“I could have you thrown out of this school for that.”
“You could.” Susie was still pissed. “But I’d like to see you try to throw out a student with my grade point average and my perfect attendance.”
“I’ve had enough. I leave these ersatz human beings to you, Mr. Robertson. I don’t care what you do with them so long as you do not return them to my classroom.” And then she looked at me. “I really did think that you might amount to something.” She turned her glare to Susie. “And you are the very worst.”
Susie shot her a grin. “I must be living proof that White people aren’t superior.”
Her storming away seemed a bit much—but it had its effect on Mr. Robertson.
Chuy was laughing his ass off. “Susie Byrd, did you hear that? You’re the worst. You’re even worse than us Mexicans.”
“Oh, Lord,” Mr. Robertson said. “I don’t think any of you realize how much trouble you’re in. And, Ms. Byrd, did you have to refer to her with the b-word?”
“Mr. Robertson, you can’t tell me you don’t know she’s a racist. And you can’t tell me that you’ve never had any complaints about her. And as far as I’m concerned, if you’re a woman and you’re racist, well, then you’re also a bitch. There’s no getting around it.”
“Can we please show some respect? If I hear one more bad word coming out of your lips, I’m suspending you.”
He kept biting his lip and rubbing his hands. He needed a cigarette. I could smell it on him.
“You’re all good students and you have spotless records. And all of you, as Ms. Byrd has pointed out, have nearly perfect attendance. Which does not excuse your behavior. Ari, what did you say to Mrs. Livermore that earned her anger?”
“I just voiced my agreement with Susie. And I followed up by speaking on behalf of all the Hispanic students and asked for an apology.”
He put his hand over his face and laughed—though it sounded more like he wanted to cry.
“And you, Jesus?”
“Chuy,” he said.
“Yes, yes, Chuy, what was your contribution to this little drama?”
“As they were walking out of the classroom, I yelled Mrs. Livermore’s name. And I gave her the finger.”
Mr. Robertson burst out laughing, but it really wasn’t a happy laugh, more like an I’m disgusted and can’t help but laugh because if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry kind of thing. “I’m going to call your parents and I’m going to discuss this matter with them. And you are to attend study hall. I will get a copy of Mrs. Livermore’s syllabus. You will keep up with your schoolwork and you will turn in all your assignments in to me. And I will be responsible for grading them. You’re getting off light—and you’re welcome.
“And, Ms. Byrd, watch your language. It’s simply not acceptable.”
“But racist teachers are acceptable?”
“I’m giving you a break. Don’t push it.” He looked at Chuy. “Put that finger away. Use it to play the guitar or something. And, Mr. Mendoza, you just may have a future in politics. But don’t practice your little speeches on my teachers.”
Eight
“I GOT A CALL FROM Mr. Robertson. We had a friendly chat.”
“Friendly?’
“I used to teach across the hall from him.”
“Why aren’t you the principal instead of him?”
“Don’t think that I haven’t been asked. But I’m exactly where I belong—in the classroom.” My mother looked at me. It wasn’t the I’m angry look. It was more like an I’m deciding what to say kind of look.
“Am I going to get a lecture?”
“Not exactly a lecture. Let’s call it a talk. You and Susie and your other friend—”
“Chuy.”
“Chuy. You and Susie and Chuy are very brave. But—”
“I knew there’d be a ‘but.’ ”
“But you didn’t have to react that way. I met Mrs. Livermore on parents’ night. I don’t have a high opinion of her. But she is your teacher. And your teachers deserve respect. Being a teacher isn’t a walk in the park. You might have gone about this another way.”
“Like what other way?”
“You could’ve gone to Mr. Robertson with your concerns.”
“He’s kind of a bozo.”
“Let me finish. You could have told him that you refused to sit in her class and told him why. If you didn’t feel listened to, you could have come to me and your father and we could have stepped in.”
I knew I was wearing a blank look.
“Ari, I don’t disagree with your view of Mrs. Livermore. And when I said that you three were very brave, I meant it. But you could have been thrown out of school. And you should all take control of the language you use. It doesn’t help your cause.”
“Maybe you’re right. We should have had a plan instead of just exploding in her classroom. We dealt with the situation the best we knew how. But running to our parents and having them step in—I don’t think that’s the answer. This is the way we grow up, Mom.”
I thought my mother was going to push right back at that. But she didn’t. “I’m open to the possibility that you may be right. But you dodged a bullet. And I’m going to tell you something you may not want to hear. One of the reasons Mr. Robertson didn’t suspend any of you for a week or two was that we’re friends. So, without wanting to, I did intervene.”
“It’s who you know—is that it, Mom?”
“I don’t make the unwritten rules, Ari. Just like you, I live in a world with rules that have nothing to do with fairness. And just remember that I said that it was only one of the reasons. The other reason is that all three of you are very fine students. We have to have rules, Ari. Otherwise, there’s nothing but chaos. But we always have to be able to break the rules if they do not serve the people they were meant to protect.”
“I know you feel like you shouldn’t have to put up with racist teachers. But all of us have some racism lodged in the way we think. That’s what the world we inhabit teaches us from childhood. If Mrs. Livermore is a racist, it’s because she was taught to be one. It’s awfully hard to unlearn those kinds of terrible lessons, especially if you don’t recognize that what you learned was wrong. A lot of White people—and I don’t say all White people—think they’re a little bit better, a little more American—and a lot of those people aren’t bad people. They aren’t even aware of the fact that they’re a part of an entire system that is centered around them. It’s complicated, Ari. I don’t think I’m explaining this very well.”
“I think you’re explaining it just fine. You really are super smart. And I like it so much that you think about these things. Because these things really matter. I like that you work so hard to understand what’s really happening. And you try even harder not to judge people. Is it okay if a guy wants to grow up to be like his mother?”
Nine
ONE NIGHT, WHEN I WAS reading a chapter of my history textbook, I looked up and the whole world was blurry. My mother walked into the kitchen, and she must have seen a strange expression on my face. “Is there something wrong, Ari?”