trickling from his nose.
âLiam, he canât apologize if he canât breathe.â I tugged at his shoulder. âLet him up.â
Teachers and lunch aides surged forward, pulling Liam and the other boy apart. Charlie rushed up beside us. âWhat were you thinking?â he admonished.
The principal, Mr. Owens, crossed the schoolyard. âI should expel you!â
Charlie stepped forward quickly. âRespectfully, Mr. Owens, that isnât necessary. I will take him home right now myself.â
The principal paused, then acquiesced. âFine.â Charlie was a student leader, someone he trusted. He wagged a finger in Liamâs direction. âBut next time, youâre outta here.â
âDadâs going to wallop you.â Charlie scowled once the principal and other teachers were out of earshot. My heart ached that Liam would be punished simply for sticking up for meâagain. I wanted to run after him and explain to his parents. âAnd now Iâm going to be late for class.â Liamâs face fell. He could handle expulsion or whatever punishment his folks might hand out. It was Charlieâs disapproval that was too much to bear.
âBut he was only trying to stick up for me,â I began.
âI donât need your help,â Liam cut me off tersely. He did not care about punishment, or what the other kids thought of himâexcept for Charlie.
âCome on.â Charlie started to lead Liam from the schoolyard, then turned back. âAddie?â
My heart lifted as it did every time he said my name, wondering if maybe this time he would mean it differently. Was he finally noticing?
I spun back hopefully. âYes?â
âWill you stop by the science lab and tell Mrs. Ferguson Iâm going to be late?â
They set off across the parking lot, leaving me behind. âSure.â I turned away, dejected. How could I possibly have thought he would say something more?
I had always been able to sense change, like the way Nonnaâs leg used to ache before a storm. My neck would tighten and stay tense for days. My appetite would fade to nonexistent and Iâd grow tired, sleeping long, restless nights that were full of vivid dreams, even darker and stranger than usual. Iâd awaken more exhausted than Iâd ever gone to sleep, as though I had traveled great distances in my dreams.
Iâd been that way for more than a week now and I yawned as I stood in my wool coat on the porch, which was still damp from the nightâs rain. I hadnât seen the boys since school on Friday. I still went to the Connallysâ most nights during the week. Charlie (or Jack, during football season when Charlie had practice) would call for me after dinner and then bring me home. My aunt and uncle had stopped fighting me about visiting the Connallys, as long as my homework was done.
They insisted, though, that I stay home on Shabbes. Back in Trieste, my family had been secular, attending the large synagogue in our neighborhood only on high holidays. But here the block quieted Friday nights and Saturdays, the men making their way to shul and the women keeping the children busy without putting on the radio. It was always a long, sluggish day in the tiny house, and I filled it as well as I could, doing my assignments for school and writing letters to my parents.
âThey havenât written back,â I fretted the day before at lunch.
âThe mail is disrupted,â Aunt Bess said, speaking authoritatively, though she could not possibly have known for sure. âIâm sure theyâre fine.â
âBut what if they arenât?â Iâd pressed. They could be trying to get word out, or even want to leave now, and we would have no way of knowing. My question hung unanswered in the air.
It was Sunday now and I could leave the house. But there was no sign of Charlie. Perhaps he had forgotten about me. Did I dare to find my way to the