Free Lauren Yanofsky Hates the Holocaust by Leanne Lieberman

trees, hunched over, looking behind him every few feet. I’m so intent on watching, I don’t notice anyone behind me until a voice says, “Hey, Yanofsky, is the coast clear?”
    â€œOh!” I jump up and turn around.
    Jesse flicks a flashlight in my eyes. “Hah, I scared you.”
    â€œI didn’t hear you coming.” I’m still gasping.
    Jesse playfully shoves me in the shoulder, and I push him back. He’s wearing jeans, a red ski jacket and a black toque. His hair hangs over his eyes like a sexy eye patch. I realize I’m looking at him and not saying anything, but before I can open my mouth, Jesse grabs my arm and propels me in front of him and out from the trees. “Whaddya see?”
    I swallow and try to compose myself. Jesse crouches behind me, still clutching my arm. I turn around and look at his beautiful face, then at the Nazi armband. The swastika is hand-drawn in black ink on white paper and held together with staples. Did they sit around making them while they drank? I feel the vodka churning in my gut. “So, whaddya see?” Jesse repeats. I peek around the tree. Mike has his back to us and is talking with Tyler and Justin. They are looking the other way, passing a beer back and forth.
    â€œAm I good?” Jesse sounds impatient.
    â€œYeah.”
    He squeezes my arm and takes off across the field. He jumps on Mike’s back and tackles him to the ground, squirting him in the head. Justin and Tyler fall down laughing.
    I lean back against the tree and think about the pressure of Jesse’s fingers on my biceps, the brush of his armband against my jacket. Then I hear Brooke calling my name. I come out from the trees and head toward the streetlight along the road. Brooke walks toward me. Kelly and Chantal stand by the road.
    â€œHey, where were you?” she asks.
    â€œOh, watching the guys. Did you see what they were—”
    â€œHey, Brooke,” Chantal calls. “Are you coming?”
    â€œJust a second.” Brooke turns to me. “We’re going to this other party at Kelly’s cousin’s friend’s house. Do you wanna come?”
    I look at Kelly and Chantal, posed with their cigarettes. “Nah, I think I’ll hang with Em and Chloe.”
    Brooke shrugs. “See you later then.” I watch them head toward the corner. Behind me, the guys have emerged from the trees and emptied their water guns and are now drinking and laughing. They’re still wearing their armbands. I don’t want to be near them, so I walk to the swing set where Chloe and Em are still working on their dance routine, oblivious to the guys.
    I watch them a moment as they cavort in the sand.
    It used to be the four of us on the swings.
    â€œHey, Lauren, we were looking for you,” Chloe calls out. “We’re going to DQ. Wanna come?”
    I hesitate for a moment. I’m not up for more talk about Christian youth group or the play. I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
    â€œOkay, talk to you later,” Chloe shouts at me. She and Em put their arms around each other and start waltzing toward the road.
    â€œ So long ,” Em sings.
    â€œ Farewell ,” Chloe calls out.
    â€œ Auf weidersehen, goodnight ,” they both shriek in falsettos. More giggles, more stumbling.
    I stand, shivering, in the middle of the park, alone in the dark. The shortest way home is directly through the area where the guys are standing. I keep to the outside of the park instead, dodging through the trees and then breaking into a run at the hill. None of them glance my way, but I don’t stop until I’m crouched in the tall grass on the tracks, with my hood over my head. I take a few deep breaths. I feel better, safer, hidden from the boys below.
    I try taking more deep breaths to calm myself, but I’m too agitated. I need distraction. I turn and sprint up the road to my street and then down the sidewalk to my