Free The Last Embrace by Pam Jenoff

it?”
    â€œIt’s just that colored and whites, they keep to themselves here.”
    â€œWhy?” I demanded. He blinked. Charlie was not used to being challenged.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said, revealing a crevice of doubt that he could not show as the oldest always trying to protect the others.
    â€œYou play football with some of the colored boys, don’t you?”
    â€œThat’s different.” He glanced uneasily over his shoulder. “Maybe we should discuss it at home.”
    â€œWhose home?” I liked Charlie, and the last thing I wanted to do was fight. But I couldn’t let it go. “Because if what you are saying is true, then perhaps the Jews and the Irish, they should keep to themselves too.”
    I was right and he knew it. But he clenched his jaw, as though admitting he was wrong would somehow be a weakness or flaw. Charlie saw the world in terms of black and white. “It isn’t that simple.”
    We stood facing one another squarely. He was clearly surprised that I’d stood up to him in a way that few people had. But he would not back down either. There was a light in his eyes, a respect that I hadn’t before seen.
    â€œAnyway...” Charlie cleared his throat, retreating. His eyes softened, holding mine. “I’m glad to see you.” My stomach flipped. Had he somehow guessed the truth about how I felt?
    From across the hallway, I heard a snicker, unmistakably aimed in my direction. My face flushed. The fact that I did not fit in here, it was always bubbling beneath the surface with my accent, my slightly darker skin. Kids simply could not imagine why the Connally boys, especially Charlie, wanted to be friends with me. Charlie did not seem to hear it or notice—things like that were below his line of sight. My anger grew. “They’re laughing at us.” This, coupled with the girls laughing at Rhonda and me in the cafeteria, was too much to take. I started down the hall.
    â€œAddie,” Charlie cautioned, wanting me to just leave it alone for the sake of peace. But I had never been able to look away from unfairness.
    My mind reeled back to one of the first mornings on the ship when I had awoken to find the chain which perpetually hung around my neck, holding the mizpah, gone. Across the narrow galley, I saw an older girl palming it casually.
    â€œGive it back,” I’d demanded. When the girl ignored me, I lunged for it. I was on the ground then, pinned under the larger girl, nails gouging like fire at my cheeks. With all my might, I lifted my knee and pushed the girl off of me, grabbing the necklace that had skittered across the deck. I put it back on, defying the other girl to try to take it again.
    I hadn’t been able to leave it alone then, and I couldn’t now. I approached the boy who had laughed at us. “Something funny?”
    His eyes widened, unaccustomed to being called out for his bullying. “Why don’t you go back where you came from?”
    As I opened my mouth to answer, the bell rang. “Come on,” another boy said, urging him outside. I started toward class. But as I neared the end of the tunnel there was a clamoring outside, and I saw Liam crossing the playground with swift, long strides toward the boy whom I’d confronted minutes earlier. I opened the door in time to hear the other kid say, “...Jew lover?” Liam drew back his arm. I heard a sickening crunch, flesh splitting, as Liam’s fist connected with the boy’s face. “Liam!” I cried, running toward him. He had a quick temper, an Irish temper, his mother had called it. He was forever getting into arguments. This was the first actual fight I had seen him in, though. The last thing he needed was further trouble.
    But Liam was on top of the boy who lay on the ground now, both hands around the boy’s neck. “Apologize,” he commanded. The boy gurgled helplessly, blood