“You know, Jews aren’t bad,” she drawls. “They’re just misguided. All you have to do is—”
“We will hide you. You will stay here. You will live with me. You’ll board by us. You’ll never leave. We’ll finish high school together. You’re not going anywhere. You don’t have to leave. We’ll talk to your parents. My parents will talk to your parents. It can’t be. It can’t happen. won’t let it happen.”
Aliza has not stopped talking. I am sitting and staring at her, trying to keep my balance on this trampoline. Trying to keep my balance on this roller coaster called life. And she’s pressuring me with this panic-attack freak-out fest? For the first time since I’ve met Aliza and become her friend, I start to feel little snakes of doubt sliding in my stomach, slithering through my heart.
Who is this about anyway? Me or her? Does she even care about me — or only about herself?
She is still jumping around, shouting, tears rolling down her cheeks, and I’m getting bounced, like a little buoy on this sea of black-and-blue giant trampoline. With effort, I crawl to the edge and hop to the ground, my feet craving solidity. The brick floor feels good beneath me.
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