1938

At home, my mom asks that I call her "Genevieve", or "Gen". She says it's to remind me that parents are still people, and so my brain doesn't try to compare her to other moms "subconsciously". Nothing to worry about there, she's already incomparable. Eccentric is another way to put it. At school, my mom asks that I call her 'Mrs. LaFayette.' That's because she's our teacher, in charge of French Language Arts. I'm in the French Immersion program, at her request, to make sure I have plenty of job opportunities down the line. She says a second language can "open up your world!". So far, all it's done is close mine up.
The French class is smaller, and Max has more friends than I do here. Now he's got a guy that's taller than I am, and twice as wide – he's the new 'Tank', and unlike me, he actually likes the name. It suits him. Mine's Garcia, which is Spanish. The problem was, every kid needed a name that could be made fun of. They didn't know how to make fun of mine.
She didn't know it yet, but my mom was going to help them with that. My mom is the helpful sort, always has been. Not without criticism, she's sure to correct you if you're on the wrong path. But help you she will, no matter what. She was teaching us what was going on in the world that day, what with all the global tensions that were rising. Germany on the prowl, making enemies out of old friends. But the only tensions anyone seemed to care about were the ones right there in the classroom. See, my mom? She's really pretty. Reddish-brown hair in gorgeous curls, thin face, smoky amber-brown eyes, and a bony body with curves. And she's EVERYONE'S favourite. When they see me getting special treatment just for being her kid, they get a little upset. None of them could say it out loud, obviously. How would it sound if you complained about a mom hugging her kid after a good test score? So instead, they liked to ask invasive questions. Just little probings, here and there, to check for weaknesses in our family's relationships. To find openings.
Tank put up his hand and asked, "Which Spanish country is Garcia from, Mrs. LaFayette?"
I took that one myself. "We're from a lot of places. But the Spanish one is Brazil, as far as I know."
"Is that why you're short?" he asked. "I learned there were pygmy tribes in Brazil. Are you a pygmy?"
"That's... Africa. You're thinking of Africa. And I'm not that short."
Tank sneered. "I'm big as a lumberjack cause my dad worked hard all his life, and he can buy STEAK for DINNER every NIGHT. That's why I have muscles, and you DON'T."
Mrs. LaFayette, sitting at her desk, didn't bother to look up. She was grading papers.
The kids hadn't given up yet.
"Does it HURT if I do THIS?" Max asked, jabbing me with a pencil.
"Ow! W-" I shrunk away. "Why would that not hurt?!"
Still, Mrs. LaFayette said nothing. She was scribbling notes, probably about how they were using the French language in a way that would shame an illiterate.
"If Garcia is your son, Mrs. LaFayette, how come his last name is 'Romero'?" Tank inquired, oh-so-innocently.
The problem was, mom likes me plenty, but she doesn't like being reminded of my father. She cleared her throat, and straightened her back. "Well, because he has a different father," she replied.
Max added, "A different father than Todd?"
"Yes, exactly. Todd's father is Felix, and Garcia's father is... Atlas." She let out a deep breath after saying it. She was hoping they wouldn't know who 'Atlas' was.
Unfortunately, they did.
"You mean Atlas Romero, the Vice Principal?!" Tank exclaimed.
The other kids' jaws laxed a bit, with mild awe. They couldn't wrap their heads around it. They knew Mr. Romero: a big, burly man with long brown hair and a silver streak running down it. He was notoriously joyous, but a bit awkward. He had a THICK accent that was mostly French, but also something else... like Spanish, or something. I didn't know him any better than they did, because he was always busy, and refused to see me. His wife didn't really like me much, didn't like being reminded of Genevieve. I wasn't sure if I'd happened BEFORE Atlas and Genevieve got married to other people... or AFTER.
Anyway, by Mrs. LaFayette's bothered reaction, they knew a sore spot when they spotted one.
"When did THAT happen?" Max pryed.
"Yeah," Tank egged him on, "Was that before you met Felix? Was that before Mr. Romero met his wife?"
Mrs. LaFayette said nothing. She was trying to remain still.
Max and Tank kept pressing.
"Do you, Mr. Romero, Felix, Garcia and Todd all have dinner together? With Mrs. Romero, too?" Tank asked.
Max cut in, "And do you guys all play sports together? Like hockey? Can you skate, Garcia? Can you? HUH?"
Mrs. LaFayette snapped at them, "It was mistake, alright?!"
Everyone was silent. I didn't react at first, but once I saw the shock on her face, I realized what she'd really said. My face turned red and I sank into my seat, not wanting to be seen. I'd already known, but now everyone else did, too.
Max was the first to say it out loud. "You mean Garcia was an ACCIDENT?!"
They didn't need to laugh, or guffaw. Not now. They'd be doing plenty of that later, in confidence.