My Name Is Chloe (7 page)

“Yeah, and Chloe might be up there before long.”

“I’ve never even heard back from the manager. He probably hated my demo.”

“You have a demo?” Cesar looked really impressed now.

“You know what a demo is?”

“I’m not stupid.” Cesar set down his cup. “I happen to know a little bit about music. I’ve got an uncle who works at a sound studio and—”

“Man, how many uncles do you have?” asked Jake.

“Hey, you know how those hot-blooded Latino men are,” said Cesar putting on a thick Hispanic accent. “They like having big families.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I’ve gotta get outta here and get some fresh air. You guys coming?”

Jake got up but Cesar remained. “No, I’m going to stay here and talk music with the
Spice Girls
.”

“Oh, puleeze,” cried Allie. “You’re gonna make me hurl.”

“Hey, you’re the one who ate that junk they
call pizza,” he said. “It’ll be your own fault if you get sick.”

“So are you going to be okay with it, Allie?” I asked.

“With what? The pizza?”

“No. I mean with Laura coming to jam. Are you okay?”

She slowly nodded. “I suppose you guys were kinda right. I may have some hang-ups about blacks. The truth is my dad grew up in a really racist family, and he’s got some serious bigotry going on in his head. And as much as I always say I disagree with him about that stuff, well, I’m afraid some of his garbage may have rubbed off on me too.” She sighed. “I think it’ll be good for me to get to know Laura. I need to get past this.”

I smiled. “That’s cool, Allie. I’m glad you could be honest about this.”

“Yeah, and you’re really not alone,” said Cesar. “I think everyone has some sort of prejudice going on. Take our little Chloe here. She thinks she has it all together, but I know she’s got her problems.”

“What do you mean? I’m not prejudiced. I like everyone for who they are.”

“Okay then.” He nodded to a table on the other side of the cafeteria. “How about those preppy chicks over there. How do you feel about them?”

I shrugged. “Hey, it’s their life. If they want to live it by being shallow and superficial, well, that’s their choice.”

“So you think they are all shallow and superficial,” said Cesar. “That sounds like prejudice to me.”

I thought about that. “Okay, maybe you’re right. I don’t personally know everyone at that table, so I shouldn’t categorize them all together.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad. I do the same thing myself.” He leaned back in his chair. “But maybe it’s time to start thinking differently.”

“But that’s what they want,” countered Allie. “They
like
being alike. Can’t you tell by the way they dress and act and talk? They thrive on their sameness.”

Cesar nodded. “Good point. But still you could be wrong.”

“What makes you such an expert?” I asked him.

“Being on the other end,” he said soberly.

“Okay, that makes sense. But you’re not the only one. Allie and I both know what it feels like to be judged by our appearances.”

“Yes—” he held up a finger—“but you both have control over that. You don’t
have
to dress the way you do. I, on the other hand, can dress just like the jocks or the preppy boys, but I am still judged by my skin color.”

“I like your skin color.” I think I must’ve blushed as soon as the words escaped my mouth.

Cesar smiled. “Hey, I like yours too.”

“How about mine?” asked Allie to my relief. Then she pulled up her sweater sleeve to reveal a pale arm. “Sheesh, my tan is almost completely gone now.”

“Yeah, yours is cool too.” Cesar patted her arm then started singing the old Paul McCartney song, “Ebony and Ivory.” We joined him as best we could until the bell rang and reminded us it was almost time for fifth period.

But after that conversation I have a lot more respect for Cesar. He usually acts so goofy that you can never take him seriously. But now I’m seeing him in a different light. Not only is he easy to look at, but I think I really like him.

I gave myself a long, stern lecture and a cold shower and have determined to keep Cesar out of my head and my heart. I do not want to, cannot afford to, fall in love right now. How do I know this? Because I have given my heart away before and was deeply hurt—so hurt I could barely function. Oh, sure, people say you can’t fall in love when you’re only fourteen. But what do they know of my heart or me? And its complexities. Even I don’t attempt to explain such things. Slippery and invisible things that the mind can’t understand. All I know is that I must stay on track here. I must continue this search for—myself—truth—and whatever it is that I must eventually find or die trying.
And
I must stay focused on my music.

So, now I know; Cesar must remain only a good friend. And I don’t think you can have too many good friends. That is, if they’re truly good friends. How do I define a good friend? Someone who is there for you, believes in you, is loyal to you, is honest with you, and wants what’s best for
you—is that too much to ask? Okay, I realize those are some pretty big shoes to fill. But I think, hey, if you don’t set your expectations high enough, you might end up settling for less than the best that life has to offer you. I’m not settling.

Since I have decided to make music my main focus, I’m pleased to report that Allie, Laura, and I had our first official jam session. There was only one problem: With Laura’s bass with its amp system and Allie blasting away on drums (and she may be better, but she still needs work), my guitar (only an acoustic) was completely blown away. And though I don’t ever plan to completely give up my acoustic guitar altogether, I do plan to wage an all-out campaign for a good electric guitar and decent amplifier.

I’ve already started checking the classifieds and am willing to pay for half with my savings, but I think my parents should pitch in too. After all, they can certainly afford it. So, right now, I am keeping my room clean and trying to act (not look) like a normal girl. While my mother seems pleased, my father looks slightly suspicious. But later this week, after I’ve located the perfect guitar, I’ll break the news.

Allie came over to practice on the drums again tonight (my parents went to dinner with friends), and I asked her what she thought about Laura. We
hadn’t had a chance to have this conversation yesterday.

“She’s nice.”

“
Nice
?” Now that’s not the kind of word that Allie normally uses as a compliment.

“Okay, maybe nice was too strong. But she seems kind of, oh, I don’t know and honestly this has nothing to with prejudice. But she seems, well, too good, you know what I mean?”

“Too good?” I thought about that. “You mean because she talked about singing in her church?”

Allie pointed her finger at me. “Bingo! Stuff like that. It weirds me out a little and kinda makes me nervous.”

“But you’re taking drumming lessons in a church,” I reminded her. “Does that weird you out too?”

She laughed. “Nah, Willy’s cool. And I think, hey, if they’re willing to let a witch in their church, how bad can they really be?”

“So you really
do
think of yourself as a witch then?”

“Well, not officially. But I have a feeling if I told regular church people, like Laura for instance, what I
really
believe, they’d probably call me a witch for sure. And if it was a few hundred years ago, they’d be having a big weenie roast and using me for the kindling.”

I laughed. “Pretty picture, Allie. But back to
Laura. Do you like her?”

She shrugged. “I don’t dislike her, if that’s what you mean. She just makes me uncomfortable.”

“Do you think you might make her uncomfortable?”

“Hey, I only mentioned Wicca once, and when I saw her expression, I shut right up about it.”

I patted her on the back. “Oh, good girl.”

“Well, I just don’t think she likes me very much.”

“What makes you think that?”

“For one thing, she never once looked right at me. And whenever she has a question or anything, she always directs it to you.”

“But I’m kind of the leader of this group.”

Allie nodded. “That’s another thing that bugs me. If we do decide to have a group, are you automatically the leader?”

Well, I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I was thinking:
Of course, I’m the leader, you nitwit! This is my house, my music, my drum set, my idea
…. “Who do you think should be the leader?” I asked calmly.

She seemed to consider this, then finally said, “I guess it should be you.”

“Do you want to have a vote?”

She grinned. “Hah, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Good. Besides, we’re only jamming; we’re not forming a band. We’re not even close to ready for something like that.”

“Why?”

I looked at her little chin sticking out like she was offended, and in spite of myself I cracked up. “For starters, Ringo, you can barely play drums.”

“Hey, Willy says I get better every day.”

“Yeah, after what—two lessons?”

“Well, I’m a fast learner.”

I gave her my best don’t-give-up-hope smile. “Yes, you’re doing really great, Al. But the thing is, I’m not ready to really form a band yet. And if we do decide to take it to the next level, I want to do it right. I mean, sheesh—I don’t even have the right kind of guitar.”

She looked down at my acoustic. “Yeah, we pretty much blasted you outta the waters didn’t we?”

“Pretty much. But I’m already working on getting something else.”

“I figured.” She set down her drumsticks. “Looks like I’ve done enough damage here. Wanna lose a game of pool to me now?”

And so I did. Then after the game she went home. I went downstairs and actually straightened up the house. I loaded the dishwasher and even put in soap and turned it on! That ought to
impress the parents. Then I went to my room and cleaned it, well, sort of. Then I did my homework, and even read my redlines. But tonight I came across some stuff that is just too much. I’m thinking maybe I’ve had enough of these redlines because I simply cannot accept this.

Jesus says (and I’ll admit I’ve heard this before, who hasn’t?) that we need to love our neighbor. Okay, that’s simple enough. But then he says we need to love our enemies too. Not only that, but if they slap you on your right cheek you’re supposed to turn around and offer them your left cheek too. Well, when Tiffany slapped me (and then Kerry followed her lead), I never in a thousand years would’ve been able to say, “Hey, why not have a go at my other cheek while you’re beating me up?” I mean, how crazy is that?

And then Jesus goes on to say that if someone demands your overcoat that you should give him your jacket as well. But I’m thinking, hang on a minute. If someone takes one coat from you, what the pickle do they need another one for? It just doesn’t make sense.

And then to top it all off, Jesus says that we’re supposed to give to
anyone
who asks us for something. How I’m not totally opposed to that, because I like giving to people who really need it—like the homeless or the kids down in Mexico
that Josh and Caitlin help out. But what if someone who isn’t even poor asked me to hand over some money? Or worse yet, what if someone like Tiffany asked me?

So, I’m sorry, but this does not, I repeat DOES NOT, compute. I just do NOT get it. Why does Jesus talk in such riddles anyway? And how is it that anyone takes him seriously? Or do people just dismiss the things that he taught if they don’t understand it? And if that’s the case, then what kind of religion is this? Right now it doesn’t make any more sense to me than Allie’s convoluted Wicca rules. I don’t get it!

I’m not sure what’s wrong with me today. But all morning long I felt like crying. I barely made it through my classes, then right after choir, I streaked out the door before anyone could witness the tears coming down my face. But somehow Laura knew something was wrong, and she actually trailed me clear down past our locker bay and into the bathroom. I was standing in a stall blowing my nose and trying to control myself when I heard her voice.

“Is that you, Chloe?”

“Huh?”

“Up here.”

I looked up to see her big brown eyes staring at me from the next stall. “Wh—what?”

“Sorry, but you seemed upset.”

I blew my nose again then shook my head as if I might be able to shake it all off. “Yeah, it’s weird. There’s nothing seriously wrong or anything, but I feel really awful. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

“You wanna talk?”

“I guess. Although I’m not sure what good it’ll do.”

So we grabbed some lunch, took it out to the patio, and sat down. Fortunately, the sun was out, and other than a chilly breeze it wasn’t too bad
out there. “So, what’s up?” she asked as I sipped on my soda.

“I honestly don’t know. I just feel really, really sad.”

She nodded and picked up a french fry. “Maybe it’s my fault.”

I set down my drink. “Your fault? Are you kidding?”

“No. I might have something to do with this.”

“Huh? I don’t get it.” About then I was wondering if maybe Laura was secretly into Wicca too, as though maybe she thought she’d cast some sort of evil spell on me.