The First Rule of Punk

by Celia C. Pérez

  And then, like the Scarecrow who suddenly got a brain, a lightbulb went on. I jumped up from the couch, which must have startled Joe, because he dropped the rabbit ear antenna he was fiddling with.

  “Band meeting at Calaca tomorrow after school,” I said. “I’ll tell Ellie. You let Benny know.”

  “But we didn’t make the list,” he said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said with a smile. “The Co-Co’s are just getting started.”

  Chapter 23

  The next afternoon we sat around a table at Calaca, and I told the band my idea.

  “So you want us to crash the Fall Fiesta talent show?” Ellie asked, like I’d just made the most scandalous announcement ever.

  “No, we’re not crashing it,” I said. “We’re throwing an anti–Fall Fiesta talent show instead.”

  “I like the way you think, dude,” Joe said, picking concha frosting crumbs from my plate.

  “Where are we going to do this anti-talent show?” Benny asked.

  “That’s why we’re meeting,” I said. “To work out the details. I can’t think of everything myself, you know?”

  “Excuuuse us,” Joe said.

  “This sounds really risky,” Benny said.

  “Look, the talent show is inside the school, in the auditorium, but Fall Fiesta is outside,” Joe said. “We could just set up and play outside somewhere.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “I can’t imagine Principal Rivera’s going to let us have our anti-talent show in the school anyway.”

  “Wait, won’t we get into trouble for doing this?” Ellie asked. “That would not look good on a college application.”

  “Okay, Miss Fight-the-Power-One-Petition-at-a-Time,” I said. “I know you care about students’ rights. But sometimes petitions won’t cut it. We’re doing this for a good cause.” I needed to convince myself too.

  “And that cause is . . . ?” Ellie asked.

  “There was nothing on the audition flyer about the talent show disqualifying certain types of acts, right?” I asked. “Principal Rivera handpicked the kids that fit her picture of what this thirtieth anniversary celebration should look like. Us? Our loud punk band? Not part of that picture.”

  “Big deal,” Benny said, shrugging.

  “It is a big deal,” I said. “I mean, Mr. Jackson didn’t say we were excluded because we made mistakes. She kept us out on purpose. Because she doesn’t like that we’re loud and not ‘traditional’ or ‘family friendly.’ Whatever that means.”

  “I’m with María Luisa on this,” Joe said. “That’s anti-weirdo discrimination.”

  He and Benny laughed.

  “A lot of people in history have taken risks to make social and political statements. . . .” Ellie added. “Count me in.”

  “We’re a punk band, right?” I asked. “And punk means standing up for what you believe in. Just like Joe’s mom. And like Poly Styrene, who wore plastic bags to protest consumer culture, and Joe Strummer, who wrote songs against war and oppression, and—”

  By now I was out of my chair, pacing by our table.

  “Okay, relax. I get it,” Benny said. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”

  “Besides, I bet we aren’t the only kids who wanted to perform at the talent show but got left out because Principal Rivera didn’t like what they did,” I said.

  “Well, can we at least call it something else?” Ellie asked. “Anti-talent show sounds so . . . negative.”

  “We could just call it the Alterna-Fiesta talent show instead,” Joe said.

  “That sounds cool,” I said. “Joe, you think your mom would help us again?” I asked hopefully. “She did inspire the idea after all.”

  “Are you kidding me?” He had a get-serious expression on his face. “You know she’ll eat this up like it’s some vegan flan.”

  We all cracked up because we knew Joe was right. If anyone could help us pull this off, it was Mrs. Hidalgo. And she’d really understand why we wanted to do this.

  A punkier version of a song I’d heard before started to play over the coffee shop’s speakers.

  “Y’all know this is my favorite song,” Joe said. He started to sing along and bob his head for a few seconds.

  “‘La bamba’?” Benny said. “For real?”

  “I’m old-school like that,” Joe said.

  “Maybe we can do a punk version of an old Mexican song,” I said. “Like this song that’s playing.”

  After the words came out, I waited for them to laugh.

  “I don’t know,” Ellie said. “If we’re going to cover a song, it should be something that rocks, right?”

  “Yeah,” Benny said. “We don’t want the kids to feel like they’re hanging with their abuelas.”

  “Principal Rivera wants traditional and family friendly, right?” I asked. “So let’s give it to her. But our way.”

  “I like it,” Joe said. “Now you’re thinking, María Luisa.”

  The song ended, and a female voice I now recognized as Lola Beltrán came on.

  “I’ll think of a song,” I said, but I already had an idea. “Be ready to get to work tomorrow.”

  When I got home, I kicked off my shoes and grabbed my laptop. I plugged in my headphones, popped in Señora Oralia’s Lola Beltrán CD, and waited for the music to start. Which old ranchera song could we turn into a cool punk rock song? “Paloma negra”? “Cucurrucucú paloma”? Lola B sure did like pigeons.

  In “Soy infeliz,” Lola B’s deep, strong voice sang of love that wasn’t reciprocated. Most of the songs were heavy, sad love songs that made you feel like you were drowning in tears. I didn’t know anything about being in love, so none of them felt like the right song.

  Then I heard one I recognized. I had a memory of Mom singing along to it while she made breakfast on a lazy weekend morning. The tune was lighter and happier than the others. It was the opposite of a sad love song. The lyrics spoke of how singing could make hearts rejoice. I listened to the song over and over as I tried to imagine it louder and faster and with me singing it. I picked up the CD case and looked at the list of track titles. It was a song called “Cielito lindo.”

  Chapter 24

  “I hate this thing,” I said, yanking at the lock.

  By the time I’d spun the dial left and right and left again for the third time, I decided that the combination lock was my sworn enemy.

  “Step aside, tonta,” Joe said, moving in on my locker. “What’s your combination?”

  “I’m not telling you my combination,” I said, even though I knew my chances of seeing my history book were fading.

  “Suit yourself,” he said.

  I tried my combination one more time and, unsuccessful, let the lock drop back against the locker with a loud clang.

  “You giving up on this yet?” Joe asked.

  “Fine, you try,” I said. I dug out the slip of paper with my combo on it and handed it to him.

  I watched as he turned the dial left, right, left, then pulled. The lock clicked and opened. He turned to me, a satisfied look on his face.

  “Well, aren’t you special?”

  “A thank-you will do,” Joe said. “Hey, did you think of a song?”

  “I did,” I said, grabbing my history book from my locker and stuffing it into my backpack.

  “And?”

  “I’ll tell you at practice when we’re all together,” I said.

  “You’re gonna make me wait? Dude!”

  Something flew across the hallway and landed at our feet. It was a candy necklace. Or what was left of it. There were a few candy beads hanging from the sad-looking elastic band.

  “Score!” Selena said as she and a guy from her candy crew walked up. Joe slapped the guy’s hand and fist-bumped, then stretched the necklace between his fingers and pulled it back lik
e a slingshot, aiming it at Selena.

  “¿Qué pasa, lovebirds?” she asked, holding her bag up to shield herself from the candy necklace. “That means . . .”

  “I know what that means,” I said, cutting her off. “Not funny.”

  “I couldn’t be sure, María Luisa,” she said. “I know you have trouble with your Spanish sometimes.”

  I slammed my locker door shut and snapped the lock closed.

  “That’s too bad you didn’t make it into the talent show,” she said.

  “Yeah, too bad,” Joe said. I gave him a look so he would zip his lips.

  “See you later,” I said to Joe, ignoring Selena and her friend. I hooked my arms through the straps of my backpack. I wanted to get out of there before Joe spilled the beans about our plan.

  “Wait,” Selena said. “Don’t you need to kiss good-bye or something?”

  I felt my ears burn as I walked away.

  That afternoon, I had bigger things to worry about than Selena. Like how to get ready for our talent show while avoiding Mom. She suddenly had a lot of thoughts about my daily visits to Joe’s after school.

  “You two sure are spending a lot of time together,” Mom had said that morning when I told her I was going to Joe’s later.

  “We’re working on a school project,” I had said defensively. “I thought you wanted me to make friends and be happy here.”

  “Pues, sí. I’m glad you aren’t holed up in your room all the time.”

  Heading into Joe’s basement, I felt like I’d slipped past Mom’s curiosity and questions one more time. But I knew each time could be the last.

  Joe, Benny, and Ellie sat in a half circle in the basement, looking both excited and nervous.

  “So? What’s your great idea?” Joe asked.

  “You guys promise not to laugh?”

  “We can’t promise anything,” Joe said. Benny fiddled with his bass, and Ellie pretended to take notes to avoid eye contact with me.

  “This.” I placed the Lola B CD on the floor in the middle of the circle.

  “What are we going to do with that?” Joe asked.

  “We’re going to do a punk version of one of these songs,” I said. “‘Cielito lindo.’”

  “Are you telling us you want to sing a punked-up version of a Lola Beltrán song?” Benny asked, like maybe his hearing had failed him.

  “Yeah.” I nodded, but my brain started to panic. What seemed like a great idea earlier suddenly felt like a sure disaster.

  Joe stared at the cover, the big bouffant, the chandelier earrings, the pointy nails. Those long fingers. It felt like the seconds were dragging.

  “Never mind,” I said, grabbing the CD. “We can come up with something else.”

  “No, wait. I can see it,” Joe said. “But maybe the band should take a vote.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I said.

  “Are there any objections?” Joe asked, and looked to each of us.

  “Not from me,” Benny said. “This is more my style anyway.”

  “Yeah, who knew your trumpet-playing skills would come in handy, right, Ben?” Joe said, and laughed.

  “Can I listen to it first?” Ellie asked.

  Joe queued up the song, and we all watched Ellie as she closed her eyes and listened. Everyone at Posada Middle took Spanish, but Ellie wasn’t a native speaker, so I wondered how much she understood. Ellie kept a stone face the whole time, and it was hard to read her.

  “I caught some of the words,” she said when the song finished. “But what’s it about?”

  Ellie listened intently while Joe translated the lyrics as best as he could. Then we all watched as a big grin spread across her face.

  “This is the song,” she said. “It’s beautiful and powerful, and I dare Principal Rivera to object. Let’s do it.”

  “That was easy,” Joe said. “And now you can prove to Selena once and for all that you aren’t a coconut.”

  I kicked him in the shin.

  “Ow. Come on, I was just joking,” he said, rubbing his leg. “But seriously, and don’t take this the wrong way. Can you even sing in Spanish?”

  “Don’t listen to him, Malú,” Ellie said. “You’re super determined. You convinced me, someone who couldn’t even play an instrument, to join the band. I’m pretty sure you can do anything.”

  “Thanks, Ellie,” I said, and gave her a smile.

  “You believed that I could play drums,” Ellie continued. “Well, I think you can sing in Spanish.”

  Could I sing in Spanish? Joe’s question played in my mind on repeat as I walked home. It was really cool the way Ellie had come to my defense, but I wasn’t so sure I believed in me as much as she believed in me. Having to sing in Spanish was kind of a big detail to overlook. It was one thing to say “hola” and another thing to sing an entire song. I thought about what Señora Oralia had said about singing along to Beatles songs even though she couldn’t speak English. If she could do that, maybe I could sing in Spanish.

  Yes, I told myself as I arranged the worry dolls under my pillow that night. I could sing in Spanish. But as I looked into their little dotted faces, doubt crept over me again like a cold fog. Couldn’t I?

  Chapter 25

  “Of course you can sing in Spanish,” Mrs. Hidalgo said. We were in the Hidalgos’ basement the next afternoon, and Joe had filled her in on our plan. As expected, she was more than willing to help.

  “I don’t know,” I said nervously. “Maybe this isn’t the best idea after all.”

  “Save it,” Ellie said. She twirled a drumstick in her hand with an attitude that said she wasn’t in the mood to accept self-deprecating comments.

  “You heard the story my mother told. She could sing in English before she could speak English. And Ritchie Valens couldn’t speak Spanish when he sang ‘La Bamba,’” Mrs. Hidalgo said. “Besides, it’s an easy song to learn, and since you already know Spanish, it won’t be a problem. You just have to memorize the lyrics and believe you can do it. Right, Joe?”

  “You got this, dude,” Joe said with a thumbs-up.

  “Maybe your mom can help you with the singing too,” Mrs. Hidalgo suggested.

  “Her mom doesn’t even know she’s in a band,” Joe said, and laughed.

  “What?” Mrs. Hidalgo looked surprised. “Really? Why?”

  I glared at Joe for opening his big mouth. “I don’t think she’d like that I’m spending my time on a band instead of doing something more productive.” I made air quotes to indicate that “productive” was one of Mom’s words. “Plus, punk bands aren’t the kind of thing señoritas are into.”

  “Says who?” Mrs. Hidalgo asked, her hands on her hips. “I think you should give your mom a chance, and you definitely need to tell her. I can’t help you behind her back. I believe in your right to rock, but I also abide by the Mom Code.”

  “What does she think you’re doing after school anyway?” Benny asked.

  “Chess club?” Ellie offered.

  “Something like that,” I said. “I tell her I’m at Calaca, doing homework, or helping Mr. Baca in the library. As long as she thinks I’m getting involved and happy here, she’s totally fine.”

  “Well, you are getting involved with school,” Benny said.

  “I think your mom would be happy to know that you’re doing something you really enjoy with friends,” Mrs. Hidalgo said.

  “What’s wrong with being in a band?” Ellie asked. “It’s not like you’re out robbing banks.”

  “You guys don’t know SuperMexican,” I said. Benny, Joe, and Ellie laughed. “It’s not just about being in a band. And I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? I’ll tell her soon. Can we just get to work?”

  Mrs. Hidalgo put a hand on my shoulder and leaned in close. “Sooner than later will be best,” she said. “Let me know if you want
some help.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I will.” But I still wasn’t convinced that I ever had to let Mom know about the Co-Co’s.

  “By the way, I’ve played this song before,” Benny said, pulling his trumpet out of its case. He inhaled, put the trumpet to his lips, and played “Cielito lindo.”

  “Wow,” I said when he finished. “You’re really good.”

  Benny shrugged, looking embarrassed.

  “You ready to sing, María Luisa?” Joe asked.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now,” Joe said. “Or are you waiting for a written invitation?”

  “Why don’t we start working on the music,” Mrs. Hidalgo said, “and give Malú time to get the lyrics down, all right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, fanning my sweaty armpits and waiting for the ground to swallow me up. “That sounds good.”

  I got the group to talk about talent show details before we wrapped up for the afternoon. I managed to go the whole practice without singing.

  “We’ll need a flyer,” I said. “Something we can hand out to kids who might be interested in performing or who want to see us.”

  “I’ll draw something cool,” Joe said. “Something funky, maybe with some Posada influences.” He grinned conspiratorially. “And I bet Mr. Baca would let me use the copier in the library.”

  “Awesome,” I said. “We’re really doing this.”

  “You think you’ll be ready to sing next time?” Benny asked.

  I chewed on the inside of my lip and tried not to freak out at the thought of singing in Spanish.

  “Earth to Malú,” Joe said. “You’re not gonna chicken out on us, are you?”

  Joe started clucking and flapping his arms like a chicken until Ellie gave him a playful shove.

  “She’s not chickening out, right?” Ellie asked, and smiled.