The First Rule of Punk

by Celia C. Pérez

  “My song,” Joe said excitedly.

  For the next few minutes we watched as Selena twirled and dipped and stomped along to the music, always with a big smile on her face. If this was a movie, she would have broken a heel and run off the stage, mortified. But this wasn’t a movie. She made it through the entire song without a problem. At the end, she even took off her candy necklace and tossed it into the audience. Kids jumped out of their seats and scrambled to grab it like she was some kind of rock star.

  With the end of each performance, my tongue felt more and more like it was made out of cardboard. Finally Joe nudged me.

  “Just got a text from my mom,” he said. “She’s outside with our stuff. Time to set up.”

  Chapter 36

  This definitely wasn’t Mrs. Hidalgo’s first time setting up a DIY show. She was a pro. We didn’t have a stage, but we had power. With Mr. Baca’s help, she found a spot for us outside the school, near one of the cafeteria exits. She and Joe unloaded the drum kit from the Hidalgos’ basement. Mr. Baca connected extension cords into electrical outlets inside the cafeteria that Mrs. Hidalgo ran out to where we were setting up.

  “Whatever happens,” Mr. Baca said to us conspiratorially, “I was never here.”

  He winked and disappeared inside the cafeteria.

  “As long as they don’t decide to pull the plug, we’re good,” Mrs. Hidalgo said.

  I tried not to think about throwing up as I watched people start to come out of the auditorium. The talent show must have just ended.

  “You okay, Malú?” Mrs. Hidalgo came over and handed me a water bottle.

  It’s going to be fine, I repeated in my head as I gulped. I wiped my mouth and shook off my nerves.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” I whispered.

  “It’s okay to feel anxious,” Mrs. Hidalgo said. “Anyone would be.”

  In the distance I could see Principal Rivera by the school’s entrance. She wore jeans, which almost made her look like a regular person.

  “What do you think she’s going to do?” I asked, knowing it wasn’t punk to worry about Principal Rivera’s reaction, and feeling embarrassed.

  “Well, you don’t have to do it,” Mrs. Hidalgo said.

  I looked over at Ellie and Joe, who were fiddling with their instruments. Benny silently played the notes of the song on the buttons of his trumpet.

  “Maybe you should think about why you wanted to do this, and then decide,” Mrs. Hidalgo said. “I’m going to set up the mics. Just in case.” She patted my arm.

  “Oh, almost forgot,” Mrs. Hidalgo turned back and dug around in her bag. “Hope you’ve got a CD player and not just a Walkman.” She handed me a square envelope.

  “Thanks,” I said. Inside the envelope was a CD and a playlist. I sat down on the curb and thought about why we planned the alternative talent show. Because Principal Rivera excluded us from the Fall Fiesta talent show for being too loud and not being good enough for the anniversary show. I thought about it more, and I knew there were other reasons. Reasons that involved Mom and feeling like I could never be who she wanted me to be.

  Oz tells the Cowardly Lion that real courage is facing danger when you are afraid. I was afraid. No, I was terrified. But the talent show and the song were my idea, and I couldn’t back out now. Suddenly the feelings of uncertainty about doing the show disappeared, like someone had taken an eraser to writing on a chalkboard. I walked to where the rest of the band waited by the drum kit. Ellie sat behind it ready to rock.

  “Ready, Freddy?” Joe asked. He bounced around, shaking his shoulders like a boxer getting ready for a match.

  I chewed on my nails and wished I had my headphones to drown out the sounds around me.

  “No,” I said. “But let’s do this.”

  “Here we go,” Joe said, “the Co-Co’s on three.”

  The four of us piled our hands together. Mine wasn’t the only clammy one.

  “One, two, three,” we said in unison. “The Co-Co’s!” Hands together, hands apart. I silently wished for the confidence of all my favorite punk singers, and even of Lola B, to get me through the performance.

  Chapter 37

  Iwalked up to the microphone stand Mrs. Hidalgo had set up for me and tapped it. The sound echoed around the parking lot.

  “Hello, Posada Middle School,” I said hesitantly.

  Some kids had come over while we were setting up. Other kids and adults started to trickle in to see what was going on.

  “So, we’re the Co-Co’s,” I said. “We tried out for the Fall Fiesta talent show, but we didn’t get in because we were terrible.”

  People laughed, and I felt myself relax a little.

  “Actually, we didn’t get in because we were too loud. And because we played a punk rock song, and punk apparently has nothing to do with this celebration of Posada, the school or the person.”

  Someone in the crowd booed. But not at us. I think he was booing for us.

  “But you know what?” I said, my voice getting louder. “José Guadalupe Posada was totally punk.” I saw Mr. Baca in the crowd making the rock-and-roll sign with his hand. “Principal Rivera said Posada represented Mexican people and culture, but what she didn’t tell you is that he represented all people, especially the ones who needed a voice and a way to be heard.”

  There was a murmur in the crowd. I looked at Mrs. Hidalgo, who smiled at me and nodded. Señora Oralia stood next to her. She smiled too.

  “I read a book about him that I got from our school library, and I learned that he criticized stuff that was wrong with the government and things that were unfair in society. And he did it through his art. What’s more punk than that?” I asked. I looked at the faces that had gathered closely. My classmates were listening to what I had to say. Some were nodding in agreement.

  “So we’re doing the Alterna-Fiesta talent show for Posada and for us and for anyone else who got left out of the talent show because they didn’t fit in. Anyone who wants to perform can come up after our set. Everyone gets a voice here no matter how weird or loud or untraditional you are.”

  I took a big gulp of air and looked over at Joe.

  “We’re the Co-Co’s,” Joe said into his microphone as we’d planned. “And this is not your abuela’s music!”

  Ellie struck her drumsticks together to count us off. Benny played the opening notes of the traditional song, and the four of us sang a slow, bellowing chorus. We did our best to imitate the mournful-sounding ranchera singers we’d listened to at Calaca. And then we launched into the fastest and loudest rendition of “Cielito lindo” anyone at Posada Middle School—and probably the world—had ever heard.

  When it was my turn to sing alone, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as if I were preparing to jump into the deepest end of a swimming pool. As I sang, I kept my eyes closed, too afraid to see the faces looking back at me. Every nerve in my body was alive and buzzing. I imagined I was Lola B singing to a sold-out stadium. I pictured Selena in the audience, her jaw on the floor.

  Joe, Ellie, and Benny joined me for the chorus, which says that singing makes a sad heart happy. And I knew it was true, because any sadness I felt about leaving home or about Selena and Mom didn’t exist in that moment.

  Hearing the band sing together always made me want to giggle, so I did. Getting a good laugh out made me feel more at ease. I sang, clutching the microphone so hard, my hand hurt.

  When I finally got the nerve to open my eyes, I looked into the crowd of Posada kids, teachers, and families that had gathered. I spotted familiar faces: Señor Ascencio, Selena and Diana, Mr. Jackson, and Principal Rivera. She had a confused look on her face, like she didn’t know what to make of us or the situation. And then I saw familiar faces that I didn’t expect to see. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.

  When I looked back to where Mrs. Hidalgo and Seño
ra Oralia were, they’d been joined by Mom and . . . Dad! Mom’s lips moved, singing along with the words, like we were singing together. Maybe this was the best way to share my secret project with her after all.

  Someone in the audience let out a loud mariachi cry, and Joe replied with his own. Ellie’s hands were a blur as she banged on the drums so hard, her red mane flailing like flames all around her. Benny swung his trumpet from left to right, his ponytail following along. With that, I shed the last of my nervousness like a snake’s skin.

  For the rest of our performance, I pogoed and twirled, and the lyrics didn’t stumble awkwardly out of my mouth like they sometimes did when I spoke Spanish. They flowed like they had always been part of me.

  I looked in Mom’s direction. What did she think as we turned “Cielito lindo” upside down? She caught my eye and smiled.

  When the band played the final note of the song, I took off my mariachi hat and, like Selena with her candy necklace, tossed it into the crowd. I realized it probably wasn’t the best idea because this hat was about fifty times bigger and way heavier than a candy necklace.

  The saucerlike hat soared over the student body. Kids grabbed at it until an eighth grader emerged with it on his head.

  We got a loud round of applause and whooping from the crowd and, as we’d practiced, we held hands and took a group bow. And even though there was no stage to dive off, Joe stood on one of our little amps and leaped into the crowd, where he was caught by some of Selena’s candy crew. Maybe Joe was punk after all.

  Chapter 38

  “That was awesome!” Ellie said, jumping around. It was the most excited I’d ever seen her. “That was better than—”

  “An A plus on a test?” Benny asked.

  “Let me think about it,” Ellie said with a grin.

  “I can’t wait to do it again,” Joe said.

  My body shook like when I didn’t listen to Mom and had two cups of coffee with sugar in a row. I waited for Principal Rivera to come find us. We had a T-shirt ready and waiting for her. But she was busy with a couple of sixth-grade boys who had taken over the microphones and were doing a comedy routine. One pretended to be a ventriloquist while the other one was the dummy. Who knew there were so many jokes about farts?

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Selena approaching, but I was too happy and too drained of energy to move. And part of me didn’t care what she was going to say anyway.

  “I have to say, María Luisa, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “What?”

  “You singing in Spanish,” she said, swishing her long skirt left and right.

  “Why do you think I don’t know Spanish?” I asked. “And why do you care so much?”

  “I was just trying to give you a compliment, okay?” she said. “I was going to tell you that it was kind of weird. Okay, it was really weird. But it wasn’t so bad.”

  I felt too good to let Selena bring me down, so I just gave her the most genuine smile I could muster.

  “Your compliments need a little work,” I said. “But thanks.”

  Selena looked at me like a cat eyeing its prey, then walked off, her long skirt sweeping the floor. She didn’t end up taking the stage after us, but I hoped she would get to take those Irish dance lessons she wanted.

  Principal Rivera announced that the school would consider having an “open mic” at next year’s Fall Fiesta but that, unfortunately, she had to disconnect the microphones. A group of kids booed until Ellie got us going on a protest chant.

  “What do we want?” she yelled.

  “Alterna-Fiesta,” the group responded, with me, Benny, and Joe taking the lead.

  “When do we want it?”

  “Now!”

  We kept it going for a minute before kids started to wander away toward food and games. I saw Mrs. Hidalgo go over to Principal Rivera. I hoped she could smooth things over for us, but if she couldn’t, that was okay too.

  “Surprise!” a familiar voice called out.

  Dad rushed toward me and scooped me up in a hug. Mom followed, carrying a bunch of flowers.

  “You guys were amazing,” he said.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.” I hugged him as tight as I could for fear that he’d disappear again, and breathed in his familiar Dad smell. “I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry about?” Dad asked, looking confused.

  “For making you feel bad,” I said. “About Mrs. Hidalgo.”

  “Lú, you know I wish I always had the answers you need. Obviously, I don’t. But I’m glad you’ve met someone who seems to get you like Mrs. Hidalgo does,” Dad said, and smiled. “Really. And I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Me too,” I said, relieved.

  When I pulled away from Dad, Mom grabbed me in her own tight squeeze.

  “Dad’s right,” she said, standing back. “You were amazing.”

  “What are you . . . ? What are both of you doing here?”

  “I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” Mom said, holding out the cluster of flowers. They looked like the flowers tattooed on Mrs. Hidalgo’s arm. “For the singer.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said.

  “They’re dahlias,” Mom said. “The national flower of Mexico.”

  I almost said, Of course they are, SuperMexican, but instead I just said, “These are really pretty.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” she asked.

  Mom’s face sported a look I call sad-mad. Her eyes looked sad, but her scrunched forehead looked mad. I guess now I knew why Mom had acted so weird this morning.

  Dad started to back away.

  “I’ll leave you to talk,” he said. “There’s a caramel apple calling out to me.”

  Mom nodded, and Dad headed toward the carnival.

  “Well?” Mom asked. “Is this what you’ve been doing with Joe all this time? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why do you think, Mom? I figured the last thing you’d want to do was watch me be your weirdo daughter. Especially in front of a crowd.”

  “Malú, we have our differences, but did you actually think I would want to miss you do something like this?” Mom asked. “Talk to me. What’s up?”

  I stared at the ground and rolled a small rock back and forth under my shoe.

  “I guess I just didn’t want to hear you criticize everything like you usually do. My Spanish or my clothes,” I said. “I get enough of that from Selena at school.”

  “Selena?”

  “Yeah, Mom,” I said. “I know it’s hard to believe, but we aren’t friends. My friends are the band. We’re all pretty different, but they don’t make fun of me.”

  “I’m sorry, Malú,” Mom said. “I know moving here has been hard enough. And I’m glad you’ve made friends. I never meant to make you feel bad about yourself.”

  “Well, you do,” I said. “You always look down on stuff I like doing because I’m not being a señorita or not appreciating my culture. It’s hard for me to figure out how to be me when you’re always telling me it’s wrong. I hate that you’re always disappointed in me.”

  “I’m not disappointed in you, Malú,” Mom said. “And I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel that way.”

  “I can’t help it that my Spanish stinks,” I said. “And I like my green hair.”

  Mom nodded like she was really listening. “I guess I didn’t realize I was being so hard on you.”

  “Not always,” I said, realizing Mom felt pretty bad. “But sometimes.”

  “Well, Mrs. Hidalgo told me about the show. And your dad mentioned it,” she said. “Seemed like everyone knew except for me. And I had to wonder why that was. I guess sometimes we project feelings about ourselves onto others, and I’m sorry if I’ve done that to you.”

  “What do you mean, Mom?”

  “Well, it’s not a
coincidence that I do what I do for a living,” she said. “You know, growing up, I never felt like I was enough of anything either, or too much of what I wasn’t supposed to be. Not Mexican enough, too nerdy.”

  “You?” I asked in disbelief. “SuperMexican?”

  “When your dad told me about the band and about how you’ve been feeling, it made me stop to think about how I’ve acted,” she said. “Even this morning. I couldn’t help freaking out about your hair. Guess I have to work on letting you be you. And being less uncool.”

  “You’re not uncool, Mom,” I said. “You’re just . . . you’re just you.”

  Mom laughed. “I know I don’t always show it, but I love that you have no problem being an individual no matter what others think,” Mom said. “Not even me. That’s not an easy thing to do.”

  “So, you don’t mind the hair after all?” I asked.

  “Do I have to like the hair?”

  “I guess not,” I said. “But can you stop bugging me about being more of a señorita? Or at least let me decide what that means?”

  “I’ll try,” Mom said.

  “So . . . be honest, what did you think of the song?”

  “That was, by far, the most unique version of ‘Cielito lindo’ I’ve ever heard,” Mom said.

  “You thought it was terrible, right?”

  “Unique doesn’t mean terrible,” Mom said. “You of all people should know that. I thought it was great. I love what you guys did with it, mixing the old and the new.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “I’m proud of you for singing in Spanish too,” she said. “I know that must have been nerve-racking.”

  “Actually,” I said. “It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Mom said. “You know, you might be on your way to becoming SuperMexican Jr. with that singing.”