“That’s for sure. If you weren’t such a screwball, you’d have gotten rid of the evidence you’re lying about.”
No. There’s no evidence. He didn’t do anything. He wouldn’t.
I’m peering at Adam from the side of my eye, watching the lump in his throat bob up and down. He’s nervous. He should be. I am too.
Oskar reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wax sandwich wrapper, a key, and a diamond bracelet. “These were found at the bottom of the tin watering can you use daily.”
“No, no…I didn’t—” Adam cowers, his denial more of a plea. His knuckles tighten by his side. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck as Oskar takes another step closer to him. He grabs Adam by the collar, pulling him off his balance. “No one else uses that water tin.”
“I—I didn’t steal,” Adam utters with only a squeak of sound left in his voice. I don’t know this side of Adam. He’s so full ofhope, it’s made him fearless. I’ve never met a person like that. And now…now what?
A door opens and closes behind us and quiet footsteps sponge through the grass.
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.
All I can see is the look on Kasia’s face, her eyes bulging, her bottom lip drooping. I have to say something, or do something…But I’m in a chokehold of terror. My silence is appalling. I can’t just stand here. If they—if he does something to Adam, that will be on me. It will. “Please don’t,” I mutter. Adam turns his head toward me and I catch the look in his eyes, the emptiness, the unknown, the fear…I’ve seen that expression before.
“We shouldn’t have been so confident we’ll find food somewhere,” I say to Jozek and Natan. “There’s nothing in sight.” Nothing but hungry Jews, some slumped against walls, others lying on the ground, curled into their coats along damp cobblestone.
“There must be something. We’ve only been in the ghetto for two days. We just need to find where the vendors hide,” Jozek says, pausing to peek into a dark shop window. “Nothing.”
“There’s probably some type of black market under a building,” Natan adds. “We’ll need to ask around.”
“If we ask the wrong person, we’re done for,” I say.
“I can read people. Leave it to me,” Natan replies.
He can’t read people. He just believes everyone likes him until they sneer.
We barely make it past the darkened, closed theater when two Gestapo officers step out from around the corner, blocking our path.
The dim orange light of dusk washes over their pale faces, sharpening their stone-like expressions. “Papers,” one snaps at us.
What’s the purpose of asking for papers when we’re already caged inside a ghetto? They’ve already determined we’re not worthy of freedom.
I instinctively move in front of Jozek and Natan, but Jozek grabs my shoulder and steps beside me. His grip trembles. “We have our papers,” he says, reaching into his pocket.
“We’re just getting some fresh air,” Natan says, flashing the kind of smile he thinks can change their mind.
“No work permits?” the shorter of the two officers asks, glancing at our papers without reading them. He already knows we don’t have them.
I look at Natan, ready to stop him, silently pleading with him to stay quiet. If I could elbow him, I would, but they would see.
“That’s quite a funny story, actually,” Natan says.
There’s no story.
The officer grabs Natan by the collar and slams him against the wall. His body hits like a hollow pumpkin, the thud sickening. The sound of Natan’s breath whooshing from within his chest, steals the wind from mine.
The officer draws his pistol and presses it to Natan’s head. My heart cracks, my stomach coils. A fire ignites in my chest.
“We’ll get them right away, officer,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender. A plea. It’s all I can offer.
Natan’s pupils are the size of a gun barrel, wide and black with terror—a kind of terror I’ve never seen on my brother’s face. Or anyone’s face.
That look in Natan’s eyes…is now in Adam’s.
Click-clack.A metal slide moving forward and backward before…
