“So,” I ask Brooke, “why can’t you attend a Holocaust seminar?”
“I already know about that shit. I’ve seen the movies and everything.” Brooke stares out the window.
“Oh.”
“And my family.”
“What about them?”
“Well, being German and all.”
“I thought they were English.”
“My dad’s family is, but my mom’s family is Polish and German.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter to me.”
“You’re just saying that.”
I scowl at her. “Hey, you weren’t dressed up as a Nazi.” I tug on the edge of her boots. “You’ve got your own new costume.”
Brooke laughs. “Bet you’re not so keen on that, either.”
I shrug. “The eye makeup is brutal.”
“At least you’re honest.”
I shrug. “I could be more honest.”
“Yeah?” Brooke glances at me.
“I think you were a bitch about Jesse.”
Brooke smacks a hand against her thigh. “You said you weren’t interested!”
“Only because of the Nazi thing.”
Brooke clenches her fists against her legs. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. He certainly isn’t interested in me.”
“Yeah, I heard about that.”
Brooke blushes. “Please don’t remind me. It was so humiliating.”
I hold on to that thought for a moment.
Brooke says, “It’s good you guys are together. You know, being old friends and all. It makes a good story.”
“Yeah, except for the Nazi part.”
“I think you should let that go.”
“I can’t.” I say this so fiercely, I surprise even myself.
Brooke squints at me, not understanding the determination in my voice. “The whole thing will blow over by next week.”
“Hope so,” I say. “Do you think you could arrange some other scandal to distract everyone?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Get caught smoking in the chem lab or make out with Kelly in the hall.”
Brooke makes a face. “Gross!”
She stands up and moves toward the exit, motioning for me to follow her. We get off the bus at the edge of the campus by the water, a part I don’t know well. Glimpses of the sea flash through the thick evergreen trees, like stars in a gray sky. Brooke pushes her hair out of her eyes and starts walking along the sidewalk. “I wonder who ratted the guys out.”
I shrug, looking out at the sea.
“I heard someone turned in an armband with all the guys’ names on it.”
I swallow. “Pretty shitty.”
“I keep wondering who would care enough to do that.”
I turn to her and stop. “Well, maybe it was someone gay.”
Brooke frowns. “What? Why would you say that?”
“Because the Nazis killed gay people too. Or maybe”—I arch my eyebrows—“it was someone Polish, because the Nazis killed lots of those too. No, I think it had to be someone disabled. Or a Communist, or an artist. Do you think any artistic people from our school were at the park that night?”
“I wasn’t saying it was you.”
I stare out at the sea. “I hate this whole crappy thing.”
“I wasn’t saying it was you.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
We stand on the sidewalk, cars zooming past us. Then Brooke says, “C’mon. Let’s go down to the beach and stop talking about this.” She points to a path a few meters ahead.
I follow Brooke to the path. “Is this the way to Wreck Beach?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How do you know about it?”
“Sometimes Kelly and Chantal and I come down here to hang out.”
The path through the trees is steep, and at the bottom there are some large boulders to climb over. Even though there isn’t much wind, it’s colder down here on the sand. Brooke and I perch on a damp log and listen to the hiss and pull of the waves slapping the shore, the seagulls screeching overhead. Brooke shivers in her thin jacket.
“Zach and I have been making lanterns,” I tell her.
“Oh yeah, what kind?”
“Planes. Zach loves planes these days.”
“Oh, that’s cool.”
“Actually, Zach has been making the lanterns. I suck at it.”
Brooke nods. “You could take him to the festival next summer.”
“Maybe,” I say. “I’m not that into it anymore.”
“How come?”
“I think I’ve had enough fire experiences.” I hold up my bandaged hand.
“How did that happen?”
I consider telling Brooke about burning the book.
“Just being careless.”
“Oh.”
The book reminds me of the armband and the fact that my father is talking about the Holocaust at my school—to Jesse and all the other kids—right now. What if Jesse’s parents make him go back to boarding school?
What if he finds out it was me who ratted him out?
“You know what I really want to burn?” I say.
“What’s that?”
“I want to burn up the Holocaust.”
“You mean at the lantern festival?”
“Yeah.”
“How would you do that?”
“I don’t know. Light a giant swastika on fire.”
Brooke laughs and shakes back her hair. “I think people might try to kill you if you did that.”
I nod. “And it wouldn’t work anyway. Burning something doesn’t make history or memory go away.”
It starts to drizzle, so we head back up to the road and sit shivering in the bus shelter. The fog has lifted a little, and I can see down to the water.
Brooke and I both play with our phones on the bus ride home. I think about how Brooke and I will never go to the lantern festival again, or play on the beach. I can see it in her eyes. We’re never going to go on an adventure together again.
When we get off the bus in front of Brooke’s townhouse, I say, “You’re still going to play basketball this year, right?” Cars are whipping past us, but I can only focus on Brooke.
“I think I might skip this year.”
I rub my hands against my jeans. “That’s crazy. You love basketball.”
Brooke shakes her head. “You’ll have fun without me.”
I pull on my hair. “Why are you doing this?”
“Giving up basketball?”
“Well, everything. Giving up Chloe, Em, me.” I feel like shaking Brooke, like waking her up from whatever alternate life she thinks she should live now.
“I told you, I’m not into praying and singing.”
“Neither am I.”
“I know, and I invited you to parties with Chantal and Kelly. I wanted you to come.”
I nod slowly. “I guess you did.” But that isn’t the answer I’m looking for. “Thanks for the adventure then, and have a nice life.”
“Hey, don’t be like that.”
“Yeah, okay.” I try to smile, but it feels fake, like my face is just pretending when really I want to cry.
Brooke walks away and I sit down at the bus stop and put my head down on my knees for a moment. Sometimes the sadness I feel is so heavy, even though I know I’m a lucky person. I’m not feeling the anguish of being poor or hungry or sick, but still.
When I get home, Dad’s car is in the driveway, and down the street I can see Jesse playing basketball. He waves and dribbles the ball toward me.
“Hey, where were you?” Jesse hugs the ball to his chest.
“I couldn’t stay.”
“Oh. Where did you go?”
“Just out with Brooke.”
“With Brooke? I thought you guys weren’t friends anymore.”
“We’re not.”
Jesse gives me a funny look.
I ignore him.
“How was the lecture?”
Jesse cocks his head to the side. “Well, parts of it were depressing—the movie and the history—but your dad’s a good speaker. He was kinda uplifting at the end.”
“Uplifting?”
“Yeah, he talked about fighting prejudice, that kind of stuff.”
I nod. “Did everyone know he was my dad?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
I cringe. “Great.”
“I don’t think that’s what everyone’s talking about right now.”
“What are they talking about?”
“Oh, you know, who turned us in.”
“Right. Yeah, I don’t know. Are your parents still freaking out?”
“Nah, I think they’re under control. I promised them extra-good behavior. I mean, I didn’t fail any courses or steal anything. I’m grounded for two weeks, no parties or anything. But”—he smiles and hip-checks me—“they didn’t say anything about you not coming over.”
“Oh, good.” I nod.
“So, what are you doing now?”
“Well, my dad’s at home, and I think I should go talk to him, ’cause he’ll know I wasn’t at school.”
“Maybe you could come over later, like after dinner.”
“Maybe.” I kick at the pavement. I know I don’t sound very enthusiastic.
“Cheer up. I’m not going to boarding school, the lecture’s over, so’s my in-school suspension. It’s all done.”
“Great.”
“What’s with you?”
“Oh, just stuff with Brooke.”
“Girls, man. You guys are rough on each other.”
I nod. “See you later.”
“Have fun with your dad.” Jesse leans over to kiss me and I kiss him back, but I feel too guilty to enjoy it.
Dad is waiting for me in the front hall. He’s wearing a shirt and tie, and his hair looks like he combed it. He says, “Hey,” as I take off my jacket and boots.
“You’re home early,” I say.
“Well, I had this speaking engagement.”
“Oh, where at?”
“Your school.”
“Right.” I nod. “I heard something about that.” I start walking toward the kitchen. Dad follows me.
“While I was there, I looked for you. I’m pretty sure the letter said all grade eleven and twelve students were to attend.”
I pour myself some water. “You’re right, I wasn’t there.” I look at him squarely. “I missed Holocaust 101, right?”
Dad nods.
“Are you going to tell on me?”
He shakes his head, still smiling. “To whom?”
“I don’t know.”
Dad sits on a stool. “Did you know what was going on at school?”
“The seminar?”
“Lauren.”
“Oh, you mean the armbands?”
“Yes, the armbands.”
“I’m going to ask you a favor.”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t ask me that.”
Dad sighs and loosens his tie. He points for me to sit next to him.
“Aren’t we done yet?”
“No.”
I reluctantly sit on the stool. Dad drums his fingers on the counter. “Here’s what I’m thinking. One, you didn’t know about the armbands, but I find that hard to believe. Two, you knew and you didn’t do anything, and I find that harder to believe. Three, you knew and you did something about it, and I find that commendable and believable. And so, I’m going to say you did a good thing.”
I stare into my water glass. “So there’s no doubt now. Everyone at school knows about the Holocaust.”
“The grade elevens and twelves anyway. Except for the ones who were skipping.”
“Like Brooke.”
“We’ll invite her over for her own personal session.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. She’s, like, a quarter German.”
“And how does she feel about that?”
“Creepy.”
“Is that one of the reasons you decided not to attend your own father’s lecture?”
“One of them.”
Dad sighs. “And do you think I came to school to make you feel uncomfortable and make Brooke feel guilty?”
“I kinda do. That might not have been your goal, but that’s what happens. Now everyone knows they should treat Jews all special because people keep trying to wipe us out. It’s like we’ve cornered the market on suffering.”
Dad sighs again. “It’s difficult to explain to you now what I was talking about at your school, since you decided not to attend, but if you had been there, you would have known I was there to promote tolerance, using the Holocaust as an example. One of my colleagues from the Holocaust center gives similar presentations about bullying.”
“Well”—I sip my water—“Jesse did say the end of your talk was kinda uplifting.”
“He wasn’t skipping too?”
“No. He said you were a good speaker.”
“He’s a good kid. I think his boarding school helped straighten him out.”
I look carefully at Dad’s face to see if he knows Jesse was one of the kids playing the game. I don’t think he does.
“If you’re curious about the talk I gave, I’m giving it again at a school in Surrey next week.”
“Oh, I’ll think about it.” I get up to leave, then sit back down. “Wait. There’s something I don’t get. If it’s really about teaching tolerance, why can’t you use some other tragedy as an example?”
“You could.”
“But you don’t.”
“Well, I am a Holocaust historian. That’s my field.”
I nod. Fair enough. I start to stand up again, but Dad says, “I have a question for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you all of a sudden so squeamish about the topic?”
I knit my fingers together and squeeze. My hand still hurts, and I want to distract myself with pain. How to answer this without giving him a summary of how the Holocaust has affected me? I sigh. “I’m sick of the Holocaust being the defining element of being Jewish. It’s like there’s bagel and lox, and there’s the Holocaust, and that’s it.”
Dad sighs. “You know, it doesn’t have to be that way. There are lots of other parts to being Jewish.”
“Like?”
“Well, for me, the most important part of being Jewish is social justice. I’m not really a spiritual person, but being ethical and helping others to be ethical is what makes me Jewish.” Dad pauses a moment. “Maybe if you attended Jewish camp or youth group or Hebrew school, you wouldn’t feel that the Holocaust was the only Jewish thing in your life.”
I make a face. “I think I might convert to something else instead.”
Dad rubs his forehead. “Please don’t tell your mother that right now.”
Both of us glance out at the garage. “Is Zach still out there?” I ask.
“I haven’t checked yet.”
“You want me to go out?”
“Not yet.” Dad drums his fingers on the counter again. “You hungry?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
Dad opens the freezer. “I don’t think we have any lox, but we definitely have bagels.”
Mom comes home a few minutes later and joins us at the counter. “How’s your hand?” she asks me.
“Better.”
“Good.” She looks at Dad. “How was your lecture?”
“Fine, good.”
She looks at me, and I nod. “Dad was great.” Dad kicks me under the counter.
“Zach still out there?” She looks out the back window.
Dad says, “I haven’t checked on him yet.”
“Really? I came home early to see what was going on.”
“Lauren and I were talking about other things. Besides, I’m pretty sure Zach’s having a grand old time eating Cheezies and grapes.” Dad holds up an empty grape bag.
“Actually, I ate those,” I say.
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br /> “Oh.”
Mom starts moving toward the back door. “Wait,” I say. “Let me go out.” Mom nods, and I head out to the garage. Zach’s lying on an air mattress, in an old blue sleeping bag.
“Hey, I brought you an apple.”
Zach lifts his head up. He looks pale and tired. “No, thanks.”
I squat by his mattress. “You don’t look good.”
“It’s the hunger strike.”
“How long since you ate?”
“I scarfed a bag of chips Monday night.”
“Nothing since then?”
“No, that wouldn’t be fair.”
“Zach, that was days ago, so you’re kidding, right?”
Zach closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“I told you to cheat!” I punch the air mattress by his head.
Zach rolls over on his side. “It has to be real, so they’ll see I’m serious. And I’ve been drinking a lot, so I’m not dehydrated. According to my research, I should be okay for another two weeks.”
Zach’s surrounded himself with comic books and water bottles, but he looks too listless to move. I want to shake him, but I know that won’t work. Instead I say, “Can I talk to you for a bit?” Zach nods, and I sit next to him. The garage is damp, and I shiver. “How long are you going to go on?”
“Until they give in.”
“No bar mitzvah?”
“No monkey show.”
“It’s the people, right?”
Zach nods.
I tap my fingers on my knees. “What if there weren’t a lot of people? Would you do it then?”
“What do you mean?”
“Say there were only a few guests.”
“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.”
I rub my fingernails against each other. “So it’s not the learning you’re against.”
Zach shrugs.
“I think I may have a plan. I’ll be right back.” I race into the house and get my Tanach—my Hebrew Bible—and crouch down next to Zach. “Okay, what if we open this at random? Could you read it?”
“Can I go over it once?”
“Sure.”
Zach rolls over on his stomach and props himself up on his elbows. I watch as he reads through the Hebrew. Even though I attended Hebrew school for eight years, I still had to study hard to learn how to chant the Hebrew. I watch Zach’s lips moving.
“Okay, I think I can do the first part,” he says.
“Go for it.” I follow along in the text as Zach chants half a page effortlessly, using the correct musical notation. “Wow.”
Lauren Yanofsky Hates the Holocaust Page 14
