I sat back down and waited for the person to appear who was going to show me around. Selena and I had exchanged several texts before a couple of kids came into the office and went up to the counter.
“Oh, you two are right on time,” the office clerk said to the two kids. “Salem,” she called out to me. I looked up to see her smiling at me. “Salem, this is T’nisha and Juan. They’re part of the welcoming committee and will show you around.”
I smiled at T’nisha and Juan as I stood. I dropped my cell phone into my backpack and walked over toward them.
“Hi, Salem, welcome to Beverly Hills High,” T’nisha said in an upbeat tone.
“Hello, Salem. Come with us, and we’ll show you around,” Juan invited. I instantly loved his accent.
Both of them were very friendly and it was nice to see the school before class started. As we walked around campus, there were tons of banners and posters hanging up for sports with certain student names and phrases of school spirit on them. There was one banner that seemed to have the phrase repeated all throughout the campus: “Anchor Bran.” I’d never seen so many banners up and thought this must be a special occasion or possibly class elections. But since it was spring, I didn’t think class elections were going on.
“What are all the banners for?” I asked after we passed the sixth or seventh, “Anchor Bran” poster.
“Oh, this Friday is the regional track meet,” Juan explained. “We have a really good team and will hopefully take first place.”
“The guy who runs in the anchor position for the relay race is really fast. The classes will be shortened on Friday to make room for a pep rally assembly,” T’nisha said.
Yeah, I can leave school early that day, I thought to myself.
“He’s also super cute and does some modeling,” T’nisha added.
“The student body is really supportive of athletics here,” Juan said.
“Do a lot of kids go to the pep rally?” I asked, hoping they wouldn’t rain on my idea to leave school early that day.
“A lot of students attend,” Juan advised. “It’s not mandatory, though. So you don’t have to stay.”
Thank God.
Before the bell rang, Juan gave me a flier that had a list of clubs on it and told me that all of them were open and welcome to new members. I shoved the flier in my backpack and headed to my first class.
The morning went fine, and I made sure to let the teachers know my last name was Jones-Martinez. None of them turned up their nose at me or gave me any indication that I was different. All of that nonsense was my mother’s doing.
After I set the table for dinner, I sat down and read over the flier with all of the clubs listed. My mom asked me about the clubs while she carried on a conversation with Thomas as they moved around the kitchen making dinner. Thomas told me to read off the clubs that were available.
“Oh! Join the pep squad, Salem!” Mom eagerly suggested.
I rolled my eyes and then frowned at her.
“What? What’s wrong with the pep squad? You’d love something like that,” she said.
“Uh, hi. Have we met?” I asked.
“The pep squad would be fun,” she reiterated.
“Mom, I hate sports. I hate fake people, and I hate being a fake person and pretending that I care about some stupid sport.”
“What about the culinary club?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure I can impress everyone with my mad microwaving skills.”
“Well, you need to do something to fit in,” she said loud enough for me to hear.
“Why? Why is that so important to you, Mom?”
“It’s not. But it should be important to you. You don’t want to be an outcast. Let me remind you that this isn’t—”
“Chula Vista? Yeah, I’m not blind, and you remind me of that often.”
