and if he still loved me. But I said nothing and we hurried out of the lunch room together like total strangers. When we parted at fifth-period class Adam seemed distant and preoccupied.
“Will you call?” I asked, ashamed to be the aggressor by asking.
Adam glanced around the crowded hall as if expecting to be reported, then touched my hand briefly. ‘Til try.” With that he rushed away.
I waited for his phone call all afternoon. Was this the day he had soccer practice? And afterward swimming? Was that why he didn't call? Or was it the day he met with th
e student-body council after school? I chopped the vegetables for dinner, set the table with flowers from Mama's garden, did my homework, and planned what I would cover when I tutored Bettina this week. Maybe Adam could arrange to be there so we could touch for a moment, if Bettina left us alone. But no matter what work I did, Adam's silence felt like punishment.
I jumped when the phone rang and grabbed it before it could ring a second time.
“Adam?” I held my breath, waiting for his answer. I'd know instantly if he was angry.
“Hi, Amy. You speaking with a lowly Orange, or should I bow ftret?”
It was all right. Still, I had to ask. “Are you angry with me?”
“For what you said to Justin? He's had that coming for a long time. It was just a surprise, that's all. Nobody's used to you speaking up like that.”
I took a deep breath. The kitchen seemed brighter, warmer, than before. “I don't think I like being a Blue. You have to be so heartless. I mean, this business of being mean to lower colors just so they'll get a taste of what it's really like for others … it's just not natural for me. I don't like people bowing to me. It's not comfortable.”
“You can get demoted, you know.” When I didn't answer, he added, “Didn't you once tell me your grandfather said everyone in Japan bows to everyone else?”
I nodded, though Adam couldn't see. “But that's different. When everyone bows, it shows respect, but if only some do, those who have to feel inferior. Like you must have when Paul …”
“Yeah, that was rough. I never thought much about poor people, minorities. I always figured most people felt good about who they were, like I did. Then today … I felt ashamed. As if I was dirt….”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know.” There had been times when I'd been made to feel ugly and unworthy just because I wasn't white and the pain had been terrible. But I had learned how to deal with it. Now, whenever I met someone new I showed only a small, protected part of myself until I could be sure. Even then, it took time for me to trust.
It was hard to admit, but sometimes I wished I were white.
“Adam?” My voice sounded funny as I gathered courage to say what I had decided. “I'm going to try to stay a Blue.”
Adam's silence frightened me. “Do you mind terribly? I just want to find out what it's like,” I went on hurriedly. “And really, it won't change me. I mean, I'm not going on a power trip or anything….”
“Amy, do you realize what that means? We won't be able to be together for weeks!”
“I know, I know … and worse, you'll have to bow to me and pretend to be subservient … and I'll hate that … but you'll know I don't mean anything by it, that it's just a role I have to play for a while.”
“Why? You just said you didn't like having people bow to you!”
“I don't! But … but … it's hard to explain!” I pushed my hair back with nervous fingers. “Everyone says that the rich don't care about anyone else; all they care about is getting richer. Well, maybe that's not true. I want to see if I can't … do something.”
“Oh.” Adam paused, as if thinking, then said, “Like what?”
“I don't really know … talk to the other Blues, see what we could do to break down those color barriers. It doesn't have to be the way Otero says it is!”
“In the meantime, what about us?”
“I can see you when I tutor Bettina … and maybe we could see each other Sunday … somewhere not so public so we're not likely to run into any class members or G4's
99
“I don't like it. I thought you could do something outrageous so they'd throw you out of the Blues.” He paused. “Why should we put up with it? I don't mind playing the game while I'm at school, but why should we go along with it outside?”
“I guess because prejudice goes on twenty-four hours a day.”
Adam answered with an unconvinced “Ummm.”
“Otero says that of all the students who've played the game so far, only five quit, and of those, three dropped because of program conflicts.”
“Maybe they stay because of peer pressure.”
“It's more than that, Adam. Otero's a good guy. I think we all know that. I think he's trying to get something across to us that we couldn't get any other way. I kind of feel—we can't let him down.”
Adam breathed a loud protesting sigh, but said, “If that's what you want, okay, but I'll hate it, having this fence between us for the next few weeks.”
I let out a small yelp of pleasure. “Oh, Adam, thanks! I'd hug you if you were here right now, hug you so tight you'd melt!”
“So what's stopping you?”
I smiled happily at the phone. “Close your eyes. Now listen. I'm putting my arms around your neck … and getting as close as I can … and …”
“Amy Sumoto,” Adam purred. “You're crazy … and I'm crazy about you. Now, tell me. When are you coming to tutor Bettina?”
5
Adam and I couldn't walk together openly anymore because we might be reported. That proved to be the hardest adjustment to make from the start of the Color Game. Being reported wouldn't have hurt me so much, because Blues, Otero said, are treated differently by society, with respect and tolerance. Adam, though, would be the one who'd be punished. He'd be fined and made a fool of and who knows what else.
It made me wonder if Adam and I could have ever become friends in real life if one of us had been very poor. We'd have so little in common because where we live makes us what we are. Friends are made, usually, among those you have most in common with. How can a really rich person find much in common with someone very poor? I think that money, or the lack of it, makes more of a difference between people than color.
When we got to Otero's class the next day, all my antennas stood up, trying to sense who might report us. The rest of the class were waiting for Otero, but in different groupings from the day before. This time the Blues—all black and Latino—were closest to the front door, and Adam's group, the Oranges, stood apart.
“Well, Amy …” Brian stepped into place beside me, ignoring Adam. A senior, and sports editor of the school paper, he had danced with me at the luau until Adam told him the rest of the dances were taken. Brian said, “I see you're wearing your armband, Amy. Very good. How about your journal?”
I fished inside my notebook and brought out the new pink pad.
“Glad you're following the rules. You going to the Halloween dance, by the way?”
Adam and I had planned to go to the Halloween dance together weeks ago, before Otero's class. I bit my lip. Could we still attend if we weren't supposed to socialize because of our colors? “Well, I don't know,” I said, noting Adam's frown.
“Want to go with me?”
“Bug off!” Adam exclaimed. “She's my girl, Brian!”
“Who's talking to you, Orange? What are you doing even walking near a Blue?” Brian took out his small notebook and marked something down as Otero trotted along the hall fumbling among his keys.
“What about it, Amy?”
“Thanks, but I think I'll pass.”
“Take my advice. If you socialize with Oranges, your Blue friends are going to think less of you, even shun you. People who have anything to do with Oranges are either troublemakers or they have no respect for their own class.”
“Oh, come on. You don't mean that!”
“Don't I?” Brian smiled at me again. “See you around.”
“Creep …” Adam grumbled as Brian strode ahead to the classroom door and called out:
“Blues first!”
I gave Adam an apologetic shrug and moved forward, slipping by classmates, whose eyes I avoided so they wouldn't have to bow. When I took my seat, Paul Thomas leaned over and in a loud voice asked, “How's about after class you and me stand right outside the door and make the whole class bow?”
“Paul, you're depraved,” I said.
“Yeah, and loving it. I got this picture of myself now, y'know? Thomas Industries. That's me. Right there on t
he stock exchange. Got this house in Bel-Air, five acres and guard dogs all over, and this gorgeous wife who greets me at night in a slinky gown with a glass of Chivas Regal. The kids are in private school, and I drive a Rolls. And all these other guys, these other colors,” he said with distaste, “they're working for me! Those Dark Greens are practically panting to get my approval. The Light Greens tiptoe around like they're scared they'll be out on the street. And the Oranges. Well. That's what the guard dogs are for.”
“Thomas, you are crazy. Mean, too!” I had to laugh. Paul seemed to have changed overnight. No more the guy slouching in his seat, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Having blue power seemed to have brought out all kinds of sides to him—anger and spite against the poor and hope and ambition for himself.
Otero stepped in frönt of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “All right, guys. Now we come to sex discrimination. Teks and No-Teks. Mary, come up and explain, please.”
Mary ambled to the front of the room and picked up a piece of chalk. “In Ray's game,” she said, “the genders are reversed. The superior sex, called Teks, are the women.” She wrote Teks = women on the board. “The inferior sex, men, are called No-Teks.”
I laughed and the boys nearby groaned.
“No-Teks must curtsy to Teks of their color and higher colors. And if you don't know what a curtsy is, Brian will show you.” With an insipid smile on his face Brian stepped forward, pretended to hold out a skirt, and bent one knee. “That's how No-Teks curtsy. Okay?” When no one objected, Mary went on. “No-Teks walk behind Teks and sit behind them in class. There is no one lower in this world than an Orange No-Tek. Not only is he in the lowest social class, but he's an insignificant gender, a male.” Mary pushed her glasses against her face with one finger.
“Sometime during the next weeks we'll expect the No-Teks to bring coffee or tea to class, and to make and bring cookies.”
The War Between the Classes (Laurel-Leaf Contemporary Fiction) Page 4
