The First Rule of Punk

by Celia C. Pérez

  We couldn’t hold in our laughter at that.

  “What’s so funny, ladies?” Joe asked, coming up to us, his mariachi hat back to hanging around his neck.

  “Inside joke,” I said.

  “Hey, Manolito’s has a food truck here,” Joe said. “They have the best tacos. You in, María Luisa . . . I mean, Malú?”

  “You can call me María Luisa if you want,” I said. “I don’t mind.”

  Joe shook his head. “Make up your mind, dude.”

  “Yes,” Mom said. “We’re definitely in. Let’s go find your dad.”

  Chapter 39

  “I should’ve totally smashed my guitar,” Joe said.

  “You would have to put in a lot more hours at Calaca to buy a new one,” Mrs. Hidalgo replied. “Maybe you can save that for when you’re touring and making the big bucks.”

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “You’re probably right, Ma.”

  We sat at a picnic table next to Manolito’s food truck, sharing baskets of tortilla chips and salsa. I’d ordered a vegetarian taco, and Mom had even made sure to ask them to leave off the cilantro without adding a comment about my lack of Mexican taste buds.

  Joe and his parents, Mom and Dad, Benny and Ellie, and even Señora Oralia joined us. I was excited to finally introduce Dad to Mrs. Hidalgo. I knew he’d like her and understand why she was so important to me. I had all my favorite people in the same place, and it made me feel like I was home. Even if it wasn’t the home I’d left a couple of months earlier.

  “So, how does it feel to be the singer in a punk band?” Dad asked.

  “It feels pretty great,” I said.

  “Your friends seem cool,” he added.

  I looked over at Joe, Benny, and Ellie, who were blowing straw wrappers at each other. My friends. I might have actually found my Yellow-Brick-Road posse.

  “Yeah, they are,” I said.

  “Are the Co-Co’s going to be a punk ranchera band?” Mr. Hidalgo asked. “I like it.”

  “Nah,” Joe said. “Maybe we’ll write our own songs, right?”

  I nodded. If we were going to be a real band, we had to start writing our own music.

  “Bueno, I liked the song,” Señora Oralia said. “María Luisa, eres la grande pequeña.”

  “Yes, she is,” Mom said. “Small in size but big in voice.”

  I felt myself blushing.

  “Your hair looks great, by the way,” Mrs. Hidalgo whispered.

  “Thanks. My mom doesn’t think so,” I said. “Lucky for her I have to dye it back by Monday.”

  “Going from brown to green is a little extreme,” she said. “Might just take some getting used to.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I ran my hand through my hair.

  “She seemed to enjoy your performance,” Mrs. Hidalgo said with a smile.

  “Yeah,” I said. “But what if she always thinks of me as her weirdo pie-chart kid who doesn’t meet any of her expectations?”

  “Don’t worry about that so much,” Mrs. Hidalgo said. “You know, Malú, I like to think of us as more like patchwork quilts,” Mrs. Hidalgo said. “Some pieces are prettier than others. Some pieces match and some don’t. But if you remove a square, you’re just left with an incomplete quilt, and who wants that? All our pieces are equally important if they make us whole. Even the weird ones.”

  I felt really lucky to have met Mrs. Hidalgo. She made me feel like there was hope. Even for little weirdo coconuts like me. I hoped to grow up to be at least half as rad as her.

  After dinner I holed up in my room to work on a zine before bed. Dad and I made plans to check out Laurie’s Planet of Sound and some other nearby record stores the next morning, so I knew I shouldn’t stay up too late. I washed off my makeup, put on my pajama pants, but kept on my Co-Co’s shirt. I pulled out the mix Mrs. Hidalgo had made for me and put on my headphones, turning the volume up loud, the only way to listen to punk rock.

  Like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, I definitely wasn’t in Kansas anymore. But Chicago had started to feel less and less like Oz. I realized it was possible to make it feel more like home.

  As the music flowed through my headphones, I thought about what Mrs. Hidalgo had said at dinner. I knew I was part of Mom and part of Dad, but also part of things that were neither of them. I was my own patchwork quilt.

  Even punk music felt more like a mismatched quilt than I had ever considered. Being punk meant a lot of different things, just like being Mexican meant many things. Sometimes those things didn’t seem to match. And that was okay because I’d discovered that maybe the first rule of punk was to make your own rules.

  Acknowledgments,

  or People Who Led to This Book

  There is a memoir by the playwright Adrienne Kennedy titled People Who Led to My Plays in which she details, in the form of annotated lists, the people, things, experiences, and memories that influenced her work. It gives a sense of how everything and anything can alter one’s view of the world, spark an idea, leave an impression, and lead to something else. This is nowhere near an exhaustive list of who and what led to this book, but it’s a start.

  Stefanie Von Borstel, my agent, thank you for seeing something special in my story and for taking a chance on me. I am proud to know you and to be affiliated with the work you do through Full Circle Literary. Joanna Cárdenas, my editor, your enthusiasm, intelligence, humor, and support transformed my manuscript. Thank you for pushing me to dig deeper. You are a gift, and none of this could have been possible without you. Kat Fajardo, a talented artist doing important work, thank you for bringing Malú and her spunkiness to life on the book jacket. In an industry that struggles to be inclusive, one of the things I’m most proud of is having this team of Latinas be part of the creation of this book.

  Ken Wright, Kate Renner, Dana Li, Kaitlin Severini, Abigail Powers, and everyone at Viking Children’s Books (Penguin Random House) whose hands, hearts, and minds have been a part of this journey, thank you for helping to make this happen.

  Taylor Martindale and Adriana Dominguez at Full Circle for support and for the good work they do to bring diverse stories to the world.

  Jenna Freedman, who not only read an early draft and gave her much-valued feedback, but also is my BFF in zines, librarianship, and life. Thomas Pace, who read and posed questions that made me think about where I wanted this story to go, and who didn’t laugh even though our friendship consists of constant snark.

  My high school English teachers, especially Cristina Bascuas, my eleventh grade creative writing teacher, who believed I was a writer before I did. The Niggli-Moores and Karen Larson for their friendship and for always being so supportive of my writing projects. Christopher Lamlamay and Thomas Matthews, my favorite neighbors, who opened their door to me and my various technological needs while I worked on this book. You are lifesavers! Jessica Mills, who not only knew that “Blitzkrieg Bop” is the easiest Ramones song to learn but also was the first female punk musician I ever saw perform in person. You’re still the coolest. Travis Fristoe, who showed me the power and magic of zines at a time when I needed it most. How I wish I could share this with you.

  Lucia Gonzalez, Oralia Garza de Cortes, Ruth Tobar, Lettycia Terrones, Sandra Rios Balderrama, and all the REFORMA–CAYASC librarian activists who champion Latino kid lit and are persistent, take-no-mess voices in the world, your work and dedication inspire me.

  In Nepantla: Essays from the Land in the Middle, Pat Mora refers to the authors who have influenced her as “unseen teachers.” There are so many writers and illustrators who have influenced me over my lifetime as a reader, but there is a special place in my heart for Michele Serros, Sandra Cisneros, and Jaime Hernandez, whose work allowed me to finally find a mirror in books and to know that other brown, nerdy, punky, tomboyish, sensitive, head-in-the-clouds girls do exist.

  Sassy magazine, Factsheet Five, and Pander Zine
Distro, without whom I might never have gotten into zines. Frank Barber, who made me my first punk mixtape. He titled the cassette Brave New World, and it really was. All the zines I’ve read and music I’ve listened to, including the musicians mentioned in this book, that have influenced the way I see the world and the way in which I create. All the libraries that have filled my life with books, have provided windows into other worlds, and have given me license to dream.

  La Familia Perez, especially my mom and my big sister Gloria, for all their hard work and sacrifice. I bow down to you. Vicki Zeeb and the Zeeb family for love and support.

  And my Perez Zeeb posse: Brett, who always believed and cheered on this book from dream to reality, Emiliano, who is my everything, and Mister Bagel too. Thank you, I love you.

  There are moments when writing can feel like lonely work, but as I look back over this entire experience, the last thing I feel is alone. Mil gracias to all of you. I am honored to have you in my life.

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