Free Pastel Orphans by Gemma Liviero Page B

below his nose. Then the teacher says something in Polish that I don’t understand. He walks around the class examining the pictures, and I am suddenly embarrassed that I have drawn whiskers. He switches to German as he approaches me. I have covered my drawing with my arms. “Let me see,” he says firmly, his dark brown eyes fixed on mine like they will burn a hole in them.
    I take away my arms. His eyes roam over my drawing.
    “Hmm,” he says, nodding to himself. “Interesting . . .”
    He takes it to the front of the class and holds up the drawing for the rest of the class to see. The other children snigger, and when the teacher smiles, their sniggers erupt into laughter.
    “The winner,” he says, first in Polish and then in German, “is Henrik Klaus.”
    I am surprised. I was sure that I would be punished for drawing whiskers.
    Mama picks us up in Femke’s truck and I tell her that I need a work pad and pencils. I tell her about the day and about the drawing. Mama says that she always thought my wicked sense of humor would be my undoing.
    “But I won a prize,” I say, and present the bar of chocolate.
    When we arrive home, I ask Mama to help me with my Polish. I am determined that I must learn it quickly so that I can talk to the other children.
    I have been at school for several months. I have two friends, Jonas and Rani, who are Jewish, and one friend, Jasper, who is Catholic. We race each other at lunchtime.
    Greta doesn’t like the school very much. She has not learned the language as well as me, and sometimes the others mimic her accent. I tell her that they are not being mean; they are only wanting her attention because she is very pretty. But she wants to follow me. Jonas, Rani, and Jasper don’t seem to mind her there since she doesn’t say anything, just listens.
    Greta and I used to ride all the way to school but since my friend Jonas doesn’t have a bike, we walk part of the way after we reach his place. One day, on the way home from school, Jonas says, “Let’s have a running race across the field.” I tell Greta to stay on the side of the road and watch the bike.
    We race across the fields and down another track, and I am way out in front. He catches up when we come to another field, but I will not give up until I can outrun him, until I have won. Finally, we stop, once Jonas is out of breath and declares that I am the winner. We have been gone for a while and I suddenly remember Greta. We run all the way back, but we are slower now because we are tired, and it is getting dark. When we reach the spot where we left Greta, neither she nor the bicycle is there.
    We call her name and knock on the doors of houses close by to ask if they have seen her. We go to the brewery as the workers are leaving and they have not seen her either. I am so worried and so is Jonas, and we despair together. We walk back to the school and find a teacher still working. I am too afraid to go home and tell Mama that we have lost Greta.
    It is dark now and the teacher offers to drive us home. “The first thing we need to do is tell your mother.”
    My legs are trembling and there is a pain in my chest such as I have never felt before, even worse than when we left Berlin.
    When we enter the front door, Greta is inside, eating a piece of bread with jam. Her eyes are red and puffy. I have never felt so happy, and I rush to hug her. She turns away from me, more interested in licking the jam.
    “What do you have to say?” says Mama.
    “I’m sorry,” I say to Greta.
    We learn from Greta that she had tried to follow us on the bike, thinking she would meet us halfway. She had begun to go roughly the same way we had, but then the fields and tracks confused her, and with the sun quickly fading, she had panicked, heading in a different direction. By nightfall, she was distraught and began wheeling the bike when her legs became weary from riding across the thick grass. Someone drove by and saw her, and was kind enough to