“Salem, I want you to find a club to join. I want you to be part of this environment and be involved,” Mom said, firming her tone.
“Why? I wasn’t involved back in Chula Vista. This shouldn’t be any different.”
“This is a much better area for you, Salem.”
“Yeah, I’m fully aware that you want me to be someone I’m not.” Tears filled my eyes and threatened to spill over. “I told all of my teachers today that my last name was Jones-Martinez. So your plan to remove the only part of Dad that I have left isn’t working!” I yelled as the tears rolled down my cheeks. I pulled the long sleeves over my hands and quickly wiped the tears away with my sleeve-covered fists.
“Oh, Salem. Stop being so dramatic about your father.” She sighed as if this was an ongoing issue.
“Why is it so hard for you to understand that I want to know where I came from?”
“Salem, I’ve told you about our heritage. My side of the family is German, and your father’s side was Argentinian. He was the first of his family to be born in the US. You know everything, sweetheart. Your father is where your complexion comes from.”
“It’s beautiful. I love your olive skin, baby,” Thomas added.
“There isn’t much else to know, Salem.” Mom sounded bored with this conversation.
“There’s so much more to know,” I began. “His parents, his grandparents, aunts, and uncles.”
“Salem, it’s a waste of time for you right now. Concentrate on school and your friends.”
I was frustrated and flicked the flier onto the empty place at the table. Thomas mumbled something under his breath to my mom and then he sat beside me. He reached across the table and picked up the flier and skimmed it.
“Let’s see if we can find something, baby,” Thomas offered.
“I don’t want to be part of anything. I just want to focus on my classes and keep my grades up. I have my own hobbies,” I fussed.
Thomas’s mouth turned up into a smile, and he looked sideways at me.
“I bet I found something you’ll love,” he said in a sing-song tone. It made me want to slug him.
“I doubt it,” I replied.
“No, I’m sure I found something.”
“I looked at it during lunch, and there wasn’t anything that caught my attention,” I said.
“Oh, what did you find, Thomas?” Mom asked while she slowly stirred the pot on the stove.
“History—” he began, and I huffed out a laugh.
“No way. I wouldn’t want to be part of a history club. Lame.”
“Let me finish, baby. Historyandgenealogy.”
I frowned. Was he making this up? I didn’t see that earlier.
“What? That’s not on there. I looked—”
I stopped talking when Thomas set the paper down and pointed to “History and Genealogy”.
“Yes? Interested?” Thomas asked me.
I nodded and smiled.
“Yes. Thank you,” I said. I just might survive the rest of my sophomore year.
3
