Free A Faraway Island by Annika Thor Page A

goes to the back to the line. Britta is right in front of her.
    “Pay no attention to Sylvia,” Britta whispers, turning around. “She thinks she’s in charge.”
    The bell rings a second time and the classroom door opens. The teacher stands in the doorway, greeting each pupil as they go in, first the girls, and then the boys. Each child remains standing behind his or her desk, except for Stephie, who waits by the door.
    The teacher is tall and thin and wears her hair in a bun just like Aunt Märta’s.
    “Good morning, children,” she says to the class.
    “Good morning, Miss Bergström,” thirty high and low voices reply.
    “You may take your seats.”
    There is slamming and banging as the children settle in.
    “We have a new pupil in our class today,” Miss Bergström says. “Come to the front, Stephanie.”
    Stephie walks toward the teacher’s desk.
    “Stephanie has been on a long journey to get here,” Miss Bergström tells the class. “All the way from Vienna. What country is Vienna in? Sylvia?”
    “Austria,” Sylvia answers.
    Miss Bergström pulls on a string and down comes a map in front of the blackboard. A map of Europe.
    “Stephanie, would you show us the country you come from?”
    Stephie walks over to the map. But she cannot find the familiar outline of Austria. Instead, she just sees Germany, round as a balloon.
    “It ought to be here,” she says in bewilderment, pointing to the lower part of the balloon.
    Miss Bergström studies the map a moment. “Austria has become part of the German Reich,” she says with composure. She points. “This is Vienna, the musical capital of the world. And here is the highest mountain chain in Europe. What is it called? Vera?”
    “The Himalayas,” Vera replies.
    The whole class laughs.
    Miss Bergström sighs, then asks Britta if she knows the right answer.
    “The Alps.”
    “Stephanie, have you been to the Alps?”
    Stephie shakes her head.
    “The Alpine landscape,” Miss Bergström tells them, “is very fertile and—”
    There is a knock at the door.
    “Come in,” Miss Bergström says in an annoyed tone.
    An awkward figure enters the room. It’s the boy from down at the dock, the one who offered Stephie and Nellie a ride in his boat.
    He has to be at least fourteen. What’s he doing here, in the sixth grade?
    “Excuse me for being late,” the boy mumbles.
    Miss Bergström sighs. “Just sit down, Svante.”
    Svante walks sluggishly, taking a seat at the back of the room. He’s so big he just barely fits behind the desk.
    Miss Bergström brings the geography lesson to an end.
    “Stephanie is a foreigner among us,” she says. “Because of this terrible war she has had to leave her home and family.”
    Stephie gazes out over the fair-haired boys and girls. She meets their gazes, some curious, others sympathetic. Thirty pairs of blue, gray, or green eyes meet her brown ones.
    “I hope you will be very kind to Stephanie,” Miss Bergström continues. “And that you can overlook the fact that she doesn’t talk the way you do. That is because she isn’t Swedish, wasn’t born here like all of you.”
    Not-like-you-not-like-you
echoes in Stephanie’s head. It reminds her of the chug-chugging of the train on the tracks. She feels weak-kneed and dizzy.
    “May I sit down now?” she asks.
    Miss Bergström nods.
    Britta raises her hand. “Could she sit next to me? I know her.”
    “So do I,” says Svante.
    Sylvia laughs, whispering something to the heavyset girl at the desk next to hers.
    They have math for the first hour. The problems are easy, simple division Stephie learned in fifth grade. She waves her hand eagerly and finally gets a chance to solve one problem at the blackboard.
    “Quite right,” Miss Bergström tells Stephie when she is done. “Very good.”
    “Verrrrry good,” Sylvia imitates in a whisper. Miss Bergström pretends she hasn’t heard.
    When recess comes, Stephie hopes Vera will find her, but she doesn’t. Vera