The War Between the Classes (Laurel-Leaf Contemporary Fiction) Page 5

  “I can't even boil water!” Justin called out.

  “You better learn fast!” Carol answered.

  “… and the paper each Tek must write about her superiority, will be typed by a No-Tek.”

  “Hey, I like that!” one of the girls cried. “My boyfriend goes, Type this. Type that.’ I go, ‘How come you can't do it? You got fewer fingers than me?’ “

  It made me think. I had typed several papers for Adam and never thought anything of it, though it took time away from other things I could have done. Adam had taken typing. How come he didn't do it?

  “… finally,” Mary continued. “We'll have a No-Tek beauty contest. The men will be judged for their physical … er … attributes.”

  Her last words were drowned out by catcalls, squeals, and applause.

  “… to repeat: for their physical attributes and … er … talents … by a panel of Teks. I think that's all.”

  “Seating,” Otero prompted.

  “Oh, yes. No-Teks sit behind Teks, so all you males who are sitting beside or in front of a female of your color better change seats.” The grumbling male class members picked up their books and moved about.

  “And … if you counted your money yesterday and compared it with what others got,” Otero said above the uproar, “you'll note that Teks in each color got more than No-Teks of the same color, just as in society men often earn more than women who do the same work.” He paused. “Now that we've set up our imaginary society as it really is, with the class you're born into largely deciding your future potential, and with the sex you're born into affecting your income and degree of subservience … we can now begin to play the game. G4's, we'll have your reports now.”

  The G4's came to the front of the room and one by one read from their books.

  “Light Green Sharon Osborne was not wearing her color band in gym. Fined five dollars.”

  “Blue Paul Thomas has not purchased a journal yet, but we'll be lenient this time and expect him to bring his notebook tomorrow.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Light Green Justin Charles does not have his journal yet. How come, Charles? The law is the law. You were told yesterday, like everyone else, to have that notebook, right?”

  “Yes.” Justin looked puzzled.

  “Then where is it? Is your memory so bad you can't remember something so simple?”

  “But I told you—”

  “No excuses! Fined five dollars, and if you don't have it by tomorrow …”

  “You just excused Paul Thomas for the same thing!”

  “That's enough back talk, Light Green. Another word and I'll double that fine. Adam Tarcher?” The G4 ruffled through several pages. “You're an Orange? Yes. Tarcher, you were seen talking with a Blue on several occasions.” He held up several slips of paper. “These were in the Fink Box. Stand up when you're spoken to!”

  My heart beat anxiously as I turned around to see Adam, face flushed with embarrassment.

  “What have you got to say, Orange?”

  “Sue me.”

  I laughed with relief at Adam's good humor and control.

  “My, my, we have a rebel in our midst,” Bill said, smiling and scratching his head thoughtfully. “If the police had stopped you in real life, Orange, and you'd answered like that, you'd probably get shoved around a bit, then handcuffed and carted off to the pokey. But this is a game. So all we'll do is fine you fifteen bucks.”

  “Fifteen dollars!” Adam exclaimed. “Why, that's a fourth of the money I've got!”

  “Isn't that a shame.” Bill stared Adam down. “Next time maybe you won't talk back to your superiors. And if we have any more trouble from you, you Orange No-Tek … “ He drew the words out as if they were dirty. “You'll find we can make life pretty miserable. Sit down.” He turned to me and in a gentle voice said, “Miss Sumoto …”

  I jumped up, ready to be punished as Bill reached my side. “We've had reports that you've been consorting with an Orange, Amy. We've also heard you don't demand the respect due you from your inferiors. You wouldn't want us to demote you, would you?” I stared at him, not answering. “Stick out your hand,” he ordered. I put out my hand. He slapped the back of it lightly. “Now, let that be a lesson. And don't do it again.”

  Bill turned to a Dark Green, leaving me in a daze. Was that all? Adam fined and tongue-lashed and I get a mere tap on the wrist.

  For the remaining period Otero lectured on racial injustice as it was handled in literature. He assigned reading material, a book on the black experience, one on the American Indians, one on the Latinos, and even one on the Japanese-American experience during World War II. The period ended in a whirl of confusion as students lined up according to color and sex. A black girl named Gwen and I were the only two Blue Teks, so we led the way from the room.

  I walked down the hall slowly, hoping Adam would catch up and hoping he'd stay away so I'd not get him into more trouble. There had to be a way to sabotage Otero's game, to get everyone together to help each other regardless of the G4's. But how?

  “Carol, wait!” I called, hurrying after my friend.

  Carol stiffened as she slowed to my pace. Her eyes darted about anxiously.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “I'm not supposed to talk to Blues.”

  “You're not. I'm talking to you, That's allowed. All you have to do is say yes or no and you can't be reported.”

  Carol nodded, and we continued down the hall together. “Listen,” I said. “I've been thinking. Let's all be friends. Blues, Dark Greens, Light Greens, and Oranges. There's no reason we should turn against each other just to prove Otero's right about society. What if I united the Blues and you did the same with the Dark Greens and we'd try to help the other colors?”

  “How? Dark Greens aren't supposed to talk to Blues.”

  “So we'll meet secretly.”

  An Orange passing by caught our eyes and bowed, then hurried away. “I don't know,” Carol said.

  “Why? Surely you can't believe in all this!”

  “I don't want to get into trouble and be demoted. In fact today Mary said I was prime material for becoming a Blue.” She stood taller and smiled.

  “But don't you hate how they're treating the lower colors?” I persisted.

  Carol shrugged. “It won't hurt those rich white kids to know what it's like for us. They only have to live like that for four weeks.” She lowered her voice as Brian came into view.

  “Then you won't help?”

  “No.”

  “Will you at least think about it?”

  Brian stopped a little way down the hall and leaned against the wall, watching us.

  “Carol?”

  “Sorry, Amy, but no. I want to play the game the way it's supposed to be played. Gotta go.” She gave me an apologetic smile, then hurried away.

  I stood there in the middle of the nearly empty hall watching Carol's retreating back. Brian stopped her and then wrote something in a small notebook, looking my way.

  Would Carol have reported our conversation? I got cold shivers down my back. Was it possible? Did she want that much to be a Blue that she'd fink on a friend?

  6

  “Let's talk about boys now,” Bettina said, tilting her blond head charmingly at me. “There's this boy in my class. He goes, ‘You got a cute nose.’ “

  “Tina! You find more ways to waste time! Why don't you finish this problem and then we'll talk.”

  Tutoring Adam's sister could easily be a time of fun and games, because Bettina thought up more ways to avoid working than I could ever imagine. In the last half hour she had taken a bathroom break, gone to sharpen a pencil, then to find out when her mother was coming home. And now she wanted to talk about boys. But I was determined to make Tina understand fractions even if it took twice the time I'd be paid for.

  As Bettina picked up her pencil, sighing deeply, I felt a pang of affection. She looked so much like Adam with those clear blue eyes and golden hair. She eve
n had many of his mannerisms, like peering up at me with lowered head. But they were very different. Bettina had little else on her mind except boys, and that childlike sweetness could change in a minute to vicious meanness if she didn't get her way.

  “Three eighths plus five sixths equals … umh …” Bettina nibbled the end of her pencil and watched me secretly for signs of softening. “His name is David, and when he said that, I go—”

  “Tina, do the problem. Come on. I'm not paid to talk about boys,” I said.

  Bettina bent thoughtfully over the paper, writing in a number, then checking my face, erasing the number, chewing her pencil, then writing again. At last she turned the page around for me to see.

  “That's good!” I said. “I told you you could do it! All you have to do is concentrate.”

  “I'll flunk the test tomorrow. I just know it. Pm terrible in math.”

  “Never mind, you'll pass the test tomorrow, and you could be good at math. Whoever said you couldn't?”

  “Girls aren't good at things like that. My mother says so. It's unfeminine.”

  “I'm good at math. Am I unfeminine?”

  Bettina raised one shoulder in a shrug and watched me with an odd intensity. “You're different.”

  “How?”

  “You're … Oriental “ Bettina wet her lips and smiled slyly. “Mother says Orientals have special aptitudes for math and science.”

  So that's what they said about me when I wasn't around. Should I be pleased, even proud? A warning bell went off in my head and the warmth I'd felt moments ago changed to caution. Friends, real friends, didn't make remarks like that. What else did Mrs. Tarcher say about Orientals, I wondered? How many of her prejudices had Adam absorbed?

  “Well, isn't that true about … Orientals?”

  “People are people, whatever their race or color. There's no special aptitude one class of people has over another, Oriental or not. And there's no reason why women can't be as good at math or science as men.”

  Bettina shook her blond curls impatiently. “I'm sick of talking about that. I finished the problem, so now let's talk about this boy I know.”

  I put the math book away and threw the scratch papers in a basket as Bettina scurried from the desk to jump on her white-canopied bed. She reached for a large stuffed bear and hugged it to her chest, eyes rolled to heaven.

  “David … mmm … this boy at school …” Her eyes shone. “I think he likes me, but I'm not sure….” Bettina went on to relate each word the boy had ever spoken to her, what she thought about him, what she thought he thought about her, what her girl friends said, and on and on.

  I gazed around the spacious room, soothed as always by its rich carpeting and furnishings. But my thoughts were on the time. Normally I left the house right after the hour of tutoring, before Adam got home. But today I'd promised to stay as long as possible in case Adam could leave soccer practice early. We hadn't been alone together since Otero's class began, more than a week before. I felt almost a desperate need to feel his arms around me again.

  “So, what do you think?” Bettina asked finally, bringing my attention back. “Should I go around with him? Not steady or anything—you know, just going around …”

  “Did you hear a car?” I asked, going to the window.

  “Amy! You're not even listening! You're just hoping my brother will get home!” Bettina threw the bear at me. “Now, pay attention! Does he like me or not?”

  I lifted the big toy off the floor and put it back on the bed, then picked up my purse and book. “I think it's time for me to go, Tina. Please tell Adam I'm sorry I couldn't wait.” I started to the door. “And as for David, you might try backing off a bit. Boys don't like girls who come on too strong.” I paused at the door. “Good luck on the test tomorrow, Tina. See you next week.”

  I hurried down the long hall on the highly waxed floors smelling of lemon, wishing I could stop to examine each beautiful painting on the walls between the many doors. But I didn't dare. What if Mrs. Tarcher came out of one of the rooms and saw me? Far away somewhere I heard a grandfather clock chime and distant voices amid the sounds of pots clashing. How could I feel so comfortable with Adam when I felt so uncomfortable in this, his home? And where was he? Why hadn't he got home early, as planned?

  I stood at the top of the wide stairway leading to the entry and for a moment imagined myself the mistress of this house. With my hair piled high I'd be dressed in a filmy gown and Adam would be waiting at the bottom step. Slowly, head high, with one hand on the polished oak bannister, I drifted down the stairs.

  “Amy!”

  “Oh! Mrs. Tarcher!” The blood raced to my face. I felt as if she'd caught me with the family silver.

  Dressed in a beige linen suit, she stood at the foot of the stairs looking past me as if expecting Adam to be there.

  “How's Tina doing?” she asked, reaching for a packet of mail on the entry table.

  “Fine. I think she understands fractions now.” I hurried down the last steps and crossed the entry hall.

  “Good … good.” The voice was distracted. Then Mrs. Tarcher glanced at her watch. “It's rather late, isn't it?”

  “Yes, I stayed a little longer. Tina has a test tomorrow and I wanted to be sure …” I put a hand on the doorknob, wanting to flee.

  “Yes … well, thank you … er, Eileen. We really appreciate all you've done.” Mrs. Tarcher's gray eyes met mine for an instant and crinkled into a polite smile. “We'll see how Tina does in that test, then call you if we feel she needs more coaching.” Her attention returned to the letters in hand.

  She didn't even remember my name. She'd mixed me up with that Eileen Conley she wanted Adam to date! I was being dismissed and might not be returning.

  Shouldn't I be paid? Each time I came no one said anything and it was embarrassing to ask. Papa had said, “Embarrassed? Why? It's your due. Rich people sometimes forget others depend on money to live. You earned it. Ask!”

  Mrs, Tarcher looked up, surprised to see me still waiting. “Is there something else?”

  “Uhm, yes, Mrs. Tarcher. I've tutored Tina six times now and you said I'd be … paid….”

  “Of course you'll be paid!” Adam's mother exclaimed. “I'll write you a check right now if you like.”

  “Oh, no. That's not necessary,” I quickly amended. “You can mail it to me whenever it's convenient.”

  The cool gray eyes settled briefly on me. “Well good-bye, then, er … dear. And thanks again for your help.” She had already turned away as I opened the door.

  Hurrying down the driveway to the gate in the growing darkness, I felt such a mix of emotions. Shame over my encounter with Mrs. Tarcher. Disappointment that Adam hadn't gotten away from soccer practice in time. Frustration that we got to see so little of each other. No matter where we went it seemed like a hundred eyes were always watching, ready to report us.

  A police car cruised by, slowing to look me over as I unlatched the gate. And then I heard the happy beep-beep of Adam's BMW!

  Adam screeched to the curb, opened the door, and jumped out. I rushed into his arms with a yelp of joy and buried my face in his chest.

  “Amy, Amy …” he whispered again and again into my hair. “I thought I'd never get away. Coach wanted to go over every single play. I kept watching the clock and cutting everyone short, knowing you were waiting.”

  “I thought you'd forgotten. I waited as long as I could. I thought we'd miss each other again. And then your mother

  “It's all right; it's all right.” He smoothed my hair with his hand. “We're together now.” He drew me back to the car, kissed me and kissed me as if he couldn't get enough, then opened the door and helped me in. He ran around to the driver's side, climbed in, and reached for me again. We clung together, laughing and kissing, starting sentences and stopping them with each happy embrace.

  “Now, what's this about my mother?” he asked at last when I curled against his shoulder.

  It was so good between
us now I didn't want to spoil things. “Nothing, oh, nothing really.”

  “No, tell me! Did she say something that hurt you? Come on, tell me.”

  My voice broke as I said, “It's how she makes me feel. She acts almost as if I'm invisible. She called me ‘Eileen.’ It's so obvious she thinks I'm not good enough for you!”

  “Oh, honey, don't cry, please. My mother's the world's least sensitive woman. I've told you that. Who cares what she thinks?”

  “I do! I care what my parents think, too, and they're just as unhappy about me seeing you!”

  Adam pointed to himself. “Me? They don't like me— such a clean, upstanding WASP like me?”

  “It's not funny. Please don't joke about it!”

  Adam's face sobered. “Talking about trouble, I feel like that's all I'm into since this Color Game started. Yesterday Carol insisted I curtsy to her, right in front of my French teacher. When I made a joke of it, she got angry and I had to do it, making me feel like two cents!” Adam pulled me closer, as if seeking comfort. “I was rewarded yesterday. You know why? For being submissive when a G4 chewed me out. I feel sick just thinking about it!”

  “Is it really so awful?”

  “Bowing is nothing. I do that automatically now, like brushing my teeth. What really gets to me is the constant feeling of being out of step with authority, the G4's, the upper colors. I've lived a Blue all my life, yet now I feel really threatened! I go around smiling a lot, as if everything's great, but inside I'm on guard, watching all the time, sure I'll do something that I'll get called down for.” He stared at me for a long moment. “Do you suppose most poor people and minorities feel that way a lot of the time?”

  “I don't know. We're not poor. I do know we all wear masks. We smile when we're miserable, pretend to like people we don't; and being nonwhite puts you even more on guard. Being poor … it's hard to keep your self-respect because it's the American way to ‘have’ …” I tried to remember the few times I'd learned about people outside of my own narrow world of aunts, uncles, and close family.

  “Once, when I was about Bettina's age, I went with my father to visit a man he knew who had lost an arm in an auto accident. He was a lathe operator, I think, so losing his arm was a terrible thing because he couldn't work at that again. I remember a strange feeling in that house. Almost an odor … fear. It was in the way the children crept around watching and whispering; it was in his wife's eyes and stiffness. It was as if the whole family stood on the edge of a terrible crater and might fall in at any moment.”