High School Diversity - The Clash (second in the high school series)

By Paul Swearingen

Carla can’t seem to come to grips with her life and seems always to be running away from it and in conflict with persons who always tell her what to do. She’s threatened after a minor misunderstanding; she finds herself in a fast car with a drug runner; she saves her romantic rival’s life with a crusty steak knife. In the end she proves that short Hispanic girls can have fun, too.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Swearingen
• Release date: Jan 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452440125

Paul Swearingen

Paul Swearingen is a retired English/journalism/Spanish teacher who managed to survive 34+ years in public, private, and government schools. He also was a radio newsman and disk jockey, a newspaper editor and photographer, a personnel manager for a large retail store (now defunct), and a long-time publisher of the National Radio Club's magazine, "DX News". He lives in Topeka, Kansas, where his main current duty is to keep his garden under close control.

Book preview

High School Diversity – The Clash

Paul Swearingen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Paul Swearingen

Discover other titles by Paul Swearingen at Smashwords.com:

High School Football – The Temptation

High School Yearbook – The Drama

High School Newspaper – The Danger

High School History – The Treasure

High School Diversity – The Clash is a work of fiction, and all characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblances to real events, locations, or people, living or dead, are coincidental..

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High School Diversity – The Clash

Chapter One

You been messin’ with my boyfriend.

Carla slowly raised her eyes from her food tray, looked around, and counted: One, two … four girls stood behind their leader, Miranda, who as usual had spread too much makeup across her face. The others stood behind Miranda and glowered at Carla; she recognized two of them, but the others didn’t register in her memory. All obviously were Miranda clones, as their lipstick looked as if it had been applied with butter knives.

Carla stood and slowly wiped her lips on her napkin, trying to stretch her five-feet-plus-most-of-an-inch as tall as she could. Excuse me? What boyfriend would that be?

Miranda took a step closer and stood directly in front of Carla and looked down. Their noses were perhaps five inches apart.

That would be the boyfriend whose car you got into last Friday night.

Carla pretended to think for a second as she tracked an adult who seemed to be headed in their direction. Oh. That was your boyfriend. Well, excu-u-use me. When someone offers me a ride home in the cold, I accept first and ask questions later. Maybe I didn’t feel like freezing my ass off that night.

Maybe you’d feel more like having it kicked tonight? Or right here and now?

All right, that’s enough, Miss Ruiz. All of you - move it OUT! Coach Greene suddenly was in the middle of the group, and the four followers slowly moved away from Miranda, who stood her ground, staring down at Carla.

Oh, hi, Coach. Didn’t see you there. Carla shot a fake smile at Coach Greene. She could probably have handled Miranda herself, but four more females were a bit much.

This isn’t over, Miranda hissed at her before she turned abruptly and stalked away across the cafeteria, weaving her way through tables and a maze of students headed towards the conveyor belt to drop off their trays.

Coach Greene watched her retreat for a moment before he turned to Carla. You all right?

She looked down at her tray and realized that she was still clenching her napkin and had wadded it to the size of a peanut.

Oh, sure. We were just working out a little misunderstanding.

Takes four of them to back her up, does it?

Carla held up her fists, which weren’t much larger than his thumbs. You bet. See these? Fists of steel.

He laughed and shook his head. I’ll try to remember that the next time I need to look for a bodyguard. Well, I’ll keep an eye out for Miranda and her posse, okay?

Carla looked up at the coach, all six-foot-three of him. It’s all right, Coach. It’s no big deal. She’s just instantly jealous if anyone gets within smelling distance of any guy that she thinks is her boyfriend.

He shook his head again. I’d be a little careful for the next few days if I were you, young lady. Okay? Now, I need to get back on duty. He waved and moved quickly towards a table from which a milk carton had been thrown.

Carla looked down at her tray again. There wasn’t much left on it, and she wasn’t really hungry any more. She dropped the napkin onto the tray, picked it up, and walked to the conveyer belt and put it on the moving belt.

In spite of pretending to be a tough little girl, she suddenly realized that her knees felt like Jell-O and that she needed a time-out. She pushed open the restroom door next to the outside cafeteria door. The stalls were empty, and the one girl standing next to a basin and staring at her had her hand in an oversized purse.

Sweetie, you look like you just saw dead people, the girl said, and she slowly pulled a pack of generic cigarettes from the purse. Need a smoke?

That was the best idea she had heard in a long time. Sure. Thanks. Second time my life’s been saved in the last five minutes.

The other girl gave her a searching look but didn’t say anything as she flicked a BIC and lit her own cigarette first and then Carla’s. Better smoke it quick, she said. Or just smoke half and flush it.

Carla took a drag and then blew smoke towards the vent in the ceiling. I know.

She moved into a stall, closed the door and gagged slightly. It had been six months or so since the last one of these cancer sticks, and she didn’t really like the experience then or now. Smoking was one of those bad habits her father seemed not to care about, and she was determined not to pick up any of those habits … smoking, drinking, sometimes coming home so late. She usually saw Pop only at breakfast over a big bowl of oatmeal, next to his mug of coffee a slowly burning cigarette that quickly filled the air in the small kitchen and diminished her appetite.

It was just the two of them at home, and when she was in school, she was also still pretty much alone. From her experience, survivors were usually loners, too, and she wanted to be a survivor while others gave up. She didn’t need anyone to watch her back. Well, until now. Maybe it was time to find some larger friends?

The other girl’s voice echoed off the concrete walls. Better finish it up quick, sweetie. They check restrooms after lunchtime pretty carefully. A toilet flushed, and the outside door banged.

Carla took one more long drag, dropped the butt into the bowl, and flushed and waved the smoke away from her. She reached into her purse and fished around for the small can of body spray she always carried. It would have to do, and she’d better get moving before she had to deal with another tardy. She paused for a moment and glanced into the mirror, testing it with a fake happy face. Then she pulled open the restroom door and almost bumped into Coach Greene.

Chapter Two

Oh. Hi, Coach. That was pretty lame, she thought, but it was a little too late for her to duck back into the bathroom until he went on into the main building.

The coach turned, flared his nostrils, and glared at her. Interesting perfume you seemed to have picked up in the restroom, Miss Cross.

She offered him her most innocent smile.

Thanks, coach. You smell pretty good yourself.

He rolled his eyes. Yeah, right. At least I don’t use Eau de Tobaccy. What are you trying to do, chase off mosquitoes? I suppose you keep repellent handy in your purse?

She opened her mouth and discovered that she didn’t have any fight left in her. No, I borrowed a drag from someone else. I really, really, really needed it.

And I suppose you just now quit, too?

Something like that. I don’t think I’m going to need that again very soon. I hope. If you know what I mean. She stared at him hopefully.

I tell you what, Carla. You’re going to be late to class if I keep nagging you. And you’re old enough to know what’s right and what’s wrong, but I still don’t think you can say ‘no’ when you need to. Let’s just say that it never happened and move on. But if you need someone to talk to when bad stuff does happen … why don’t you head for the counselor’s office instead of the bathroom, okay?

Maybe. Thanks, Coach. She smiled a little more securely at him. He held the main building door open for her and shook his head.

I hope your seat in your next hour class is at the back of the room in good ventilation, Miss Cross.

She pulled her coat around her, and he turned and strode down the corridor without a backwards glance. He had a point – her seat in the Algebra II classroom was right next to the teacher’s desk, and with only about twenty in the class, it wouldn’t take anyone very long to figure out that she was the one with the invisible nicotine-and-tar aroma around her.

Oh, well, she was already living dangerously today. And maybe her teacher would have a cold and not be able to smell anything. She looked around for