The War Between the Classes (Laurel-Leaf Contemporary Fiction) Read online

  Gwen walked beside me until we came to the hall leading to our social studies class. Then, without a word, she abandoned me and joined the other Blues. I understood. What had passed between us in the bathroom had had a tinge of conspiracy. Maybe Otero had set her up to it. But I preferred not to believe that. It was too easy to mistrust everyone in this game and I wanted to trust Gwen.

  Adam, Troy, Dana, and the other Oranges and some Light Greens waited together, talking. The G4's watched but didn't stop them. I think we all expected Otero to bring the ax down on us as soon as class started. He could fine us, embarrass us, maybe fail us in the class. But it didn't seem to matter anymore.

  You had to have an iron stomach to rise in the Color Game. You had to be nicer than nice, more willing to please than a child before Christmas, and so prideless that you'd bow and scrape to those you even resented. After a while you just didn't care anymore. You wanted to make waves somehow, so the injustices would be noticed and maybe righted. And if that didn't work, I didn't know what. When no one listens and hopelessness seems to have no end, how do people get rid of anger?

  “In case you've all forgotten,” Otero began when we'd all been seated, “today is the No-Tek beauty contest.”

  I let out my breath in relief. In my worry over how Otero might deal with us I'd almost forgotten about the contest. And instead of starting class with a tirade against the lower classes, Otero acted as if nothing had happened.

  “Oh, boy,” Adam groaned behind me. I reached a hand back to comfort him. His hand, always warm and firm, was icy.

  “I notice the male population in class is quite a bit below normal,” Otero said. “It will be interesting to hear the excuses for absence, tomorrow.”

  Without quite knowing how the contest would work, I felt uneasy for Adam and the rest of the males, the No-Teks. It seemed demeaning to be put on display for their body build and looks.

  “To put this into perspective,” Otero said, rubbing his beard. “Our No-Tek beauty contest is a ploy to open you men up. Most of you have no idea how sexist you really are. Nor how vulnerable women feel.”

  “Aw, come on. Women aren't helpless! It's the men who are! Women have all the power. They can say no,” Justin cried.

  “How often have they said no, and men took advantage anyway!” Carol called out.

  “If you're talking about rape, I think they ask for it … the way they dress and act….”

  “Booo!” The room rang with irate Teks jumping up and crying out at Justin. He put his hands up to his face, laughing, as if he expected to be clawed to death.

  “All right … all right! Enough. Let's see how the No-Teks feel when they're treated like females.”

  Otero had us move our chairs into a circle, leaving a large space in the middle. All the females, regardless of color, sat around the inner ring of the circle.

  Of the sixteen boys normally in class, only ten of them had shown up. Brian made them stand at the door according to height, then turned on a tape recorder. We all began to laugh. The music coming from it belonged in a striptease show. Adam's face turned bright pink. Justin fidgeted. Juan and others struck sexy poses, rolling their pant legs up to expose their hairy legs, or standing with hands on hips and heads raised in their version of self-assured beauty queens.

  It was really funny, and pathetic, too, in a strange kind of way.

  “All right, No-Teks. Get those gorgeous bods out there for the judges to see.”

  Juan really got into the spirit of the thing. He bumped and swayed to the suggestive music, and smiled seductively at each of us. Adam walked around with a forced smile on his face, as stiff as a board. Justin dug his hands into his pockets and slunk around, looking sullen. Almost strutting, Paul slowly unbuttoned his shirt down to his waist and grinned with pleasure at us.

  “Way to go!” one of the girls called out.

  “Look at those buns!”

  “That one's getting a pot belly!”

  “Come on, guys, don't bunch up like that. Let's see that gorgeous meat!”

  I cringed, ashamed at some of the shouted commands, embarrassed to be part of this.

  After a few turns around in the center of our circle about half the contestants were eliminated. They walked away, relieved, to sit behind us. Adam, Justin, Paul, Robert, and Juan remained.

  “Hey, honey!” Carol sang out to Justin. “Don't hide it! We love the way you wear your pants. Open your shirt a bit more!”

  Justin's face turned as red as a tomato. Reluctantly, he began doing what Carol asked. Some of the girls whistled like boys do. A couple of them sang, “Take it off … take it off …” cried the Teks in the rear. Justin tossed the shirt across the room and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Adam started to laugh. He began unbuttoning his shirt and the others followed. Soon, all the No-Teks were marching around bare from the waist up. Paul rippled his impressive shoulder and arm muscles. Robert's hairy chest brought comments about ape ancestors. I wanted to run to Adam and put my arms around his strong tanned body.

  The judging started. “Too flabby … Boobs too big!” Justin was eliminated.

  “No style. Robert, sit down.”

  “Bowlegged.” Juan took a seat.

  Soon, only Adam and Paul remained standing. Adam's face was flushed and he kept his arms crossed self-consciously over his bare chest.

  “What's beauty without brains?” Mary asked. “For the final judging we'll be evaluating the remaining contestants on their intelligence and personality.” Chairs were drawn up so that Adam and Paul faced the panel of G4's.

  “How do you justify No-Teks’ low threshold for pain?” Mary asked, reading from a card. “Is it biological?”

  “Absolutely!” Paul said, grinning.

  “Oh, come off it!” Adam protested. “Men can take pain just as well as women!”

  The G4's conferred, then made marks on a sheet. Mary turned to the next question. “What about No-Teks’ emotional outbursts? How come they can't control their emotions as well as Teks?”

  “That's not true!” Adam exclaimed.

  “Oh, sure it is,” Paul said. “It's our hormones, you know.” He winked at Adam.

  A ripple of laughter went around the room. Some of the girls who came to class wearing baseball caps threw them in the air.

  “One last question. Does the fact that Teks—women— can give the gift of life make you feel inferior?”

  “Of course not!” Adam said. “Where would they be without our seed?”

  Everyone booed him and Paul said, “Sure makes me feel inferior. What's a little old seed compared to the amazing experience of giving birth?”

  “Thank you, No-Teks. You may leave the room while the judges make their decision.”

  In moments they were back. Adam looked bewildered, crushed. He must have realized Paul would win, but couldn't understand why.

  Paul was properly crowned and draped with a scarlet satin cape while we sang the Miss America Pageant song. He took it well, grinning and chuckling, loving every bit of the attention.

  “Well, how did that feel?” Otero asked next. “Justin? Still think women ‘ask’ for it?”

  Justin mumbled something unintelligible.

  Otero put a hand to his ear. “Say again?”

  “I felt like a slab of beef!”

  “Women feel that way a lot of the time!” Carol exclaimed.

  “Yeah … we can't walk down the street without you guys checking us out. You whistle and leer and practically salivate. How did you like us looking you over the way you do all the time?”

  “How did you like being called ‘honey,’ and having Carol put an arm around you?” Otero asked Adam.

  “And how come you Teks haven't used your power all through the game to show the No-Teks what sexism is all about?” Mary challenged.

  Questions and answers flew back and forth for the rest of the hour. Adam said he'd been made to feel “inferior” for the first time in his life. Justin admitted he'd neve
r realized how men said and did things that could really hurt women. Several girls, including me, talked about how hard it was for us to put down the No-Teks. It made us feel unfeminine.

  When the class ended we walked out according to our color groups, still separated. But most of the talk went on. The girls giggled and whispered about how the boys looked and the boys seemed in a great hurry to get away.

  Before we parted to go to our next class Adam said, “I don't know how to treat you anymore. Have I been very awful, very sexist?”

  “On a scale of one to ten, ten being highest, you rate pretty high—about eight,” I said, teasing.

  “Eight?” He looked disappointed.

  “Honey, it's very simple.” I touched his cheek lovingly. “Just do unto me as you would have, et cetera, et cetera … and you can't go far wrong.”

  His eyes crinkled into an amused smile. “Okay, okay. I get the idea. From now on I type my own papers.”

  14

  I awoke Wednesday with a fluttery stomach. The rally meant so much to me. If we could pull it off, we'd have shown unity. We'd have proved that even being poor and downtrodden you might affect your own future.

  Otero would try to stop us. Rumors had flown all over the school about that since Monday. And it did seem more than likely. The G4's had suddenly turned benign; it seemed almost as if they were biding their time. As if they had something big planned that didn't make harassing us worthwhile.

  Mama was in the kitchen when I came down for breakfast. Usually, we sit quietly together, not talking, gazing out to the garden in the back of the house. In the very small yard Papa had created a feeling of space and peace. A few interesting black rocks nestled together on a bed of raked sand, like islands on a quiet sea. Azaleas and camellias grew against the back wall, with one early variety already in bloom.

  Today, that view did nothing to ease my anxious stomach. I forced down juice and nibbled dry toast. Mama observed, but said nothing.

  Già was waiting for me on a corner, two blocks from school. She'd been promoted to Dark Green since the first time I'd tried to talk to her.

  “Listen,” she said, very excited. “I heard something's going on with the color armbands you guys made.”

  “I know, but do you know what?”

  “I'm not sure, but is there any way for them to steal your stuff?” She glanced around, uneasily.

  My stomach began to hurt. “I don't think so.” To minimize the risk of the armbands disappearing we'd divided them up and stashed them in five different lockers. “No, I don't see how they could.”

  “Well, I just thought I'd tell you. I still feel allegiance to my old friends, the Light Greens, and they're in with you on this. Somehow, it's just not the same, being a Dark Green. Know what I mean?”

  “I know. I'll be glad when it's Friday and we can sort all this out. I don't know if I can ever be friends with some guys, after the way they acted.”

  “Good luck.”

  Brian lounged against a wall watching everyone, watching us. “I feel like sticking my tongue out at him,” Gia whispered. “Know what I mean?”

  “Do it.”

  She giggled. Just as we passed him, we both stuck our tongues out at Brian. A dumb thing to do, but it really felt good.

  The school bloomed with the banners and posters I'd lettered and Adam had helped color. During the night a team of Orange and Light Green No-Teks had put them up. For some reason the G4's were making no effort to have them removed.

  The plan was to set up stations in five different parts of the school to hand out the bands before the bell rang for homeroom. Justin and Troy would stand nearby with the flyers, explaining what we believed, that we should help each other, regardless of what color or sex or economic status we were. And the four-colored armbands represented that joining together.

  I hurried to my locker to get the box of bands. At seven thirty I was supposed to be in front of the cafeteria, handing them out.

  “Amy, wait!” I heard above the usual roar of early-morning talk out on the quad. Adam rushed toward me.

  “Let's go to your locker.”

  “What's going on? You look funny.”

  He didn't answer my question, only hurried me along, up the stairs to the second-floor landing and my locker. Several boys leaned over the balustrade sailing paper airplanes.

  “Open it,” Adam said grimly.

  Puzzled, I put my books down and fumbled with the combination, having to repeat the process because my fingers were as fluttery as my stomach.

  As soon as I got the lock off, he almost pushed me out of the way. He opened the locker, glanced inside, then stepped aside. “Look.”

  “My pack! Where is it?”

  “They took it. Those damn G4's. Otero must have gotten the combinations to our lockers from the office, and the G4's got here early and stole them! I'm so furious, I could kill!”

  “But … he'd have had to open all our lockers … every one of us Oranges and Light Greens….”

  “Unless … unless we have a spy in our midst,” Adam said. “Remember, someone alerted the G4's about our meeting at Juan's.”

  “Who?” I asked, and then, remembering the time, “The other lockers! What about them?”

  “Empty, too.”

  “Oh, Adam …” Angry tears sprang to my eyes. “Oh, Adam …”

  “Come on. We'll try to find the others and improvise something.”

  We ran down the hall and down the stairs, when I heard my name again. Gwen rushed toward us, pushing her way through the milling students.

  “I heard what happened,” she called out. “I'm sorry.”

  “Yeah … sure.” Adam pulled me along, making a path in the direction of the auditorium, our preset meeting place for emergencies.

  “Wait,” Gwen called, running after us. “I can help!”

  “Adam!” I cried. “Slow down! Wait!” But he ignored me, still barreling through the crowd.

  We found the students who should have been passing out the new armbands waiting, as well as other Oranges. “Otero's unfair! That's dirty pool! Now what are we going to do?”

  “What are you doing here?” Juan asked Gwen. “Enjoying our failure?”

  “Yeah,” Justin added. “You have anything to do with this?”

  “What's wrong with you creeps?” Gwen exclaimed. “You've become so paranoid you wouldn't trust your own mother. Otero's done a good job. He's shown you how powerless the lower classes really are!”

  “So what did you come here for? To gloat?”

  “Let's not argue, please?” I pleaded. “Gwen thinks she can help. We've only got fifteen minutes before school starts. Stop arguing and listen!”

  “Sure, like what could you do?”

  “Well, if you feel like that …” Gwen's lips tightened. She clutched a heavy shopping bag in both hands. “Bye bye, guys.”

  “Gwen …”

  She shook off my arm. “It's just the way Otero says. People don't look beyond labels. Even when the upper classes want to help, no one figures they're for real.”

  “Gwen, please, tell us what you had in mind. We're desperate.” I flashed a warning scowl at Justin, who had shown such suspicion at Gwen's motives. “Gwen, please …”

  She hesitated, then turned back to us. “Okay … but only for you, Amy.” She put the heavy bag on the ground and dug into it. Out came a big roll of cheap red ribbon. “Your armbands.” She smiled triumphantly. “I've got rolls and rolls of this stuff. Scissors, too. Cost me bucks … but I figure you white dudes will be happy to reimburse me.”

  “Red?” someone asked doubtfully.

  “Red. Why not? It's the color of revolution. Besides, it was the only color I could get at the price.”

  “What are we supposed to do with the stuff?”

  “Where's your imagination, you Orange No-Tek? Man, I can't believe this.” She dipped into the bag again, removing cheap shears, the kind used in kindergartens. “This is what you do, man. You measure out a
length like this. You cut like this. And you hand it to a student to tie around the arm. Comprende?”

  “That's brilliant!” I exclaimed, anxious to forestall the nasty reply I saw forming in some of the faces around us. “Let's get going! We only have fifteen minutes before the bell rings.”

  I began handing out rolls of ribbon and in a matter of minutes our team dispersed to the far corners of the school. We had fifteen minutes to cut and pass out a lot of ribbon— ribbon we hoped would tie the whole student body together.

  The rally succeeded beautifully. We couldn't cut ribbons fast enough. Everyone wanted them. The only holdouts, Blues and Dark Greens, became the oddballs. Except they got to wear our ribbons, too … pinned to their backs without their knowing.

  Afterwards, we went around congratulating ourselves and hugging each other. “We did it! The whole school's behind us! Down with color differences!”

  Otero didn't seem a bit upset. High on our success we came to class smiling like Cheshire cats. Nothing he said or the G4's did could hurt us now.

  “You've pulled off what no other class did before,” Otero said. “Congratulations. Social and value changes are what this game is all about. Only don't celebrate yet. By tomorrow you might be right back to where you were. Or will you have reached a higher level of understanding, where you see each other not as colors, but as human beings?”

  Adam tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “Boy, is he going to be surprised. We're all equal; no one can make us feel otherwise again.” I grinned back at him and nodded.

  The G4's started in with their fines, coming down heavy on us Oranges. Gwen was demoted. Troy, for no reason we could figure, was promoted. But none of it touched us. We were still too high. No matter what Otero said, we'd succeeded in uniting the Oranges and Light Greens, in getting the help of a Blue defector. We'd proven that if you unite against injustice you can bring about change.

  Friday morning, the last day of the Color Game, Mama hung around the kitchen longer than usual. I'd been babbling about my friends, trying to figure out who might be the spy, going on about Adam and how he'd been treating me lately. She kept checking the clock, but didn't leave for work. Finally, I stopped talking long enough to realize Mama felt uneasy about something. “Mama?” I asked, right out. “What's wrong?” She gave me this little embarrassed shrug and poured another cup of tea for herself, making a little ceremony of it before answering. Finally she said, “This boy Adam. He sounds like a good boy. He seems to care a great deal about you.” I blushed. “Yes, Mama. And I care about him, too.” “I can see that.” Mama shook her head and gazed out at the garden, the cup held in both hands. “Perhaps Papa and I have been wrong”