The War Between the Classes (Laurel-Leaf Contemporary Fiction) Page 7

  Brian continued to smile at me as Carol dug into her bag and triumphantly drew out the notebook.

  Some perverse stubbornness in me wanted Brian to notice my missing color band. So I folded my hands very obviously on top of the table. I'd been chided by other G4's any number of times about this or that wrong. But when punishments were given out in class, somehow I never suffered. I was beginning to think it was deliberate. Maybe Otero had a reason to keep me a Blue.

  Brian riffled through the pages of Carol's journal to the entry dated the day before. “Let's see….” He started reading. “… I panicked when I couldn't find my armband. How could I go to school without it? I thought of making a new band, or tying a green scarf around … anything so I'd not be demoted!’ “ Brian said, “You would have been, too!” He read on. “ Today I saw Adam. Even though he's Amy's boyfriend, I've never quite liked him. He makes me feel like I'm not good enough for him.”

  Carol's face flushed pink and I couldn't look at her.

  “I expected Adam to bow, naturally,” Brian continued. “He laughed at me and said, ‘Ah, c'mon, Carol.’ That made me really angry. I thought he was refusing because of my friendship with Amy and maybe because I'm Chicana. How dare he, the lowest of the low, not show proper respect? I made him bow again! Later, I felt ashamed and confused. In the beginning it was fun getting people to bow. Now, I don't know.’ “

  Brian closed the book and handed it back to Carol. “How come you're socializing with Amy? You know the rules.”

  “Oh, yeah? How come you're after me?” Carol cried. “Amy doesn't even have her armband or journal with her and I don't see you—” Carol clapped her hands over her mouth and looked at me in horror.

  “Is that true, Amy?”

  “Uh-huh.” I held my arm up to prove it.

  “Of course you forgot. These things happen.”

  With pounding heart and wet palms I said, “No, I didn't forget. I decided not to wear it, or to bring my journal, either.”

  Brian's eyebrows went up. “May I ask why?”

  “Because I don't believe that being a particular color makes you any better than anyone else.”

  “That's treason, you know.”

  “I guess so.”

  “You realize what you're forcing me to do?”

  “You'll have to report me.”

  Brian sighed and shook his head. He tugged a small spiral notebook from his back jeans pocket. “Either one of you got a pencil?” he asked, embarrassed.

  I smiled. With trembling fingers I pulled a ballpoint out of my purse and handed it to him. He nodded, and without so much as a thanks, wrote down my name and my terrible, treasonous act.

  8

  The way I figured, by Monday I'd be an Orange.

  Why couldn't I accept being a Blue like the others and play out Otero's game the way he'd set it up? Why think mutiny when I'd never in my life opposed anything if it meant bringing attention to myself or being in disfavor?

  Another thing. How could I, the superachiever, resist earning the most points by oppressing others so I'd win the prize when the class ended? It didn't make much sense, yet the thought of resistance grew and grew in me like a tumor you couldn't control.

  Adam was away at his family's mountain home helping get it ready for ski season, so I couldn't talk it out with him. We wouldn't see each other until Monday. I knew he'd be gone, but Bettina told me something Adam hadn't.

  “I passed the math test!” she cried, first thing, when she phoned Friday. “Isn't that super?”

  “Wonderful! What did you get?”

  Her voice dropped, but only for an instant. “Sixty-nine.” Then she hurried on, excited again. “Mama says you're to come back next week and tutor me some more.” Before I could digest that order, told so bluntly, she added, “We're leaving any minute on our trip to the mountains so I'll have to run. But did you know about that big party Adam's having Saturday night?”

  “Party?” My mind lingered on the way Bettina gave me her mother's news.

  “I bet Adam didn't tell you. He's got gobs of friends coming to stay over.”

  Adam had invited friends for the weekend? Surprised and hurt that he'd said nothing to me, that I hadn't been invited, I didn't answer.

  “Aren't you going to ask who's coming?” Bettina persisted.

  “I have the feeling you'll tell me anyway,” I said.

  Bettina giggled and I could almost see her counting off the names on her fingers. “There's Melissa and Justin, Eileen and Beth …”

  Eileen? She was the girl Mrs. Tarcher always pushed at Adam. Pretty, bright, from one of the best families, she was so much better suited to him than I. Why was she at his party, staying over, and not me?

  When I hung up, I didn't want to admit how puzzled and betrayed Bettina's news left me. And the feelings remained. On Saturday, as I toyed with thoughts of rebellion, I not only couldn't talk it out with Adam, but I wouldn't even have wanted to, had he been in town. Yet I had so much need to sort out my plans with someone, to hear that my instincts were right. That it wouldn't be a mistake to give up all the power of being a Blue for the nebulous hope that I could change things as an Orange.

  I guess, out of this need, I turned to my father, even knowing in advance how he'd likely answer.

  We were huddled together opposite each other at the chessboard in the living room Saturday night. I'd told him bits and pieces about the Color Game and my thoughts between plays. The weather had turned cold and it felt good to be indoors where it was bright and warm. The house smelled of Mama's baking, pumpkin and apple pies for Thanksgiving dinner. She was getting ready for the big family gathering when all of us, Grandma and Grandpa, aunts, uncles, cousins, and this year Sue and Hideo, were together.

  “So what do you think, Papa?” I asked. I'd just lost my bishop to his knight, something that wouldn't have happened if I'd paid better attention. Papa shook his head in dismay, folded his arms across his chest, and stared at me.

  ^When I play chess I like to concentrate, not talk,” he said.

  “I know, Papa. But this Color Game is important to me and I can't concentrate on chess because all I can think about is what I should do.”

  “All right.” Papa leaned back and studied me. “But first I have to ask, are you being honest with yourself? Are you wanting to give up being a Blue just for that … boy … to be with him?”

  “Oh, Papa,” I cried. “No!”

  “Good. Then I ask, what can you accomplish by losing all that status? You become a social outcast. You'd have all those … what do you call them … G4's … down on you.”

  “Yes. But maybe, with Adam's help, we can organize the Oranges and Light Greens and get some improvement in the way we're treated.”

  “It is better, because of who you are, to work hard and be a good citizen and not get into trouble. When you protest, you start trouble.” He hesitated, then added, “When I was a boy in the camp they sent us to, it was very bad. We were called ‘yellow devils.’ We were ‘inscrutable.’ You know what that means?”

  I thought of Adam's note with the flowers. He had called me “exotic” and “inscrutable.” I had considered it a compliment, meaning mysterious, “In those days the word meant sly, sneaky. Such shame, to call us that!” Papa shook his head in distress, then went on. “My father tried to change things. People listened to him. But the authorities got worried. They didn't want trouble. They sent him to another camp, away from us!”

  I'd heard that story and others like it all my life and they always left me feeling insecure. What happened to Papa was a long time ago. Times have changed. I want to believe people wouldn't let that happen again.

  “Papa?” I asked. “If Grandma and Grandpa's hakujin friends had protested to the government during those days, maybe all our people wouldn't have been put away for those years.”

  “Ahh!” Papa said with distaste. “I don't want to talk about it!”

  “Why? Please, Papa, think about it. Wouldn't it have
changed things?”

  “It wouldn't have made a difference. We were treated badly because we looked different. The Germans in America were just as much a threat, but they weren't sent away. They didn't look different, that's why.”

  “Hideo and Sue think I should do what I think is right, not what's safe.”

  “Hideo … Hideo and Sue … ach! What do they know? My son has gone to college and he has married a white girl, so he thinks he knows everything.” With more than a trace of bitterness Papa added, “I have lived much longer than your brother. What I know is from experience. What I say is right.” With that Papa returned his attention to the chess set.

  Papa's reaction helped me decide. Being cautious, being safe, never changed anything. Hideo was right. Papa lived too much in the past, was filled too much with old fears. I was a sansei, a third generation, as was Hideo. While we didn't want to lose our traditions, our strong sense of the past, we couldn't let our parents’ old ways and old fears and suspicions taint us.

  I spent much of Sunday in my room, lettering the posters. ALL COLORS UNITE, each board read. I'd printed the word UNITE in the four colors of the game. It was an odd feeling, quite unfamiliar, to plot by myself what I'd do, knowing the consequences. All day I buzzed with a kind of happy zeal.

  While working on the posters I considered how I'd put them up. It would be impossible to mount them on walls during school hours without being seen and without the G4's taking them down immediately. They had to be put up before Monday so they'd be there for everyone to see, first thing. But how?

  Juan. His name came to me instantly. Juan would enjoy the adventure. It was exactly the kind of thing he'd go for without a second's hesitation.

  “We'll do it tonight,” he said when I phoned, delighted with the idea. “There's a night watchman, so we'll have to be careful. Wear sneakers and jeans. Pick you up at eight.”

  I felt scared and exhilarated as I climbed the chain link fence and dropped down to the school grounds. Juan followed, first throwing me the bundle of banners and posters. Then together we ran toward the gym, the first place we planned to post, giggling with suppressed excitement.

  We hung the signs one by one, at the library, outside the cafeteria, next to the Johns, wherever kids would see them. We slunk down halls, peered around corners, whispered and pointed like criminals robbing a bank. It was so easy, we couldn't believe it! And finally, there was only one more place to hang a sign, on the notice board right beside the front office.

  “There's a light on!” I whispered, stopping in my tracks some feet from the door.

  “I'll look.” Juan moved swiftly and silently, then scrunched down to peer through the glass which covered the upper half of the door. He nodded, then motioned for me to come. Heart pounding, I tiptoed to him, bent, and peeked into the room. The night watchman was seated at a desk, feet up, munching a sandwich and watching a small TV set. “Piece of cake,” Juan whispered as we grinned at each other.

  Cool as you please, we taped the last ALL COLORS UNITE sign right there, on the glass. Then, hand in hand and giggling, we fled back to the fence, climbed its links, and dropped down to the street, where we ran off like criminals. When we reached my house we went over every step of what we'd done, praising each other for how well it had gone.

  As he said good-night, Juan gave me a quick hug, then pumped my hand vigorously. “We done good, pardner,” he said, grinning.

  “We sure did!” I reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

  It would have been perfect if Adam had phoned so I could tell him what we'd done and get his reactions. But Adam's weekend must have gone on longer than planned, because he didn't call. I tried not to let myself dwell on it or the disappointment would take away my wonderful high.

  I left for school early the next day wearing my armband like a good Blue. The first Color Game student I met was Già, a Light Green. Glancing first at my band, then my face, she bowed. I bowed back. Puzzled, she looked again at my band and bowed a second time. Smiling, I returned the bow. Not quite sure what to make of me she fell in step behind as inferior colors are supposed to do. I stopped and faced her. “Gia, this is pretty silly. Why don't we walk together?”

  Gia looked around to see who might be watching. “You mean it?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Oh, come on! I'll just get reported, not you.” She stepped back. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  I shrugged and walked on. Whenever a lower color bowed to me I bowed back. Mostly I got puzzled and surprised looks, but no one asked “how come?” I wondered who, if any of them, would be first to report me to earn Otero's precious points.

  Everyone in school was talking about the mysterious signs and banners that had bloomed overnight. Who had dared put them there? Was a revolution in the making? How would the power structure react?

  As I passed the main office, two Dark Greens were directing Oranges to strip the poster from the glass door and pull down the banner spanning the second-floor balconies. “How dare those uppity lower classes do that!” one of them said. I guess most people assumed it had to be Oranges who had put them up.

  All through morning classes my mind was busy elsewhere. What would happen in Otero's class? Couldn't everyone tell, by the way I looked, how guilty I was?

  At lunchtime I took one more step toward demotion. Instead of sitting with the Blues, I joined Juan at the Light Green table. At first the kids said, “Please, go away. You'll just get us in trouble.” But when Juan whispered about our Sunday night escapade, there were so many questions and so much laughter that people started turning around to look our way. Of course the G4's noticed, and pretty soon there was Brian behind me.

  “Aren't you at the wrong table, Amy? What are you doing, slumming?”

  “Oh, hi, Brian!” I smiled brightly at him, while my heart pounded in my ears. “Why don't you join us? We're talking about the posters all over school—you know, ALL COLORS UNITE?”

  “Those posters are revolutionary. Whoever put them up will be severely punished.”

  Juan was trying hard to keep a straight face. One or two Light Greens chortled quietly, covering their mouths to hide their amusement.

  “Am I missing something?” Brian asked. “Do you know something I don't? Was it the Light Greens, perhaps, and not the Oranges who are to blame? Because if anyone knows, there'll be a big reward in points for telling.”

  “Us rebel? We wouldn't think of it!” Juan cried in mock horror. “Light Greens are good fellows. All we want is to keep what we've got and not cause trouble!”

  “You realize, I hope,” Brian said sternly, “that inferior colors should not be conversing with their superiors.”

  “Oh, that's all right, Brian,” I said. “They're not talking to me. I'm talking to them.”

  Brian didn't quite know what to make of us. Most of the kids studiously avoided looking at him while seeming to be holding back giggles. After an uncomfortable silence he wrote something in his notebook, frowned, and went away.

  “Hey, girl,” Paul Thomas said in greeting as soon as I took my seat in Otero's class, “I've been hearing things. What're you up to, anyway?”

  I turned around to face him, glancing first to the back of the room where Adam sat talking with an Orange. We hadn't said a word to each other since Friday. “Depends on what you heard,” I said, wishing Adam would look my way.

  “Baaad things … real baaad,” Paul said. He leaned forward confidentially. “Seems you've been bowing to all the lowlife. You've been sitting with Light Greens….”

  I smiled. “They're my friends, Paul. Some were my friends before this game and just because some stupid law says they're not anymore, doesn't mean I'll obey it.”

  Gwen, seated beside me, tuned in. Her face took on the look of someone who has smelled something bad. She edged away.

  The class began before we could talk any longer, and after roll call Otero started in on the book we were supposed to have read, Black Like Me. It deals with a whit
e man, a well-known writer named Griffin, an educated man with a nice family. He decided to find out if color really made a difference in how people were treated. So, he dyed his skin by taking some special medicine and went to Uve as a black man in the South. What he discovered was that everything changed, just because he was black. People didn't care that he was an educated man, well bred, decent, a published author. All they saw was that he was black He had to sit in the back of buses and walk for miles sometimes to find a toilet he'd be allowed to use, or a restaurant that would serve him. The book was written maybe twenty years ago, and things are better now, Otero says, but blacks still aren't treated like first-class citizens.

  Paul said, “It's good that a white dude wrote the book, because no one would believe what it's like if a black man said those things.”

  Justin said, “People always want to be superior to others. Look how that black shoeshine guy abused the wino. There's a pecking order, no matter what color you are.”

  I wasn't so sure about that because I remembered the shoeshine man in the book did put some food aside for the wino. But I didn't say anything. Frankly, I was so scared about what would happen when the G4's took over, as they did each class period, that I couldn't concentrate.

  And finally, it began. Otero turned the class over to Brian that day to handle the fines and awards.

  You could actually feel the tension in the class, mostly in the back rows, because they could always expect the worst treatment. My color and the Dark Greens could sit back and just watch the show.

  “IRS refunds have just come in,” Brian began. “The following people please come up to get your checks: Tony, Gwen … Gia, Mark …” Except for Gia, all the names called belonged in the higher colors. “Carol, we've had some very good reports on you and have decided to promote you to Blue.”

  I glanced back at Carol and smiled. Carol hurried forward and Mary pinned a Blue armband over the Dark Green. Then she took a seat beside me.