Normally, I didn’t do things like that, but the spring weather was getting warmer, and both school and the troop were beginning to force more physical activity on us. Which, if you recall, I despised. 

The thought occurred to me, almost intrusively, as I watched Günther and Bruno walk down the hall while I made my way to go get changed. They were already dressed in their uniforms, the black, white, and red of the swastika armbands standing out against the tan of the shirt. I balked at the thought of having to go put that uniform on. To have to run and do dozens of jumping-jacks. To have to listen to Herr Boxleitner prattle on about whatever Nazi talking-point was most important that week. It all seemed unbearable.  

Then I spotted Anton and Arnold approaching too, and I knew I’d have to act fast if I were to carry out my split-second plan. I ducked behind some other students, then used their cover to sneak down the nearest stairwell. In a few short minutes, I was out at the school’s front gate, my heart pounding and out of breath.

Whatever breath I had left escaped me when I caught a glimpse of Lukas. He was standing in his usual spot just outside the gate, smoking like always. He took one final drag on his cigarette before dropping it on the ground and stubbing it out with the heel of his wingtip shoe. I’m not really sure what possessed me, but when Lukas turned and made his way down the street, I followed after him. 

Interestingly enough, Lukas’s route led me almost to my neighborhood. It was at the bakery I passed every day where he stopped, smiling as he gave a friendly wave to someone inside. Then he slipped down the alleyway between the bakery and the clothing store that was next to it. That was probably as far as I should’ve let my curiosity take me, but of  course, I didn’t stop there. Quickly, I crossed the street. After reaching the bakery, I peered around the corner of the alleyway to see what Lukas was doing.

In the alley, he embraced a fashionably dressed girl. She was pretty, with curly black hair and olive skin. Her lips curved into a wry smile as she stepped up on her tiptoes to kiss him. I looked away, suddenly feeling awkward for watching. Sighing, I leaned against the front of the bakery building. 

Without warning, an arm shot out from the alley. I was seized by my vest and yanked back. It took a moment, but I realized it was Lukas who grabbed me. He slammed me up against the wall.

“What’s the matter with you!?” he demanded. “Why are you following me!?”

I winced. “I — I’m sorry!” 

Gritting his teeth, Lukas leaned forward threateningly. “Anton and his arse-lickers put you up to this, didn’t they? Your little—” He paused to wipe away some of the girl’s lipstick smudged on his mouth “—your little Hitlerjugend initiation assignment: spy on the Mischling!?”

“What!? No!” I shook my head. “It isn’t like that at all!”

“What is it like then, huh!?”

I stammered, not knowing how to explain myself. “I just — just —”

Lukas narrowed his eyes, seeming like he would say something more, but the girl put her hand on his shoulder. Her thick dark brows were furrowed in concern.

“Come on, Lukas,” she said. “Let’s just leave him be and get out of here.” 

Lukas continued to glare at me for a moment longer before dropping me from his grip. “Fine.” He took a step back from me. “But I better not catch you following me again. Just leave me alone, alright!” He threw his hands up in the air, then furiously stomped away. The dark-haired girl followed after him, but once out of the alleyway, she glanced at me curiously over her shoulder. 

After the two of them were gone, I just stood there for a while. I didn’t really know what to do next, but then I remembered something. I had brought the Ella Fitzgerald record with me that day. Over the last few weeks I had grown increasingly nervous about having it in my possession. I really didn’t want Otto to find it, especially after what he’d told me about his intention to join the SS. I had decided I would go to the record shop to return it to Leah. 

When I had made it the shop, she was surprised but happy to see me.

“Milo,” she said with a bright smile, “it’s been a while. How are you?”

I pulled my rucksack over my shoulder and opened it up. “I’ve been alright,” I replied as I took the record out to hand it to her.

Leah was confused. “Did you not like it?”

“Oh, no!” I shook my head. “Nothing like that, at all. It’s just — my brother. He’s really serious about the Party. I didn’t want him to find it, you know — so I decided to return it to you. Don’t worry about the money, though. I don’t need it back.” 

A slightly saddened look came over Leah’s face as she took the record back. She only held onto the sadness for a moment though before her face was alight with a smile again. “Well, what did you think of it?” she asked.

“Wonderful! I really liked it. Both sides.” 

Leah pursed her lips, holding the record to her chest as she seemed to think about something. Then she turned her brown eyes back to me, an odd sort of determination in them. 

“When do you have to be back to your house?” she asked.

At first I thought, as soon as possible. But then I remembered it was a Wednesday, and I had skipped Hitlerjugend. The troop meeting everyone thought I was at wouldn’t end until five, and it would’ve taken me about thirty minutes to walk home from the school.

“Well,” I said, “by supper, of course. So … half-six.”

Leah reached out to grab my arm, and I felt warm when she did. She stared at me earnestly. “Are you really as serious about jazz as you say you are?”

It was probably the strangest question anyone had ever asked me, and for that reason alone, I was eager to answer it. I met her eyes without feeling the need to glance away like I did with most people. “Definitely,” I said. “Other than drawing, music is my favorite thing in the world.”

Leah smirked, and she let go of my arm to turn away. “Hold on for a moment.” She headed to the small hallway that was behind the counter, calling back to what I assumed was a door I couldn’t see. “Papa! Can I walk home?” 

My stomach sank slightly. Her father had been there that whole time, working on something in the back? Did that mean he’d been there when we’d last met, too? At the time, I wasn’t really sure why that made me feel awkward and nervous, but it did. I tried to remember what Leah’s father had been like. I recalled a talkative, studious looking man who wore thick, round glasses and used to chat with my father on the front porch of our old house. Perhaps that’s the opposite of what most boys fear when they imagine a girl’s father, but it didn’t really help the way I felt. 

“Have we had any customers recently?” came the muffled voice of Herr Jonas from the backroom.

Leah glanced over at me. “Nope!” she lied effortlessly.

“Very well then! Be safe, my dear!”

The mischievous smirk returned to Leah’s face, and she walked back  to me. When she grabbed me by the wrist, I let her drag me out the door. 

“Follow me,” she said. “There are some friends of mine I’d like you to meet.”

       Within a few minutes’ time we had made our way up a hilly street near the Karlshöhe park. It wasn’t very far from where I lived or where the school was, but the neighborhood was different. Instead of townhomes, apartments, and shops, there were much larger homes, mansions even, positioned up on the hill bordering the lush, green park. The homes had gates around them and there were many trees and bushes, so it was hard to catch a glimpse of what they looked like, but I could tell they were nice and made out of stone.

Leah stopped at a house, perhaps the one most obscured with foliage around its perimeter. The gate was open and together we walked up the driveway and to the door. It wasn’t a very old home, but it was built to emulate a style that was. Leah confidently knocked on the door, rapping out a specific pattern. A secret knock, I thought. 

Then the door opened, and I was stunned.

It couldn’t be.