Carla nodded slowly. She’d never thought of her so-called ancestors; she couldn’t even remember a grandparent in her life. So … English, Spanish, Aztec … and who knows what else?
“There’s a lot more on the plaque. And I won’t lie to you; it’s pretty flowery and my Spanish isn’t quite up to translating all of it. But the point is, it got me to thinking about what being Mexican means. Carla, it’s pretty complicated stuff when you consider that at least on the Aztec side our history goes back quite a ways, probably further than on the Spanish side.”
“Yeah. I see what you mean. Frank, I think I understand a little better now what I am.” She giggled. “You know what I mean; my heritage. And if that offer’s still open, I’d really like to help out with the dance decorations tonight. I think I can get off around six if I don’t get overloaded with commercials and if Bob doesn’t keep dragging me off to eat somewhere.”
A thoughtful look came over her face. “In fact, Bob is probably going to start dragging someone else off to eat after I get through with him.”
Frank gave her a quizzical look in return but shook his head. The warning bell sounded, and he tossed his napkin on the plate and slipped the photo back into his backpack.
“Sorry, Carla. I didn’t mean to turn lunch into a cultural affair. See you tonight.”
“You bet. And … maybe you can tell me more. If you have time.”
For the first time, Frank smiled. “I think that can be arranged.”
Suddenly, a tangled vision of a green dress and a young man in a tux arose in Carla’s mind, and she blurted, “Will you take me to the dance?” Realizing what she had asked, she closed her eyes and waited for the negative response sure to follow.
“Wait. That’s my line, Carla.”
“Um … sorry … but …” She opened her eyes. Frank’s eyes were actually sparkling, and he was grinning.
“Carla. Would you like to go to the dance with me?”
“Oh. Well. Let me check my calendar …”
Frank’s face fell.
“Just kidding, you goof. Of course I’ll go to the dance with you. Thanks for asking. But there’s a catch.”
Frank pushed away his tray and leaned his head on his hands. “Whatever you say.”
“Double date. It’s gotta be on an old-school double date. I’m not supposed to get into cars alone any more. Pop’s orders.”
He frowned. “Oh, yeah? And just who did you have in mind?”
Carla made a face at him. “You’ll see. I’ll let you know. Okay?”
“Deal.”
The bell sounded, and Frank picked up their trays, stacking Carla’s on top of his, and they turned to take them to the conveyor belt. Miranda and three other girls were standing behind them; she had a shocked look on her face as she looked first at Frank and then at Sandra.
“Why, Miranda. How sweet of you to drop by. Frank and I were just wondering who would come along to help us clean our table. Right, Frank?”
Frank didn’t say anything, so Carla circled her arm slowly around Frank’s waist and looked up at him. “Why, look. Frank already took care of it. Thanks anyway. Okay?”
Miranda stared at the two of them and then abruptly turned her back on them and motioned to the two other girls. “Come along, now. We’re done here.” She stalked towards the outside door. One of the girls glanced at Carla and rolled her eyes, and Carla tried not to smirk. The girl stopped, looked towards the retreating backs of the other two girls, looked again at Carla and shook her head and abruptly peeled away, her head still shaking.
“Wow. Two to go, huh?” Carla removed her arm, regretfully, and watched the girl disappear across the cafeteria.
Frank looked down at her and smiled. “I think I’m going to need to ask you a few questions some time soon.”
“No, I think my Pop may have a few questions for you first. All right?”
He sighed. “Yep. That’s the way it goes with us Mexican families. That first meeting with the parents …”
They walked to the conveyor belt; Frank dropped off the trays, and then they walked towards the outside door. She glanced at the restroom door. “Oh … sorry. I need to stop by the little girls’ room. I’ll see you later, okay?”
He laughed and shook his head. “You’re something else. See you after school.” He waved at her and disappeared through the door.
There was one more thing she had to do. She watched him walk towards the main building, imagining him for sure in powder blue tux, white ruffles, herself in a pale yellow dress, and turned back to the cafeteria and almost ran into Coach Greene.
“Oops. Watch it there, young lady. Wouldn’t want our star tutor to hurt herself.”
““Um … nope. I guess T. J. talked to you already?”
“Well, word gets around, and believe me, the basketball coach will be kissing your foot if he catches you.”
“I think I’ll pass on that experience.” A fleeting vision of someone else kissing her on the lips passed through her mind, and she shook her head. Concentrate, Carla. You can do it.
“If you say so, but I’m sure he’ll at least want to thank you for taking the time to work with T. J. I know he can be a pill, but …”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “All taken care, of, Coach. I just told him to be in the library every morning, at seven-ten sharp. No problemo.”
“All right. I thank you, the team thanks you, and I would hope that T. J. would thank you.”
“Right. Oh … Coach?” She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes that she’d snitched from the carton that her father kept at the back of a kitchen cabinet drawer. “Here. I … found these. Figured you’d take care of them.”
The coach took the pack, crushed them in one hand, and dropped them onto Carla’s tray. “That should do it, don’t you think?”
Carla stared at the smashed pack. “Nice move, Coach. Nasty things. Bad for my … er, the voice. Ya know?”
He laughed and turned to leave. “Sure, Carla. Any time. Maybe you’ll be able to make the track team next spring now.”
Carla arched an eyebrow. “Now, that’s crazy talk, Coach.”
He laughed and walked away, and Carla eyed the pack again and shook her head. Two tables away Sandra waved. “Hey, bolilla. I’ve been looking for you.”
With one quick move, Carla picked up the crumpled pack and bounced it off Sandra. “Hey, chica, I’ve been looking for YOU! How do you feel about double dates?”
#
The saga at Niotaka High continues in High School Yearbook – The Drama:
From Chapter One:
Cherié stretched and yawned, adding a little yelp at the end of the stretch. Mrs. Benton raised her chalk from the green chalkboard, turned, and put one hand on her hip but kept the piece of chalk at the ready. She glared over her half-moon eyeglasses at Cherié, who widened her eyes and cocked her head as if to say, “Gee, lady, I have no clue what you want from me,” and then at Terri, who grimaced and shook her head. Ms. Benton glared at the entire class, rolled her eyes in temporary defeat, and turned to finish writing the day’s assignment on the board in a flowing script that reminded Cherié of her first-grade teacher’s handwriting. Score one for Cherié on the first day of her last year of high school, she thought.
Ah, first grade. She actually remembered learning something in that class and maybe even through most of the rest of her grade school classes, except fifth grade, when they’d suffered through three teachers and finally the principal to finish out the year. That year had been a lost cause for sure, but this one was going to be the best.
She settled back into her seat and mentally reviewed her hair, clothes and makeup. Perfect. She’d made some careful choices before leaving the house: just a light touch of blush to accent her tan; a sleeved yellow top that hid the bruise on her shoulder, accentuated her curves, but didn’t make her look like a slut; jean shorts that were faded but not ragged; slightly-scuffed yellow flip-flops; black polish on her to
enails; her light-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail.
The door opened, and Cherié watched a rather small, frightened-looking proctor walk in and hand Mrs. Benton a slip of paper. Mrs. Benton nodded, and the proctor scampered out the door and silently closed it behind her.
“Miss Chase? Seems as if the principal would like to have a word with you.” She held out the call slip away from her as if it were a slice of overripe limburger cheese, and Cherié stood, stretched a little for effect, and took the slip.
“I’ll be back … soon,” Cherié tossed over her shoulder as she exited, and she could feel her pony tail wagging like a finger waving “no-no” at a baby. What now …? she thought, and she checked the call slip to make sure that the principal really wanted to see her.
* * *
Want to read more? Download the free sample from High School Yearbook – The Drama from Smashwords.com.
Paul Swearingen is the author of the “High School” series, all available from Smashwords.com, plus other young adult fiction. If you were one of his students during his 34+ years of teaching in secondary schools, you might just find echoes of yourself and your friends and enemies in one of his books.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
High School 2 - Diversity - The Clash Page 10