When I lay in bed later, thinking about this evening, I felt different, somehow. It was good to be who I was, part of a rich culture … good to be Japanese.
12
I tutored Tina Saturday morning, then went straight home. Adam was picking me up to go to Juan's house. Juan had spoken to some of his Light Green pals and they'd be there, too. With so many working, we hoped to get all the posters and four-color armbands finished for the rally Wednesday.
“This game of Otero's is a pain in the you-know-what,” Adam said, settling down next to me in the car. “I've got to carry my journal around even on the soccer field! And I'll be darned if I'll have anything to do with that beauty contest.”
“Poor baby,” I teased.
Adam messed my hair in response. “I mean it. I'll play hooky before I'll go prancing around like Arnold Schwartzenegger in my gym shorts!”
“What if it had been di female beauty contest?”
“That's different.”
“Why?”
“Because women are pretty, which men aren't.” He leered at me and backed off as I pretended to punch him.
“Adam Tardier, you're a real male chauvinist—”
“—hunk.”
“You'll be the best-looking man there, you know. The girls will be all over you.”
Adam gave a long-suffering sigh, quite obviously pleased at the prospect. “That's what Fm afraid of.” He started the car and put an arm around me. Now would be a good time to ask about the mountain weekend. So far he hadn't said a word to me and I hadn't asked. I wondered how to phrase the question without sounding suspicious or jealous.
“By the way,” I said, trying for lightness, “how was the party?”
He glanced at me, puzzled, then looked back at the road. “Party? What party?”
“Tina said you invited a bunch of good friends … you know, Beth and Eileen … some others … to your mountain house.” I bit my lip to hold back the rest of what I wanted to ask, like how come he hadn't included me. Didn't he think I was good enough for him?
Adam frowned … seemed to be struggling to understand, then he slapped the steering wheel. “Tina! That brat! I should have known!”
I waited for him to go on.
He looked away from the road. “What did she tell you?”
My throat tightened with the same ache I'd felt when Tina first told me. “She said you'd invited all these & very good friends to sleep over.” I gave a light laugh. “But I figured that since / wasn't invited …”
Adam swerved suddenly and pulled over to the curb. He shut off the motor and turned to me. “Amy, how could you? How could you believe that little troublemaker sister of mine? You know me better than that!”
I lowered my eyes and bit my lip.
“I didn't invite those kids beforehand! It was no planned thing. The guys who came over are from families who have winter places just like ours. They come up every year, the same weekend, just like us. We get together … traditionally. It means nothing!” He took my hands in his. “You surely didn't think …”
When I didn't immediately answer he asked, “You do believe me, don't you?”
“I suppose.” But a small doubt did persist. What he'd said about Juan in that moment of anger couldn't be ignored. His mother's attitude. My own father's. Could he, could I, escape their prejudices? I bent my head, staring at Adam's strong hands, which were gripping my own smaller ones so firmly.
“Amy. Look at me.”
When I raised my eyes his face was very serious and troubled. “I thought I didn't need Otero's game to show me that our differences weren't important. Now I know better. I liked you from the beginning … because of the kind of person you are.”
I stiffened, not knowing just what he meant. “You bring me something new from what I've always known, in little ways—the way you do things, the way you think, your femininity, your courage, your sensitivity, your creativity…. You are different … but that's what I love.”
“Hold me, Adam … please….”
Without another word he brought me into his arms and held me close, pressing his lips against my hair. And then he kissed me, as softly and lovingly as if I were terribly fragile and precious. It felt right and good and the doubts fled to a distant place. We kissed again, this time laughing and with little joyful yelps, so very glad it was right between us once more. And then Adam remembered we were due at Juan's. I curled close to him, nestling my head against his shoulder, and in a moment we were on the road again.
Juan lived in a mostly Latino neighborhood, poorer than where I lived. The homes were closer together and not as well kept. Young children cluttered the cracked sidewalks on tricycles or skates.
Adam parked the BMW between a beat-up VW and a vintage 1960 Ford and we climbed the creaky steps to a landing. Laughter and voices came from within. Through lace-curtained windows we glimpsed a dozen or more kids from our class milling about.
Juan answered the door, face flushed with excitement. “Come in, come in! We started already. You should see what we've done! We've got two sewing machines going and some guys have been here since morning!” He drew us inside and gestured triumphantly.
The L-shaped living-dining room vibrated with sound. A TV was blaring. A radio was playing salsa music somewhere in the back of the house. A baby cried and a loud voice called out in Spanish.
On the wall opposite the door above a worn couch my eye immediately caught sight of a portrait of John F. Kennedy on a black velvet background.
“Hey, guys, quiet down!” Troy shouted from the dining area. “I can't hear myself think!”
Juan stepped over some boxes and turned the TV low. Fellow students greeted us from all over the room. Some were sorting through boxes overflowing with colorful materials, or ripping long strips of fabric into narrow strands. Some sat on the floor sewing strips together, or just fooling around.
Juan led us to a large box and pulled out a ring of new four-color bands. “We've already got about two hundred of these. By tonight we should have enough for the whole school!”
“You're so well organized,” Adam said, putting an arm around my shoulders, “that you don't even need us. C'mon, honey. Let's go.”
“Not so fast!” Juan grabbed us. “Amy's assigned poster duty. You can help, too, Adam. She's good at lettering. You can paint in the colors.”
And so we joined the work force of some twenty or more classmates. Despite the noise and a kind of mad chaos, it was fun lettering the ALL COLORS UNITE signs. I felt part of something important, not like when I'd been a Blue and no one wanted to do anything together, because they already had what they wanted.
At one point, half listening to the talk around me, I thought that it must have been like this in pioneer days— when women gathered to make quilts on long winter evenings. Keeping hands busy, they'd talk of children and crops and their hopes for the future. Our talk wasn't all that different—about teachers and movies and friends. And about the Color Game.
Michelle told how a G4 accused her of stealing. “Can you imagine? Why would I try to steal some stupid play money? I bet they'd never have dared accuse me if I were a Dark Green or Blue!”
Kevin told how he hated being promoted to Light Green so late in the game. “It's hard, shifting loyalties. In my heart I'm still an Orange, and the Light Greens treat me like an outsider! I'm caught in no-man's-land, in limbo.”
About four o'clock Juan's mother, a pretty woman with a bashful smile, came in from the kitchen. She carried a big tray with a pitcher of Kool-Aid and a platter of nachos and quesadillas, cheese-filled tortillas. The sweet smell of corn and melted cheese filled the room. I couldn't help thinking how Juan's family may not have had money but their riches were in closeness to each other.
“Ah, food,” Adam said, looking up from the poster he was painting. “I'm starved. Get me a plate of those, will you, honey?” He flashed me one of his winning smiles.
Without thinking I stopped work on the intricate letteri
ng and got up. Then I realized what was happening. My face got hot and my heart began to race as I sat down again.
“Adam, honey,” I said sweetly, picking up my pen again. “I'm starved, too. Would you mind getting the drinks and nachos?”
Troy, working with us, looked up in surprise. Maybe he heard something different in my voice, because Adam stared at me, too, startled. My legs began to shake and my lips to tremble, but I didn't back down.
Half the kids were clustered around the food by now, but Adam still didn't move. Finally, he put his paintbrush down and stood up. A small, secret smile crossed his lips. And without a word he went off to get our snacks.
By six o'clock the room looked like a disaster area. Scraps of material lay everywhere. Finished posters and banners were stacked on top of every surface, and boxes overflowed with the bands we'd made. Before leaving we went over the plans for Wednesday one more time. Troy would have the protest flyers photocopied and ready to hand out. We'd all be at school early to help put up the signs and banners. Teams of two would pass out the new color bands all around the school.
“This has been great,” Adam said as we joined the others leaving. “The G4's are gonna have a cow when they see the whole school behind us.”
“The Blues and Dark Greens will have to join us or they'll become the outcasts,” Juan added.
Everyone was thanking Juan and his mother and carrying out the posters and boxes, but we were leaving a terrible mess. I started picking up some of the bigger scraps, but Juan waved me away. “No, scram. I'll do it.” His mother nodded agreement.
I felt an enormous rush of affection for them both. Juan's mother worked full-time, but she'd spent her whole day off helping us whenever the sewing machines jammed or anyone needed something. The hospitality and warmth had somehow changed all of us. We had come separately, but were leaving as a family.
We stood talking and laughing out on the street while posters and boxes were put in different cars, when my eye caught something odd. A bright red Toyota station wagon pulled up to the curb across the street and someone familiar stepped out. Brian! Brian and Mary! What were they doing here? A surge of fear rushed down my arms and I stepped in front of Adam to hide what he was doing from view. “Adam … Adam, look!” I whispered. He straightened up from loading a box of armbands into the trunk. Leaning against the fender in plain sight were half a dozen brightly painted posters.
“Oh, no! No! Where did they come from?” Adam slammed the trunk lid shut and stepped back. Others had seen the G4's and hurried over to our car. Juan must have noticed from inside the house, because suddenly he flew down the stairs and joined us.
“What are you doing here, Brian? Mary?” Adam challenged. “What do you want?”
“What are you doing here?” Brian crossed his arms over his chest while Mary went around the car, spying.
“This was a private party … of Oranges,” Juan said, although standing right next to him was a Light Green. “We have a right to meet, so what do you want?”
Mary, of course, found the posters and held one up for Brian to see. She pulled a handful of new wristbands from a box and dangled them from her fingers like dirty laundry.
“Just a private party, huh?” Brian asked.
“There's nothing illegal about what we were doing,” I said, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. “We have a right to organize. We had to organize!”
“So you're the ringleader, Amy? I'm surprised at you!”
Adam put an arm around me. “We're all responsible, and I don't see what you can do about it!”
“Oh, that's easy. We confiscate this stuff and that's that. No rally Wednesday.”
“How do you know it's Wednesday?”
Brian smiled. “We have our ways.”
“You can't do that!”
“Oh, yes we can!”
“Wait a minute!” I called out. “Who told you? This was a secret meeting!”
Brian shrugged, while Mary started stacking armloads of posters near the red car. “We know everything you Oranges are up to. That's how we keep our power.”
“Yeah! How did you know? Who told on us?” Troy called out from the small crowd that had gathered. “It had to be one of us!” He looked first at me, then at Juan.
“Aw, cut it, Troy. Quit that,” Adam said. “You're doing just what Brian wants, making us all suspicious of each other.”
“Yeah? Well, you tell me. One of us ratted. Those guys aren't clairvoyant! How about it, Brian?”
Brian smiled enigmatically, leaning against our car, arms wrapped around himself. He made me so angry, my legs began shaking. “Okay, everyone,” he said. “Get to work. Move that stuff to my car.”
I stepped forward. “No! No way!”
Brian laughed, ignoring me. “Mary, get those guys to open their car trunks. They probably have them loaded with rally stuff.”
“No!” I cried in such a sharp voice that a few of the Oranges who had started back to their cars stopped. “We're not helping you. And we're not letting you take our stuff.”
“She's right! Yeah!”
“Listen, Amy. You're just a lowly Orange. Be a smart Tek and do what you're told.” He tried to put a comradely arm around my shoulder, but I shook him off.
“Don't be so condescending. We worked hard on the rally stuff. What you're trying to do is … oppression. We won't stand for it. We have the right to put on a rally.”
“Well, well, just listen to the girl,” Brian mocked, but his manner became less assured. “Little Amy speaks out for the masses!”
“She's right,” Adam called, turning around to the others. “Let's put those posters back in our cars; they're ours.”
Brian's smile disappeared. Mary rushed to his side. “I'm warning you, Adam …”
“What more can you do than you've already done?” Adam asked. He opened the car trunk and we started loading posters again.
“Otero will … the other G4's …” Brian threw out threats as fast as gunfire while we went on loading, pretending to ignore him. Everyone else in our group went back to their cars, too, working even faster than before.
“You'll hear from us!” Brian threatened as I climbed into the car beside Adam. “There'll be no rally Wednesday. Just remember that!” he shouted.
Adam pulled away from the curb and waited until the three other cars pulled out behind us. Brian remained in the middle of the road, hands on his hips, still shouting threats. Mary, behind him, grinned and gave us the victory sign.
“We did it!” Adam said, softly. “We really did it!”
“We did, we did!” I cried. “And nothing's going to stop that rally Wednesday!”
“You're a tiger,” Adam said, shaking his head in admiration. “A real tiger. Wow!”
I giggled. And then I slid next to him, laid my head against his shoulder, and growled a proper tiger growl.
13
“What you got in there, girl?” Paul asked the next day, peering over my shoulder in the hallway. “Gonna dynamite the school or something?” He laughed, as if he knew more than he was saying.
“Nothing. Just some old gym clothes.”
He'd caught me stuffing my backpack, loaded with the new armbands, into my locker. I tried to look innocent, but my face burned hot as I slammed the locker door and twirled the combination.
“Gym clothes, hunh? I'll just bet.”
I thought, He knows all about the Saturday meeting at Juan 9s and our fight with the G4's! Either Vm paranoid or he also knows exactly what I was hiding for Wednesday's rally
“Ready for the beauty contest?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Oranges don't talk to Blues unless spoken to. See you in class, Amy. Be good.” He sauntered down the hall, turning once to smile knowingly at me.
It seemed that most of the school had heard about our run-in with Brian and Mary. You could sense a difference. I read a kind of grudging admiration in the way some people smiled or said hello. Even the G4's and the higher c
olors acted differently. During the whole morning not one of them stopped me to bow or show my journal. When we passed, they looked away or through me, as if I didn't exist. Being ignored wasn't any pleasanter than being challenged for every little thing.
Just before Otero's class I met Gwen in the rest room. She hadn't spoken a word to me since I was demoted, so I washed my hands and combed my hair and studiously avoided looking at her after the expected bow.
“Only four more days and the game's over,” she said, watching me in the mirror.
“I know. It's been interesting.”
“It's all right. You can talk. I won't report you.”
“What do you want to talk about?” I turned around to face her. “Did you hear what happened Saturday?”
“I did. But be careful. Something's going on. Otero's been huddling with the G4's. They're going to stop that rally, somehow.”
“Would you tell me, if you knew how?”
Gwen hesitated, looked away for a moment, then said, “Maybe.”
“Why?”
“You're suspicious because I'm a Blue? Because I told you I like being top dog?”
I shrugged.
“J didn't say I would,” she said, “only maybe. I never thought those white dudes you hang around with would get anything from this game. But it looks like they're beginning to understand how it is for us a lot of the time. So … maybe. “
“Well, if you do hear anything …”
“Yeah. ITI think about it.”
“Well, on to Otero's class,” I said. Being nearest the exit door, I should have left first. But Gwen was a Blue. For an awkward second all that the Color Game stood for passed between us. Then I made a sweeping gesture to indicate she had the right of way, and she shook her head briskly so that her beaded braids clicked together.
“Go ahead, girl,” she said, “orange before blue.”
We laughed, and the two of us pushed open the door and went out together.
The War Between the Classes (Laurel-Leaf Contemporary Fiction) Page 10
