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  I sigh and get out of the car. Dad might be right about the true motivation behind the swastikas, but he doesn’t have to be me. He doesn’t know what it’s like, expecting to see it on the office bulletin board or the atrium wall. He can’t understand how it feels to scan a crowd of faces, searching for the expression of sympathy that says it’s happened again. Welcome to my world.

  No stares today. Could I get that lucky? I’m almost all the way down the main hall, and not a single person has pulled me aside to tell me how sorry they are about the bad news.

  Uh-oh. Someone is standing in front of my locker. Wait—that’s Link Rowley. He’s kind of the star-athlete Big Man on Campus around here. He’s also the guy who pranked my father’s office. I sincerely doubt he wants anything to do with me.

  “Dana, can I talk to you?”

  So much for that theory. “Okay—uh, what about?”

  He looks around furtively, like an escaped convict keeping an eye out for the police. “Not here.”

  He grabs my arm and drags me to the stairwell. He waits for a couple of kids to disappear up the steps before speaking. And even then it’s a barely audible whisper.

  “I can’t hear you,” I say self-consciously. I’m not used to popular boys talking to me in any school, much less this one. What’s going on?

  “I said I think I’m Jewish.”

  Whatever shyness I might have had around him vanishes as my anger flares. “You think that’s funny after everything that’s been happening?”

  “No, seriously! I—”

  I just about bite his head off. “How many of your idiot friends are about to jump out and have a good laugh at the Jewish girl?”

  “It isn’t like that at all! Listen to me!”

  The story that pours out of him is too stunning to be a joke—that his grandmother was handed over as a baby to nuns to escape the Nazis. She was the only one of her Jewish family to survive the Holocaust.

  “That’s awful!” I tell him, and I mean it. “But why are you just bringing this up now?”

  “I only found out yesterday,” he explains earnestly. “Nobody ever told me. But this swastika business has got my mom all upset.”

  I take stock of him. He’s 1,000 percent serious and pretty emotional about it too. Unless he’s the greatest actor in history, I totally believe that he’s just found this out about himself.

  “I can see how that’s pretty heavy news,” I tell him.

  “I know. That’s why I came straight to you.”

  That brings me up short. “To me? Why?”

  He regards me in surprise. “Because you’re Jewish.”

  “So?”

  “So maybe you can tell me … you know … what to do.”

  I’m at a total loss. My great-great-grandparents emigrated to America at the turn of the twentieth century; any relatives of mine who died in the Holocaust were cousins of ancestors I never knew. Nothing nearly as close as what Link just described.

  “What do your parents say?” I ask him.

  “They want to ignore the whole thing,” he tells me. “But you can’t listen to them. They’re the ones who kept me in the dark. I’m not going to let them stop me from being who I am.”

  “Wait a minute.” I struggle for the right words. “Are you saying you want to be Jewish? Like, change your religion?”

  He shrugs unhappily. “I don’t know. It’s not like religion is a big part of my life to begin with. We’re not regular churchgoers or anything like that.”

  “We’re not that religious either,” I tell him. “We don’t keep kosher or go to services every week. We’re a hundred miles from the nearest synagogue, and my family’s okay with it. We still celebrate holidays, but we do it our own way. My parents are fossil hunters. Their careers are more important to them than being religious.”

  “But you’re definitely Jewish, right?”

  He seems so anxious about it that I have to laugh. “A hundred percent,” I assure him. “In fact, you are too, technically. The tradition is it goes by the female line. If your grandmother’s Jewish, and your mother’s Jewish, then so are you.”

  His face grows animated. “See, that’s the kind of thing I need to know! What else have you got?”

  I smile. “I’m not a rabbi. Why is this so important to you?”

  For someone who’s never struck me as being the kind of guy who chooses his words carefully, Link seems to be thinking very hard about what he wants to say. “I can’t quite explain it. All my life, it’s been like everybody knows more about me than I do. My dad talks about my future as if he sees it and I don’t. My friends look at me as a certain kind of person—sporty, popular, a joker. And that fits … but not all the way. Now suddenly I find out that I’ve been somebody different from the start. I’m confused about whether the things I’m doing are actually things I should be doing. You know?”

  It’s as if the shock of this news jump-started his brain … and I have no idea what to tell him. I’m not the official Welcoming Committee for Judaism—but I recognize I’m all he’s got. And one of the things I do know about being Jewish is that we don’t turn our backs on people who come to us for help.

  The bell rings, offering rescue from this very unexpected conversation. “Okay,” I venture, “thanks for, uh, sharing—” I start walking away.

  “But we’re not finished!” he protests.

  “We have homeroom.”

  “You can’t leave me hanging,” he insists. “You’ve been Jewish your whole life, but I’m thirteen years behind. I have no idea what to do.”

  The number thirteen sticks in my brain.

  “Bar mitzvah lessons,” I blurt.

  He goggles at me. He has no idea what I’m talking about.

  “That’s what a thirteen-year-old Jewish guy is usually doing,” I explain. “Preparing for his bar mitzvah. Really—I have to go.” And before he can reply, I step into the stampede of kids that fills the hallway.

  When I glance over my shoulder, Link is still in the stairwell, a stunned expression on his face.

  Dad’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “You want to be Jewish?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying,” I tell him. “I’m saying I want to have a bar mitzvah.”

  “Which is something Jewish people have!”

  “If you go by the rules, I’m as Jewish as anybody,” I argue. “I get it from Mom, and she gets it from Grandma. I spoke to Dana Levinson a couple of times at school today, and she explained the whole thing. And I checked it out on Google.”

  My father’s tone drips with sarcasm. “Well, if Google says it’s okay, then by all means, let’s turn our lives upside down and change everything about ourselves.”

  “You’re not listening,” I insist. “I don’t want to change everything. I just want to try this and see how it feels. I’m thirteen, which is perfect bar mitzvah timing.”

  My mother has been silent for most of this conversation, trying to shrink behind the pork chop on her plate. She’s pretty shaken up, but I don’t think she’s as determined as my father to say this isn’t happening. For one thing, Dad keeps glancing in her direction, expecting her to jump in and support him. It hasn’t happened. Mostly, she just looks torn.

  Finally, she speaks up. “I didn’t know being Jewish follows the mother’s line.”

  “So you’re Jewish too,” I inform her. “You could have a bat mitzvah—Dana had hers right before she moved here. You’d be kind of late, though. Like, twenty-seven years.”

  “No, thank you,” she replies faintly. “But, Link—this is just not practical. There’s no synagogue in Chokecherry.”

  “I thought of that. The nearest one is in Shadbush Crossing. Temple Judea.”

  “That’s a hundred miles away!” Dad explodes.

  “Yeah, but we’ll only have to go once—for the actual thing,” I reason. “Rabbi Gold says—”

  “Hold up!” Dad pushes his plate away, his dinner untouched. “Who’s Rabbi Gold?”

&nbs
p; “I called over there,” I supply. “He’s pretty chill. And Temple Judea is Reform, which is super chill. Their take on the rules is more welcoming for someone like me. Most of their bar and bat mitzvah kids have been learning Hebrew since they were little, so I’m way behind. But the rabbi says that if I’m really, truly committed to this, he can design a kind of bar mitzvah crash course—he’ll write the Hebrew parts out phonetically so I don’t have to learn a whole different alphabet. I’ll practice at home and work with him on Zoom. But he wants to talk to you guys before we pick out a date. You know, just to make sure everything’s kosher.” I wink.

  My father actually flinches, like I’ve taken a swipe at him. Typical. It’s always about him.

  “You know why the rabbi wants to talk to us, Link?” he asks. “Because he notices—as we do—that all this is complete and total nonsense!”

  I’ve been expecting this, and I already know what I’m going to say. “It isn’t really, when you think about it. I get that it’s unusual. But if you take all the details one by one, nothing is nonsense. The Jewish part is totally on the up and up—even Rabbi Gold says so. Learning my bar mitzvah part phonetically is doable, especially since the rabbi is willing to work with me on Zoom. And Shadbush Crossing isn’t the moon, so it won’t kill us to drive there one Saturday.”

  Dad’s unimpressed. “Just because something’s doable doesn’t mean you have to do it. I know you, Link. You’re not feeling any great religious calling. If you’ve been to church a dozen times in your life, it’s a lot—and even then you had to be dragged, kicking and screaming. You think it’ll be any different if there’s a Star of David on the hymnbook instead of a cross? What’s all this really about?”

  I sit back with a sigh. There’s no way to explain it to him. There’s no way to tell him everything … and even the parts of it I understand aren’t the kind of things we ever talk about. Do I suddenly feel the need to have another religion? No. Is my life now going to be all about Judaism? No. But my life should be about something, even if I haven’t figured out what it is yet.

  A lot of things have happened lately to get me thinking about that. So when Mom told me the truth about Grandma, I couldn’t just file it away under Who Cares? and go back to being the old me. I picture my grandmother, all four foot ten of her. We’ve been measured back-to-back ever since I was old enough to stand. I’ve been taller from the age of nine on up. How could something so huge have happened to someone so small?

  I’m as honest as I can be with him. “I wish I could tell you, Dad. It’s like I’m exploring, even though I don’t really know what I’m looking for. The rabbi says this could be my way of honoring Grandma’s relatives who died in the Holocaust, and all my cousins who never got the chance to be born. The only thing I’m sure of is I have to try.”

  My mother gets up, walks over to my chair, and hugs me so hard I can’t breathe for a moment. “That’s beautiful,” she says with a little sniffle. “Especially with this horrible swastika business going on.”

  Dad knows when the jig is up. “All right,” he grumbles. “I never thought these words would come out of my mouth, but … let’s have a bar mitzvah.”

  I corner Dana in the cafeteria line the next day at lunch. “Hey, what are you doing December fourth?”

  She regards me warily. “I don’t know. Why?”

  I beam at her. “Well, save the date, because you’re invited to my bar mitzvah.”

  She staggers a little, and a bowl of hot vegetable soup topples off her tray and lands on my sneakers.

  “Oh—sorry—” she apologizes.

  I grab a fistful of napkins and dab at my shoes. “Not exactly the reaction I was expecting. I thought you’d be happy.”

  “This is a joke, right?”

  “No, I’m serious,” I tell her. “It’s at Temple Judea in Shadbush Crossing. Ten a.m. Your whole family’s invited, since you’ll need a ride.”

  She looks horrified. “But I was only kidding about the bar mitzvah!”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t. You were right about the female-line thing. Rabbi Gold says I’m a hundred percent legit.”

  “It’s just that”—she’s grasping for the right words—“when I had my bat mitzvah, I’d been in Hebrew school since I was seven. You can’t just start from scratch now and be ready by December.”

  “Already taken care of,” I assure her. “Rabbi Gold’s hooking me up with everything I need written out phonetically. I won’t have to learn how to read Hebrew. And he’ll tell me what it all means, so we can talk about it. He’s big on making sure I understand what I’m saying. Don’t worry, Dana. I’ve got this. So what do you think?”

  Her lower lip quivers. “It’s all my fault!”

  “Huh?”

  “When I said you should be practicing for your bar mitzvah, I was just trying to get rid of you so I could go to homeroom! It was a joke! Even when you kept asking about it … I didn’t expect you to call a rabbi! We don’t even have a rabbi in this town!”

  “Well, you might have been kidding, but you were right. Just because you weren’t serious doesn’t mean it wasn’t great advice. So you’re a yes for December fourth?”

  She’s flustered. “Uh—I’ll have to ask my folks.”

  “To be honest,” I go on, “I was hoping to hit you up for a little help once Rabbi Gold emails me the stuff I have to learn. You know, since you’ve been through this already.”

  She’s been holding her tray for this entire conversation, so her arms are probably getting tired, even though her lunch must be lighter without the soup.

  “I should eat now,” she says.

  “Sure. Let’s find a spot.”

  I follow her to one of the long tables, where she establishes herself near Andrew Yee, Michael Amorosa, and Caroline McNutt. Jordie and Pouncey are waving at me to join them at the table where they’re eating with Pamela and Sophie. I wave back but set down my brown-bag lunch next to Dana. It would be a jerk move to abandon her right after hitting her up for a favor.

  There’s a lively conversation going on between Andrew, Michael, and Caroline, but by the time Dana and I sit down, it’s all petered out and the three are staring at me. Those guys aren’t really my crowd. Michael’s artsy, Caroline’s into student government, and Andrew’s another one of the scientists’ kids, like Dana.

  “What’s up?” I say, to break the ice.

  “We’re talking about the student council meeting after school,” Caroline explains.

  Michael delivers an elaborate fake yawn, and she snaps at him, “Well, that’s the whole problem. Nobody ever comes to council meetings because they’re boring, but today’s is really important. We need to come up with a response to the swastikas—something so strong that whoever’s doing it will see this is not who we are, and we’re not going to take it anymore.” She turns to Dana. “You’re coming, right?”

  “We-e-ell …” Dana hems and haws.

  Caroline cuts her off. “You have to be there. You’re the only Jewish kid in the whole school.”

  “Not true,” I burst in.

  Caroline frowns. “Who else is there?”

  “Me.” There’s stunned silence around the table, so I go on. “Okay, it’s pretty new, but it’s definitely true. I just found out, so I’m taking it slow. Step one is my bar mitzvah. Dana’s idea.”

  Dana sinks a little lower in her seat.

  Caroline is the first to recover her voice. “So you’re coming too, right?”

  Fact: I would rather be deep-fried in boiling oil than sit through one of Caroline’s student council meetings. But once again, the image of that first swastika comes back to me, and I feel a chill down my spine. I understand it better now. It’s hard for me to imagine Grandma’s family dying in the Holocaust, since for sure they’d all be gone by now anyway. It’s Rabbi Gold who planted the phantom cousins in my mind—the ones who never had a chance to be born. One student council meeting is a small price to pay for all of them.

  “We’l
l be there,” I promise Caroline.

  “The meeting is in the library at three thirty sharp,” I tell the kids waiting in line at the used-tray return in the cafeteria. “You don’t want to miss it.”

  “I don’t know.” Tabitha Willebrand makes a face. “I’ve got plans at four. Some friends are going to the mall.”

  “Bring them along,” I urge. “We need everybody’s ideas. We’re going to decide on what to do about the swastikas once and for all.” When she doesn’t answer, I add, “Link’s going to be there.”

  “No way,” she says flatly. “Link Rowley? At a student council meeting?”

  “He personally promised me.”

  And she upgrades her RSVP to a maybe.

  I always knew that we could get more people excited about student government if the popular kids were more into it. Link probably means Jordie, since they’re the top jocks. Jordie probably means Pamela, since they’ve been basically engaged since Gymboree. It’s like dominos. Once they start knocking each other down, who knows where it’s going to end?

  I’m a little conflicted, since I’m against the idea of everybody worshipping the so-called cool crowd. But if Link’s name can bring a decent turnout to this very important meeting, then it’s worth it.

  I try again in the second-floor bathroom with the small group of girls hanging around the sinks. “Don’t forget the student council meeting after school. Link wants everybody to be there.”

  And later at the drinking fountain. “Three thirty in the library. Student council meeting. Don’t let Link down.”

  Sophie chokes over a mouthful. “You’re bugging. No way Link’s going to that.”

  “Oh yes he is. He told me at lunch.”

  Sophie doesn’t look convinced. On the other hand, she has not just a Link connection, but a Jordie connection and a Pamela connection too. I’d bet money that she’s already wondering why Link ate lunch with us today instead of with her and Pamela. If Sophie spreads the word, we might need a bigger room. Either way, it’s bound to be better than our last meeting, where not a single person showed up except me—and that includes the other council members.