Free Don't Talk to Me About the War by David A. Adler

return to the corner table and fold the newspapers. Beth is especially slow this morning gathering her books. I guess she doesn’t want to leave until the bulletin ends.
    “The rescue comes along with the disappointing collapse and surrender of Belgium’s army. Stay tuned to this station for all the latest news.”
    Now we can leave.
    Beth puts the newspapers on the bench as we walk outside.
    “That’s the second bit of really good news this week,” Beth says. “First your mother and now this.”
    It does seem to be a good week.
    We’re in front of the bakery and I hear the newsie call out today’s headline about the surrender of Belgium’s army and King Leopold’s ministers, escape to England. Someone should tell him about the rescue.
    We’re almost at the corner now and Beth says, “Thursday is Memorial Day. No school. Let’s meet at Goldman’s at about noon for lunch or ice cream. We’ll celebrate.”
    “Sure.”
    I look at Beth as we continue walking. She’s wearing her white dress with pink and yellow stripes. It’s my favorite. Of course, she’s wearing earrings, too. These are small silver hoops. They look nice.
    Sarah is at the corner waiting for us. I take a few quick steps ahead, so I can tell her my news before Beth tells her about the soldiers. I tell Sarah that Mom seemed to be so sick, that her hand shook, her legs were stiff, and that yesterday she went to the doctor. That’s why I looked so worried.
    “The doctor said she just needs to rest.”
    Sarah smiles.
    “I am happy for you.”
    “And listen to this,” Beth says, and repeats the news report we heard at Goldman’s, almost word for word.
    “The soldiers are safe?” Sarah asks.
    Beth nods.
    “This is very good. It is a victory,” Sarah says.
    “Well, not really. The Allies didn’t defeat the Germans. They just got away.”
    Sarah has more questions, but Beth can’t answer most of them, so after school Sarah will go with her to Goldman’s. It’s sure to be in the afternoon papers.
    We walk up the wide steps and enter school. Dr. Johnson is standing there, as formidable as ever, and I can hardly believe what Beth does. Sarah and I are anxious to get by as quickly as we can, and Beth stops to talk.
    “Did you hear the good news?” she asks the principal.
    “Move along,” Dr. Johnson says. “Go to your homeroom.”
    He stands there with his chest out and his feet apart, as if his sergeant just said, “At ease, soldier.” Dr. Johnson’s eyes dart from side to side, checking students as they enter the building.
    “The Allied soldiers, the ones trapped by the English Channel, have been rescued.”
    Dr. Johnson looks down at Beth. There’s an odd expression on his face, one I haven’t seen before. It’s almost a smile.
    “How do you know this?”
    “I just heard it over the radio.”
    Beth starts to tell Dr. Johnson what we heard, and he’s no longer interested in the children walking by.
    “I’m going to class,” I tell Beth and Dr. Johnson.
    “Yes. Yes,” Dr. Johnson says. “Go to class.”
    I enter our classroom and Mr. Weils tells me to go to my seat. “I’m just about to take attendance.”
    The bell rings and Mr. Weils starts.
    “Donner . . . Dorf . . . Dorfman . . . Doyle.”
    “She’s here,” I call out. “She’s in the hall talking to Dr. Johnson.”
    “Are you Beth Doyle?” Mr. Weils asks.
    “No. Of course not.”
    “Is she in this room?”
    I shake my head.
    “Then she’s absent.”
    Mr. Weils continues with the roll. When he calls out my name, I raise my hand.
    The bell rings at the end of homeroom and finally there’s Beth with Dr. Johnson. They’re standing by the door.
    “Don’t mark her late,” Dr. Johnson tells Mr. Weils. “She was with me.”
    “Yes, sir,” Mr. Weils responds.
    I look at Mr. Weils and smile. His right hand is at his side. The fingers are together and stiff—like he is ready to salute.
    Beth and I walk together toward our first-period classes. I have