The First Rule of Punk

by Celia C. Pérez

  “Thanks, Mrs. Hidalgo,” I said.

  I wasn’t in a hurry to sit with Mom, so I browsed the bookcase near Frida. “Cielito lindo” came on, and I listened to Lola B sing like I probably never would. I was sure Mrs. Hidalgo had played it just for me. A picture book about a bird called the quetzal caught my eye. The illustrations showed a little green fuzzy-headed creature. It looked like it had spiked hair—a little punk rock bird. Its long tail feathers were green and turquois, and a bright splash of red feathers covered its breast.

  “What’s that?”

  I closed the book on my finger and turned around to find Joe.

  “It’s the resplendent quetzal,” I said, shifting my weight from one foot to another. I was nervous and didn’t know what to say, so I showed him the page.

  “That bird is so not cute,” Joe said. He rubbed the back of his neck. I could tell he was nervous too.

  “It says here that the quetzal was sacred to the Aztec and Maya people,” I said.

  “Sacred, huh?” Joe repeated. “That’s cool.”

  I took one last look at the little bird before closing the book and placing it back on the shelf.

  “My mom told me you were here,” Joe said.

  “I’m here,” I said. I looked down at my shoes, rubbing the tape off one with the sole of the other one.

  “I’m sorry about the flyer,” Joe said.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m sorry I got so mad.”

  “I should’ve been more careful.” He shrugged.

  “Yeah, well, it’s done,” I said. “And I guess it wasn’t as big a deal as I made it.”

  “So what’s up with the band?” Joe asked. “Are we really over?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “There hasn’t been a band this week, that’s for sure.”

  “We could still do this,” Joe said. “It’s not too late.”

  “But we haven’t practiced in days,” I said. “Besides, Principal Rivera knows about our plan.”

  “Well, does she really know our plan?” Joe asked. “All she saw was a flyer. Big deal. And we weren’t going to set up inside the school, right? We could just start up after the talent show ends. That way we get more of an audience anyway.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I said.

  “There’s no way Rivera can accuse us of ‘disrupting,’” Joe went on. “And if we do, it’s for a good reason, right?”

  I thought about it. I’d already accepted that we weren’t a band anymore, but I really did want to do it. Even if it was risky.

  “Come on,” Joe said. “This was your idea. I mean, we could do it without you, but I sing like an alley cat.”

  “That’s true,” I said, and laughed.

  “Besides,” Joe went on. “We coconuts gotta stick together.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I said, pretending he had twisted my arm. “Let’s do it.”

  “Wait here,” Joe said. “I have something for you.”

  He ran into the back room and returned a minute later, pulling something out of a bag and tossing it to me. I shook it out and held up a T-shirt.

  “This is the raddest thing ever,” I said.

  The red T-shirt had the band’s name and four coconuts wearing mariachi hats printed in black just like Joe had drawn in his sketch pad. On the back was the motto we had chosen: NOT YOUR ABUELA’S MUSIC.

  “I can’t believe you made these after everything that happened,” I said.

  “I made them over the weekend and was going to give them out at Monday’s practice,” Joe said. “But . . .”

  “That never happened,” I finished for him. I rolled up the shirt so Mom wouldn’t see it.

  “So then we’re on for Saturday?” he asked.

  “For sure,” I said. “Let’s get one last practice in tomorrow.”

  “Cool,” Joe said. “What about Benny and Ellie?”

  “I’ll take care of that,” I said. I just hoped they would still want to be part of the band too.

  Chapter 31

  I sent a text message to everyone asking them to meet at our table in the cafeteria on Friday. And then I worried that no one would show up. I was so nervous that I stuffed my worry dolls into the pocket of my jeans to have them with me at school that day.

  I decided to go to the cafeteria a few minutes late just in case no one came. Eating alone wasn’t fun. Eating alone because you got stood up was worse. But when I peered in through the cafeteria window, I could see Ellie’s red hair. She sat next to Benny who sat across from Joe. I skipped the lunch line and headed straight for the table.

  “Look who’s here,” Joe said, dipping his spork into his mashed potatoes. “How’s it going, María Luisa?”

  Benny looked up and nodded. Ellie said hello but didn’t smile.

  “Can I join you?” I asked.

  “You called the meeting,” Benny said. Joe patted the seat next to him.

  I sat down and took a deep breath. This was even worse than the nerves I felt when I sang. At least those were excited, happy nerves. These were the kind of nerves that made me feel like my insides were being squeezed.

  “I need to meet with Mr. Jackson about organizing a canned food drive for the holidays,” Ellie said. “So what’s this about, Malú?” She had the same intense look as the last time we were together in the cafeteria.

  “Okay,” I said, wondering if they could hear my heart pounding. “I know you guys are angry with me. And I don’t blame you. I just wanted to say that . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry about what?” Joe asked, urging me on.

  “I’m sorry I overreacted about Joe leaving the flyer in the copy machine,” I said. “And I’m sorry I didn’t fight to keep our band together.”

  “That’s great, thanks,” Ellie said, gathering her trash onto her tray and standing up. “I have to go. I’ll see you guys.”

  “Wait,” I said. “I’m not done.”

  I dug out a yellow business-size envelope from my bag. I’d spent the night working on a zine and had gotten to school early to see if Mr. Baca would let me make copies before homeroom. I pulled the three zines out of the envelope and handed them one each.

  “What’s this?” Benny asked, flipping through it.

  “It’s a zine I made about the band,” I said. “I totally understand if you guys don’t want to do the talent show anymore, but if you still do, I would really like that.”

  In that moment, I felt like I was sitting behind an X-ray machine, and everything inside me was on display. My pounding heart, my scrunched-up stomach, all my hope, but mostly just a lot of fear that they wouldn’t want to be part of the band anymore. I watched and waited as they each looked through the pages. Ellie closed her zine first. I held my breath, waiting for her to say something.

  The zine was my version of The Wizard of Oz. Ellie was the brainy Scarecrow, Benny was the courageous Lion, and Joe was the Tin Man, all heart. I almost made Selena the Wicked Witch of the West, but decided to give that part to Principal Rivera. Mrs. Hidalgo was Glinda. And I was Dorothy, of course. We traveled down the yellow brick road together, our destination being the Alterna-Fiesta.

  “This is really cool, Malú,” she said. “I’m glad we’re a band too. And I’ll gladly be your Scarecrow.”

  “Does that mean you still want to see this thing to the end?” I asked.

  Ellie came around the table and hugged me.

  “You know that’s the only way I roll,” she said.

  We both laughed. I gave her a big smile.

  “Well, you already know I’m down, María Luisa,” Joe said. “What about you, Benny?”

  We all turned to Benny. He was the only one of us who was a real musician, and we needed him.

  “Benny,” I said. “I know you could’ve played with anyone at the Fall Fiesta talent show, but you picked
our band. That means a lot to me, and I’m sorry I acted like it didn’t.”

  “The band may be just something you’re doing for fun,” Benny said. “But I take music seriously. So, yeah, it was disappointing.”

  “It’s important to me, too,” I said, hoping he would see that I was being genuine. “Please say you’ll play with us.”

  “Please?” Joe asked, batting his eyes at Benny.

  “Pretty please?” Ellie chimed in.

  Benny resisted, but a smile slowly formed on his face. “Fine,” he said. “The courageous Lion can’t let you knuckleheads go out there alone.”

  “Yeah!” I jumped out of my seat and did a little dance. “The Co-Co’s are back, baby!”

  One of the lunchroom monitors shot me the stink eye. I gave her a shy wave and slipped back into my chair.

  “Practice today?” Benny asked. “We should get one more in since we’ve blown the whole week. The Co-Co’s are never going to be a real band if we don’t practice.”

  “Yes, maestro,” Joe said.

  “He’s right,” I said. “Meet at Joe’s after school?”

  “For sure,” Ellie said. “But now I do really have to go. Mr. Jackson’s waiting for me in the library.”

  “Can I come with you?” I asked. “I can help with the canned food drive.”

  “You don’t have to,” Ellie said, picking up her bag and tray. “I’m doing the band anyway. And I know canned food drives aren’t exactly punk.”

  “Helping people is totally punk,” I said, and grinned, realizing that not only did I really want to help, but that it would be a chance to get to know Ellie better too.

  “Well then, yeah,” Ellie said. “I won’t turn away help.”

  We said good-bye to the boys, but as we walked away, I thought of something.

  “I’ll meet you there,” I said to Ellie. “I need to ask Joe something.”

  Joe was in the lunch line, grabbing another carton of chocolate milk. I passed the Candy Crew’s table and hoped I wouldn’t get stopped by Selena.

  “What is that?” I heard Diana squeal. She peeked over Selena’s shoulder at the screen of her phone. I caught a glimpse of the screen, where a girl with super-curly hair, really big like the hair on Señora Oralia’s toilet paper dolls, danced. She wore a green dress with a round, flouncy skirt and white ankle socks, and as she stomped and kicked her heels, her curls bounced like each one had a coil inside.

  “It’s Irish dancing,” Selena said, quickly turning off the phone so that the screen went black.

  “Why are you watching that weirdo dancing?” Diana asked, and laughed. I could see Selena’s face redden as she stood up and shoved the phone into the back pocket of her jeans.

  I’d never seen Selena look embarrassed, so I did the only thing you do when you see something shocking: I stared. Selena noticed, and her eyes bugged at me.

  “What?” she asked.

  I looked away and quickened my pace.

  “Thought you were going to collect cans,” Joe said, wiping off a chocolate milk mustache when I walked up.

  “I am,” I said. “But I need you to help me with something tomorrow morning. Early. Can you come over?”

  He looked at me suspiciously.

  “Am I going to regret it?”

  “It’s nothing bad,” I said. “I promise.”

  “I’ll be there, dude.”

  “Thanks,” I said, relieved. This was definitely a job I couldn’t do alone. It was nice to have a friend to count on.

  Chapter 32

  On Saturday morning I woke up before my alarm went off, and jumped out of bed like I had springs under my feet. I pulled on the outfit I’d picked out the night before: my Co-Co’s T-shirt with the neck and sleeves cut off over a red tank top, turquoise pencil skirt over fluorescent-green leggings, and my silver Converse. I was rocking my quetzal colors for luck. To finish the look, I grabbed some black rubber bracelets to wear on my right arm.

  In the kitchen, Mom stacked pancakes onto a plate.

  “Blueberry-and-cashew pancakes?” I asked. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Why do I need a special occasion to make pancakes?” Mom asked.

  “Because blueberry-and-cashew pancakes are usually a special-occasion breakfast,” I said, and sat down at the table.

  “Well, happy weekend,” Mom said, and placed a plate in front of me. “I thought we’d have a nice breakfast. You’ve been so down lately, and I wanted to cheer you up.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said, still suspicious.

  “Besides, it’s good to change things up once in a while.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I agreed, pouring maple syrup over my pancakes.

  “You look nice today,” Mom said.

  “Are you okay, Mom?” I asked. “I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m great,” she said. “Can’t I tell you that you look nice?”

  “Now you’re really making me nervous.”

  “I like that shirt, by the way,” she said.

  “Oh, thanks. Just something Joe made,” I said, shoveling a forkful of pancake into my mouth and hoping she wouldn’t ask any follow-up questions.

  I thought about that thing Mom sometimes says, something about a tangled web and lying. Could she see the guilt all over my face?

  “So you two made up?” she asked, and winked.

  “Please, Mom.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “I’m gone. I have to go to my office today. Midterm grades are due, and I have a lot of essays to get through. I don’t know if I’m even going to be able to make it to Fall Fiesta.”

  It had slipped my mind that Mom planned to attend Fall Fiesta. But this worked out perfectly. If she wasn’t going to be able to make it, there was nothing to worry about.

  “Thanks for the pancakes,” I said.

  She came up behind me and planted a kiss on my cheek.

  “Love you.”

  Something was up, but I didn’t have time to wonder what it might be. I had bigger things to worry about. Joe would be coming over soon, and my stomach felt like the inside of a popcorn machine full of exploding kernels.

  In the bathroom, I bent over the sink and splashed cold water on my face. When I came up, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Hair in two braids, just like always, but not for much longer. The buzzer rang, and I let Joe into the building.

  “Dude,” Joe said when I opened the door. “You should ask who it is. You never know when it’s going to be el Cucuy coming to take you away in a big plastic garbage bag.”

  “I knew it was you,” I said. “Even though you do look like el Cucuy.” I laughed, and Joe swung his bag of supplies at me. Joe didn’t really look like the boogeyman.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Joe asked.

  “You sure you know what you’re doing?” I replied.

  “Let the master show you how it’s done,” he said. “But first you’re going to have to put on something you won’t mind staining.”

  In my room I changed into an old T-shirt and cutoffs. I definitely didn’t want to stain my stage outfit.

  “Ready?”

  “You aren’t going to mess this up, are you?” I asked.

  “Let’s step into my office,” Joe said as I led the way to the bathroom. “You’re in good hands.”

  The whole process took a lot longer than I imagined it would, and the smell of chemicals irritated my eyes and nose. I was pretty sure hair bleach was not something a couple of kids like us should be messing with. But finally, Joe was ready to show me his work.

  “Pretty cool if I do say so myself,” he said, nodding his approval.

  I turned to look at the left side of my head, then the right. “Let me see the back,” I said.

  Joe handed me a small mirror, and I held it up to see. He had cut off mos
t of my hair. It was shorter than it had ever been, shaved close on both sides, with long bangs. The bleach Joe applied to my bangs left my hair a shade of yellow like the marigolds on Mrs. Hidalgo’s altar. I’d decided to only dye my bangs, since I knew I’d have to color my hair again after the weekend or risk being in violation of the dress code. My heart pounded fast just thinking about the reaction Mom would have when she saw what I’d done.

  “That’s as blonde as we have time for,” Joe said. “I hope the color looks okay.”

  “Thanks for doing this.”

  “No problem,” Joe said. “If I never make it as an artist, I can always do hair.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” Joe said. “But I can’t promise I’ll answer it.”

  “Why’d you have your hair dyed blue on the first day of school?” I asked. “I mean, you aren’t especially punky.”

  “I like the color blue. Why else?” Joe asked. “Besides, there’s no rule that says only punks can dye their hair, is there?”

  “I guess not,” I said. I looked him up and down. He was dressed in his usual Henry Huggins style, like a 1950s paperboy. Today he wore a striped T-shirt and rolled up jeans.

  “Your problem is, you think punk is about the way someone looks,” Joe said with a smirk. “Or the music someone listens to.”

  “Well, that’s part of it,” I said. “Sort of.”

  “Whatever you say, María Luisa,” Joe said with a shrug. “You ready, punk?” He held up the container of hair dye.

  “Yeah, keep working,” I said. “We’re running out of time.”

  “Hey, your mom isn’t going to freak out or anything, is she?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to reassure us both.

  “You’re the boss.”

  Joe opened the container of dye and began rubbing the contents into my hair.

  “Did you know green was the sacred color of the Aztecs?” he asked.

  “How do you even know this stuff?”

  “I read books,” Joe said. “You should try it.”

  “You’re hilarious.”

  We waited in my room for the dye to set in. I worked on a zine while Joe drew in his sketch pad. We took turns picking music to play.