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

  I swallowed and waited for her to go on.

  “It is hard to say. It is different now than when we were young….” Again she paused. “Papa says … it is only proper that you ask Adam to have dinner with us after all this time/’

  “Papa says?”

  “Yes, Papa.” She gave me a small, embarrassed smile. “He is not such a cold man as you think. He sees how you feel. He tries to understand.”

  “Mama, when?” I asked, heart beating rapidly. I could hardly wait to get to school to tell Adam.

  “Sunday. Hideo and Sue will be here. We will sit in the garden and then we will have dinner. All of us, together.”

  “Oh, Mama!” I cried, jumping up. “Oh, Mama, Mama, Mama! I love you!” I hugged her from behind and went dancing around the kitchen, already making plans about what to wear and how I'd tell Adam.

  Otero had the chairs in the room set up in a circle on this, the last day of the game. Even so, out of habit, out of a sense of our own unity, we chose seats near others of our color.

  ‘Today,” he announced, “we remove our color bands and life goes back to normal. I want you all to remember that some people can't ever take off their armbands. Just because of their color they'll be treated with less respect than others all of their lives. Except, maybe not by those who have been part of this game.”

  “Was the assignment of colors rigged?” someone called out.

  Otero smiled. “Yes and no. Remember the questionnaires you filled out about a week before we started the game? Well that's how we learned of your general economic status and attitudes. Those answers helped us—me and the G4's—to decide who should become what. After all, the purpose of the game is to learn what it's like for others, those less fortunate or more fortunate than you.”

  “But how did you work it?” Justin asked. “We picked the color chips ourselves.”

  “Yes you did, but what you didn't know is that we had double bags. One held the chips for the upper classes and one for the lower classes. When you reached into the bags, the G4 held open only one of the two. That way your choices were halved. We couldn't rig it more precisely than that, and there were some random—Juan, for example.”

  A groan went through the class and the G4's chuckled as if they'd put something over on us.

  “Whenever we thought someone wasn't learning enough in a particular color, the G4's and I voted to promote or demote. Remember how Carol was promoted to Blue? It was because as a Dark Green she wasn't learning anything. We could tell from her journal. As a Blue she found how nice it was to be respected and not be harassed, so she did everything she could to make Blue.”

  “I was just playing the game the way it works in real life!” Carol protested in defense.

  Otero tugged at his beard. “Before we give up our bands, is there anything you'd like to say about your experience, good or bad?”

  Brian spoke first. “I want to apologize for being so mean to a lot of you. I did it for the game. Fm really a very nice guy!” Catcalls and cries of disbelief filled the air and I found myself wondering how many other G4's and Blues really enjoyed their power, despite their protests.

  “Boy, was I pissed off when Gwen stopped me after gym last week,” Rob said. “She looked me up and down with this little smirk on her face and says, ‘You oughta wear shorts more often, Rob. Ya' got nice legs.’ “

  Some of the girls laughed uncomfortably, but Rob went on, “I never really thought how we guys treat girls until then. I started to think how I treat my girlfriend and didn't like what I was finding.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I was so … paternalistic!”

  Adam leaned toward me and whispered, “I feel like putting an arm around him, if it wouldn't be misunderstood.”

  “I just hated being Orange,” Michelle said. “My best friend ignored me through the whole game. It really made me think. Until this game I never really noticed anyone who was poor or a different color from me.”

  “Now I know why ethnic groups stick together,” Adam said. “It's because there's safety in being with your own, especially when society separates people into ‘them’ and ‘us.’ “

  “Why, Adam,” Paul joked. “You did learn something!”

  “You all learned something,” Otero said. “I hope what you learned sticks with you all your lives, because if it does, the world will be a better place to live in.”

  “Who was the spy?” I called out.

  “You didn't guess?” Otero smiled. “I want you all to know he spied for us—me and the G4's—on orders, so don't hold it against him. If he'd like to identify himself, it's up to him.”

  “Who?” several of us called out. I began to suspect everyone. Otero spoke of a him, so it could be Juan, Robert, Justin, even Adam.

  Troy stood up.

  Adam and I exchanged shocked glances. “Troy? But he

  He grinned a crooked smile. “I only did what I was told.”

  “You spied on us! You leaked our plans to the G4's so they'd raid us at Juan's? You told them which lockers had the armbands? You threw suspicion on Juan and Amy! Troy!”

  “Aw, come on,” he protested. “You learned something, didn't you?”

  Otero held up a hand. “We're running late and I have some things to say before the hugging.” The class quieted immediately. Otero leaned across his desk. “I promised to take you on a journey to another planet where color and social status were regulated by the armbands you wore. Soon you're going to remove those bands. I hope you'll remember the feelings you had these past weeks of associating people's character with their band color. That's what's called stereotyping. You found yourselves looking at a person's band first, then you knew how to interact with that person.” Otero's voice dropped as if he were choked with emotion.

  “Remember how that felt forever, because that's how it is in real life, only people don't look at armbands. They look at skin color, or facial features, or listen to accents, or judge others by the way they dress, not by the kind of people they are!”

  He cleared his throat. “In a moment you'll remove your color bands, but think how many people can't remove theirs —their skin color, or the labels of poverty.”

  I felt very close to Mr. Otero at that moment and think everyone in the room felt the same. Adam squeezed my hand.

  “I've said my piece, now it's time to heal whatever hurts you may have brought to others or felt because of others.” Otero moved to the front of the room. The G4's took positions to his left. “You'll each come forward, throw your color band on the floor, then exchange hugs so there are no hard feelings. First you'll hug me, then each of the G4's, then stand at the end of the line so each person in turn will hug each other. Blues first.”

  After that the room became noisy and confused. Paul, a head taller than Otero, acted as if he didn't know how to hug men, making everybody laugh. Otero whispered a few words to Gwen and she whispered back, then they hugged each other. Some people went through the process hurriedly. Others, like Carol, got weepy as they passed from Otero to each of the G4's, and down the line past those who had come before.

  When it was my turn, my heart began thumping like a Fourth of July band and my throat swelled with emotion. I dropped my orange and blue bands on the small mountain of bands on the floor, then stepped up to Otero. Without a word we hugged each other with special warmth. “I'm very proud of you, Amy. You're a born leader. And you lead with a gentle hand.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Otero,” I whispered.

  Brian opened his arms to me as I moved along to the G4's. “Amy …”

  “Yeah?” I said, touching hands but not moving into his embrace.

  “I hope there are no hard feelings.”

  “Oh, no. Hardly any.”

  He chuckled. “If you're not tied down to that dumb Orange No-Tek, I'd still like to see you.”

  “Not a chance,” Adam said, answering for me.

  Bad habits die slowly, I guess. “Nothing's impossible, Brian,” I said, answering for myself. “Just
look at what we Oranges accomplished.”

  “You're putting me on.”

  I raised an eyebrow, enigmatically, and moved on. Brian looked after me and I winked, feeling a silly self-conscious grin start at my lips.

  The last few minutes of the class we milled around some more, talking about our feelings. Carol came up to me, teary-eyed and a little apprehensive. “I'm so glad it's over. Still friends?”

  Of course we were, even more so. I felt a glow of love for everyone in class. We'd shared so much. It would be strange to leave the room without my color band, to go back to how it was before.

  “Do you feel any different?” Adam asked as we left together.

  “Yes … kind of subdued/’ Blues and Dark Greens and Light Greens went by, touching us as they passed. “I've come to like people I didn't know before, like Gwen. Do you think … I mean, let's ask her to sit at our lunch table.”

  Adam noticed the midsentence switch and smiled. “Sure —Juan, too.”

  I squeezed his hand. “By the way, doing anything Sunday? Mama and Papa invited you to dinner.” Butterflies again, even though I couldn't imagine Adam saying no. For a second I thought of Mrs. Tarcher and the ugly feelings she brought out in me. Then I figured, if she doesn't like me, it's her problem.

  “So?”

  Adam's eyes twinkled, but he said, “I don't know. Depends on the menu.”

  “Oh?” My hackles went up. Would I always be on guard? “If you're worried about what you're likely to eat, it will probably be roast beef and potatoes.”

  “That's just it,” Adam said. “I was hoping for sushi, tempura, or something interesting like that.” He tilted his head and gave me a tender, intimate smile. “I can eat roast beef and potatoes any time.”

  “Adam …” I said. “Adam Tarcher …” My throat filled with happy tears. We faced each other in the middle of the crowded hallway, kids going by us on both sides, and smiled. “I'll talk to the chef,” I said.

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  Copyright © 1985 by Gloria D. Miklowitz

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  eISBN: 978-0-307-54898-6

  November 1986

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