by Katja Bartholmess
Chapter One
A piece of paper circles our grade classroom. A nudge in someone’s back, a turn of the head, and then a tightly folded note changes hands. It’s traveling to everyone – everyone but me.
I watch one of my classmates unfold the note under his desk. His head turns to me, only to swivel right back, as if caught. He uncaps his pen and adds something to the sheet before passing it on.
My eyes scan the room. The morning sun shines bright through the windows and bakes everyone closest to them. It’s a warm fall day and everyone’s jackets hang over the backs of their chairs. I’m trying to lock eyes with my classmates. Any of them. But nobody bites. Even Silke and Katrin avoid my gaze, and that really stings.
The teacher has her back to the class. The chalk beats out an irregular rhythm against the blackboard as she writes down equations.
Only Erich Honecker, in his picture frame above the blackboard, meets my gaze through horn-rimmed glasses. There is an identical framed photograph in every classroom, as if we‘d otherwise forget that he‘s East Germany’s top Comrade-in-Chief.
“Listen up, everyone.” Mrs. Schneider’s words interrupt my thoughts. “You have fifteen minutes to solve these problem sets.”
She slides her chair out with one swift, silent move – no scrapes on the floor. She’s always so controlled, even with things like this.
Meanwhile, pens are uncapped and notebooks shuffled. Some chairs that were balancing on hindlegs tip forward. Then everything’s quiet again.
When I’m done with the equations, everyone’s nose is still pointed at their exercise books. The scent of eraser fluid floats through the air. Today, nobody cranes their neck to copy my results. Suit yourselves, I think, and pick out a few felt tip pens from my pouch.
As I doodle red and blue shapes, a black skirt and stockinged legs suddenly appear in my field of vision. I didn’t hear Mrs. Schneider get up from behind her desk. Before I can turn the page, her manicured fingers snatch the exercise book from under my hand.
“What is this supposed to be, Nina?” she asks, the open notebook dangling from her hand.
“It’s a Union Jack,” I say, even though it should need no explanation. I’ve gotten quite good at drawing the English flag.
“Why aren’t you drawing your own flag?” she asks, her tone sharp. “You could also draw the flag of our friends in the Soviet Union.”
She takes a beat, her stern gaze boring into me, before she continues.
“But then again, you might not consider the Soviet Union your friends.”
I look at her with widening eyes. I can tell where this is going – someone must’ve said something. Already. It only happened yesterday.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” she continues. “Turning your back on our Soviet comrades goes against everything we stand for. And now you sit in my class doodling Western propaganda? Unforgivable.”
Squirming in my seat, my gaze flits across the room to my classmates. Now that they’re staring, I wish they’d keep ignoring me.
“You’re supposed to be a role model, Nina, don’t think this won’t have consequences,” Mrs. Schneider says, dropping the exercise book on my desk and walking back to the front of the room.
When she calls on the class to share their results, I put up my hand.
“Anybody besides Nina know the answer?” Mrs. Schneider asks, pans over the heads of my classmates and picks someone else.
###
The schoolyard is clanging with noises and voices. Hofpause. Today, my lunch break is a break from everyone. From my solitary perch on the back of a concrete bench, I gaze at my classmates. Yvonne circles the schoolyard. She‘s our class council president and always ready to tell on someone for no reason. She’s already gotten under my skin twice – and we’ve only just gotten back from summer break. The others are gathered around another bench. Silke’s laugh wafts over and I wonder what the joke was.
I unzip my backpack to fish out my usual lunch: cheese, salami, and cucumber on rye bread. It’s fine, but I wish I had grabbed some almond cookies from yesterday’s event.
My gaze runs along the school wall, all the way up to the top floor. That’s where it happened, in the auditorium. The thing that Mrs. Schneider got worked up about.
I replay yesterday’s afternoon in my head – remembering it moment by moment – to figure out where I went wrong.
It was after school. All the students of the three 8th grades were assembled in the auditorium, everyone clad in their new uniform shirts. We’re now members of the Freie Deutsche Jugend. The blue looks good on everyone.
A banner greeted us from above the stage: “To follow the Soviet Union is to follow the path to victory.” A few women in heavily embroidered blouses were still setting up chairs.
“Come on in,” one of them welcomed us. “Take a plate.”
In front of the stage, a buffet was set up. We munched on almond cookies, dancers performed in traditional Soviet costumes, and a man in a suit took the stage.
“Today, you are asked to pledge your allegiance to the Soviet Union and become a member of the German Soviet Friendship organization,” he announced.
I felt a tug of disobedience when the embroidered women distributed membership forms with bright smiles. I didn’t want more commitments and expectations. I already have track-and-field practice three times a week and competitions every other Sunday.
…