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  Oh, how I wish I had.

  Even when I pressed down on the button to start the spray, I still didn’t know. The swastika practically painted itself. It said angry just as if the word was right up there. Dad was worried about my future? I was giving him something to worry about. More than one thing, in fact. I was saying: Here’s your perfect town, George Rowley! Here’s the next Orlando—a place so awesome it’s a shoo-in for Dino-land!

  I knew a swastika was a nasty thing, but I swear I didn’t realize how nasty. To me, it was anti-everything … which was how I felt at that moment. If you’d asked me about Nazi Germany, I would have remembered swastikas on tanks and airplanes from World War II movies. And, yeah, we did that Holocaust unit in fifth grade. But that was facts, numbers, a quiz at the end. It didn’t really sink in.

  I wanted to shock. It honestly never occurred to me that it would hurt people. Or scare them. Which is no excuse. None of this is an excuse. I’m only trying to explain—to myself, more than anyone else.

  What was I thinking?

  I wasn’t thinking. It’s the most thoughtless, heedless, brainless thing I’ve ever done.

  Which is how anger works. And also how hate works. I didn’t hate—and I don’t. But on that day, those two just crashed together in me.

  No excuses.

  So here I am, the most despised person in Chokecherry. I can’t say I blame anybody. I’m not even surprised by what’s happened to me. I already saw it happen to Pamela. I’m suspended indefinitely from school. I’ve been arrested on a vandalism charge. Our lawyer says I probably won’t have to go to juvie, but for sure I’m going to end up with some kind of community service. I don’t see how that’s going to work. No one in this community is ever going to let me get close enough to do any kind of service. And thanks to ReelTok’s giant community of followers, I’m reviled all around the world. I might be able to get a gig in Antarctica, keeping the eggs warm for the penguin dads, but that’s about it.

  That sounds smart-alecky, but trust me, there’s nothing funny about being me right now. I’ve always been pretty popular—I guess because I’ve got attitude and I’m good at sports and pulling pranks. I didn’t care about that—at least I thought I didn’t. But now that it’s gone, man, do I miss it. I don’t need to be loved. But being hated—I mean really hated—is truly awful.

  I can’t even blame them for hating me. I pretty much hate myself. Don’t forget: They just found out about me. I’ve known from Day One. You think it was easy sitting through all that tolerance education, learning every day that the bad thing I did was a thousand times worse than I thought it was? And when the other swastikas started appearing—even though I wasn’t doing them, I understood that they were my fault, because I started it. Every NO PLACE FOR HATE sign was aimed directly at me. If our school had become a place for hate, that was 100 percent my doing. And when I learned Grandma’s story, I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror.

  I wasn’t lying when I said my bar mitzvah was a tribute to my family killed during the Holocaust and the scores of relatives who never got the chance to be born. I felt that. I still feel that, more than ever. That was only half the story, though. As soon as Dana spoke those two words—bar mitzvah—I saw a lifeline, a way to make up for what I’d done, even just a little. I get that she was kidding. Why should she see me as Jewish? I’m not certain I see myself that way—it’s hard to shift gears after being something else your whole life. But I knew I had to try.

  It was hard at first. All those Hebrew words and sounds seemed so alien, and I had so much history and tradition to catch up on. But Rabbi Gold was super supportive, and once Dana started working with me, I really turned the corner. I’m proud of how far I’ve come. But now, the whole bar mitzvah thing is only making people hate me more. The kid who suddenly presents himself as Jewish secretly did the most anti-Jewish thing ever. What’s up with that? Like it’s just another one of my pranks—and this one’s on the whole town.

  Even the paper chain, great as it is, only makes me look worse. Not that it was my thing, or even my idea. But somehow my bar mitzvah and the project got rolled up together in people’s minds. Maybe it was Link and links, you know? Whatever the reason, our whole town is buried under 378 miles of paper chain, and it all started with a swastika—painted by the ultimate flimflam artist, me.

  Out of six hundred kids who can’t stand me, the one I regret the most is Dana. I guess I deserve her hating me more than anybody. She didn’t take me 100 percent seriously, but she helped me anyway. She was nice to me and so were her parents, even though they knew I did the dinosaur poop thing. Now that I’m kicked out of school, I don’t even have the chance to talk to her, to try to explain the unexplainable. I did see her once downtown, when my folks were taking me to visit our lawyer. The look she gave me would have fricasseed a rhino. I tried to call her and got a message that her phone was “not accepting calls.” I think that means I’ve been blocked.

  I keep hoping, though. One night I have to run to ransack the couch cushions for my ringing phone and pick up without checking first to see who it is.

  “Dana?” I ask breathlessly.

  “Link?” It’s only one syllable, but I recognize the girl’s voice immediately. It isn’t Dana. It’s just about the polar opposite of Dana. Suddenly, I’m very much aware of the hair on the back of my neck, and it’s standing at full attention.

  “Pamela,” I breathe.

  “I had to talk to you,” she tells me urgently.

  “Why?” At this moment, I can’t imagine another human wanting anything to do with me. Not even her.

  She seems surprised by the question. “Because you’re the only one who understands.”

  That’s when it hits me—Pamela and I have something in common. We both painted swastikas. She thinks we’re on the same team.

  “I did something stupid,” I tell her. “You did something hateful. And you kept on doing it even after you saw how it was affecting people.”

  “Which was the whole point,” she insists. “It’s like everybody’s asleep in this town. It took you to wake us up. To wake me up.”

  I always understood that my swastika inspired the others, but to hear it straight from Pamela’s mouth is devastating. The way she explains it, I’m practically the pied piper of racist symbols.

  I thought nothing could make me feel lower than I already do. I stand corrected.

  “How can you say all this, Pamela?” I demand, an uncomfortable quaver in my voice. “You know about my family. My grandmother …”

  “That makes you the perfect messenger,” she reasons. “Nobody would ever suspect you.”

  A dozen arguments pop into my head. Like the fact that I didn’t know about Grandma when I painted that first swastika. Or the obvious truth that her “perfect messenger” got caught just the same as she did.

  But I don’t say those things, because I have nothing to say to Pamela. My actions were inexcusable; hers were worse. And the most terrible part of all is that she honestly has no clue that she did anything wrong. Maybe it’s not her fault, coming from a family with connections to the KKK. That’s how racism survives from generation to generation. I can’t control that. What I can control is that she’s not going to be my problem anymore.

  “I’m hanging up now, Pamela,” I tell her. “I’m sorry for the way things turned out.”

  She starts yelling, but by that time, my phone is off my ear. All that comes through is a stream of rapid-fire chirping.

  I end the call, secure in the knowledge that I’ll never speak to Pamela Bynes again.

  The only friends I’m still in contact with are Jordie and Pouncey. By the time they show up on Wednesday, my parents are so glad to see I’m not a total outcast that they send them right up to my room. It’s not that Mom and Dad forgive me—they don’t. They don’t even forgive themselves for what a jerk I’ve turned out to be. But the shouting stage is finally over and we’ve moved on to figuring out how we’re going to survive
this. That’s right in Dad’s wheelhouse: my future, which doesn’t look so bright anymore. It’s also not lost on him that being father to the notorious swastika vandal isn’t a good look for the guy who’s trying to find investors for Dino-land and turn Chokecherry into the next Orlando.

  To be honest, I get a little choked up while Jordie, Pouncey, and I are bro-hugging and punching at each other’s shoulders. It proves that the world didn’t end for me, at least not completely.

  “Thanks for coming, you guys,” I tell them. “I honestly didn’t think I had a friend left in the world.”

  “Yeah, well, if anybody asks, I was never here,” Jordie says seriously. “My folks banned me from you.”

  “Mine didn’t,” Pouncey puts in. “Mostly because they don’t care what I do. Seriously, I told them I was going to see Jack the Ripper. My mom said, ‘Have a good time.’ ”

  “I think Jack the Ripper is more popular than I am around here these days.” I sigh. “The worst part is I totally understand why.”

  Pouncey nods wisely. “You really stepped in it this time. You’re making me look good, and that’s not easy. I’m usually the one Jordie’s not allowed to talk to.”

  “What’s everybody saying at school?” I ask. “I guess I’m not getting elected homecoming king anytime soon, right?”

  “People are pretty mad,” Jordie agrees. “Mostly, though, they just don’t get it. One minute, you’re Kid Bar Mitzvah, and the next you’re Swastika Guy? You can’t blame them for being confused. I’m confused.”

  “I’m confused too,” I admit. “But take my word for it: If I could go back in time and undo it, I would. Honestly, I didn’t know it’s possible to feel so bad in so many ways all at the same time. I feel bad for doing it. I feel bad for keeping you guys in the dark. I even feel kind of weird about Pamela. She probably never would have started if it hadn’t been for me.”

  Jordie studies his sneakers.

  “Yeah, yeah, and you steered the Titanic into that iceberg too,” Pouncey scolds me. “The whole world’s dumping on you. Why would you dump on yourself?”

  I shake my head. “Guys, I know we used to joke about getting kicked out of school, but when it really happens, it’s no fun. If I get expelled, I’ll have to go to boarding school somewhere. Or we’ll have to move. Seriously, I’d give anything to have Brademas yell at me one more time.”

  “Dude, take your temperature,” Pouncey cautions. “I hope you’re not contagious.”

  “What are you going to do?” Jordie asks me. “You’re supposed to be having a bar mitzvah on Saturday. That can’t still happen, right?”

  That’s the biggest question of all. For months, my life has been about one thing—the bar mitzvah. And here I am, 100 percent ready and knocking on the door—and I have no idea if it’s going to happen, or if it even should.

  Issue 1: Am I welcome at Temple Judea? I don’t have any synagogue experience beyond Zooming Rabbi Gold, but how can their congregation not hate me after what I did? I can’t even hope they haven’t heard. Everybody heard. ReelTok made sure of that.

  Issue 2: Why would my parents let me go through with it? It was hard enough for them to sign on to this plan in the first place. A swastika really doesn’t fit in with the rest of it. Is this supposed to be another one of the pranks I’m infamous for? If so, this one’s not just on them, but on a whole school, a whole town, and a whole religion.

  Issue 3: Even if I do go ahead with the bar mitzvah, who’d come? My official friend count is down to two—and one of them has to keep it a secret that he associates with me. Besides my parents, who’d be there? No one from Chokecherry. Maybe my grandparents. I called Grandma to apologize when the ReelTok interview came out, and she says she forgives me. I hope that’s true. I couldn’t tell from her voice over the phone. I feel horrible for taking something really strange and emotional from her life and making it even weirder.

  What a mess—and I genuinely have nobody to blame but myself.

  Dad ends the call and sets his phone down on his desk, leaning it against one of the yarmulke towers. “That was the synagogue office. They say to get to the temple by nine on Saturday morning.”

  “No way!” I exclaim. “That’s all? Nothing about—you know—it? Everything that’s happened?”

  “Maybe they haven’t heard,” Mom muses. “Not everybody follows your ReelTok, especially a religious community.”

  I shrug. “Maybe, but I doubt it. Thanks to the paper chain hitting six million, Chokecherry is all over the news these days—and so is this story.” I look from Dad to Mom and back to Dad again. “I’m so sorry, you guys. You supported me all the way, and I ruined everything. This screwup might even hurt Dino-land!”

  My father says the last thing I expect: “Who cares about Dino-land?”

  I stare at him. “You care about Dino-land! It’s the most important thing in your career! You invested all that time! All that money!”

  “The most important thing in my career isn’t as important as my son,” Dad declares.

  Mom puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’re your parents, Link. We love you. The instant you were born, we were on your side, no matter what.”

  In a way, that only makes me feel worse for letting them down. But it also feels kind of good to feel that bad for the right reasons.

  “It’s not going to be easy, but we’ll get through this as a family,” Mom goes on. “Right now, though, there’s a decision to be made about Saturday. And you’re the only one who can make it.”

  I think it over. There’s no way Rabbi Gold doesn’t know about the swastika. He’s probably testing me to see if I’ll confess. That’s the first thing they tell you about having a bar mitzvah—you’re supposed to be becoming a man.

  That’s what I have to do—man up.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m calling Rabbi Gold.”

  Rabbi Gold has a deep, resonant voice so that even when he says hello, it sounds like he’s making a major pronouncement from the pulpit. It intimidated me at first, until I realized what a nice guy he is.

  “It’s Lincoln Rowley,” I identify myself. “You know, from this Saturday.”

  He seems amused. “Even at my age, I usually remember kids I’ve been working with for months. What can I do for you?”

  I swallow hard. “I have to tell you something. And when you hear it, you’re not going to want to let me in your synagogue anymore.”

  He says, “You’re about to confess that you painted a swastika in the hallway of your school.” In the awkward silence he adds, “I’m in Shadbush Crossing, not Mars. Yes, of course I’ve heard. Would you like to tell me why you would do such a thing?”

  It’s out in the open now. I’m talking about the worst thing I ever did to the person best qualified to know how awful it is.

  “I don’t have an excuse,” I admit. “I didn’t paint that symbol because my hand slipped. I did it on purpose. The only thing I can say in my own defense is that I honestly wasn’t trying to be anti-Semitic or racist. I was trying to be a jerk. I don’t know if that’s much better, but it’s the truth.”

  “And this intention to be a jerk,” the rabbi prompts, “did you succeed?”

  “Man, did I ever!” I practically groan. “But the worst part is, I inspired a real racist to paint even more swastikas. Then things got out of control. The swastikas brought out stories about Chokecherry’s past, and suddenly, neighbors were fighting over whether all that had really happened—just like trolls on the internet say the Holocaust is made up. A swastika may be just a symbol, but it’s amazing how much trouble it can cause once it gets inside people’s heads.”

  I tell him the whole story—everything that happened, and as much of the why as I can figure out. When I’m finished, Rabbi Gold is silent for a long time, and I hang on, actually shaking. I never realized how much I want him to like me—especially now that almost nobody else does.

  At long last, he says, “Thank you for having the courage to come to me like thi
s. That speaks to your character as much as anything else you might have done. And while all this began with a horrible error in judgment, it gave rise to something remarkable—a paper chain of six million links, representing six million lives tragically lost to us in the Holocaust.”

  “That wasn’t all me,” I confess. “I mean, I helped, but it was our whole school, our whole town, the whole country and beyond. Almost everybody pitched in once they found out about it. Art supply companies sent us materials. Delivery services brought us paper chains from all around the world. It’s unbelievable how big it got.”

  “It’s not unbelievable,” the rabbi informs me, his voice softening. “It’s the way human beings ought to be. Link, there hasn’t been time for me to give you much of a formal Jewish education. But you might remember from Sunday school some of the stories of the Old Testament. God forgives us—and by doing that, God shows us how to forgive each other. Even more important, those of us who’ve been forgiven spend the rest of our lives trying to be worthy of that forgiveness.”

  Rabbi Gold has a way of looking at things that’s different from anybody else I’ve ever met. For the first time since ReelTok outed me, I begin to toy with the possibility that I’m not the worst person in the history of the planet.

  “And in that spirit,” he goes on, “be at the temple by nine a.m. Saturday and we’ll do this right.”

  So there it is. Rabbi Gold isn’t going to stand in my way. My parents are supporting me. I was so positive that the whole thing was going to be off that I never asked myself what I thought the right thing to do would be.

  Now it’s all up to me. I’ve got permission from everybody that matters—except myself. And I have to make up my mind before this call ends.

  Do I deserve a bar mitzvah on Saturday?

  Absolutely not.

  But do I want to go through with it?

  “Lincoln?” the rabbi prompts. “Are you still there?”