Isabel’s War by Lila Perl

Mrs. Brody assigns a composition (only she calls it an essay) on the war and how it’s changed our lives.
    I can certainly do that. In just the last few months, the war has come closer than ever. In my very own home, Arnold has been replaced with Helga.
    Even though it’s been a pretty good day, it’s a relief to return to home-room, rearrange our lockers, and get ready for dismissal. Mr. Jeffers is pacing up and back at the front of the room with his long-legged stride, waiting for everyone to settle down because he usually has end-of-the-day messages for us.
    Sibby acknowledges me with a hunch of her shoulder and a blank expression. I don’t know whether we’re still on friendly terms or what. Also, I see now that Billy Crosby is seated behind me and to my left. I turn around. There’s that silly grin again and, I could swear, a wink. Ormaybe it was just the light glinting off the right lens of his eyeglasses.
    A horrible thought seizes me. Suppose, just suppose, he likes me. I was sure I saw his eyes lingering on my chest when we were walking alongside each other looking for Room 322. Ugh, what a disaster. Suppose a boy does decide he likes you, and you don’t like him... at all . How do you get him to un-like you?
    â€œUh-hmm, class.” It’s Mr. Jeffers getting ready to say something. He always starts by clearing his throat loudly. Then he walks across the front of the room and opens the door to admit someone who appears to have been waiting out in the hall. It’s our assistant principal, Mr. Lockhart, a short, dapper man with clipped gray hair, who is leading by the hand none other than Helga.
    A wave of absolute silence sweeps across the room. Mr. Lockhart steps forward and says, “Class, I’d like to present to you a new student who has just entered our school. She is from Europe, actually from Germany, where she was born and grew up. So English, especially spelling and writing, may still be a problem for her. Therefore, we will start her off here at Singleton in a seventh-grade home-room.
    â€œPlease give her a warm welcome. I introduce to you, Helga Frankfurter.”
    The silence that has held throughout Mr. Lockhart’s brief speech is broken by applause, whistles, andsomewhere from the back of the room a deep-voiced utterance of the chilling salute that loyal Nazis offer to Hitler himself: “ Sieg Heil! ”

Nine
    We’re out in the schoolyard with a cluster of other kids from our home-room, and Sibby is angrily pummeling the chest of a big kid named Danny Brill with her small freckled fists. Danny just stands there and grins. He doesn’t even bother to back away. Sibby’s fists might just as well be a pair of fleas.
    â€œWhy did you say Sieg Heil and give the Nazi salute? Why did you do that? How could you do that?”
    Danny Brill has already received a reprimand from Mr. Lockhart while we were all still in the classroom.
    â€œNow, now, young man, we’ll have none of that.”
    But somehow Mr. Lockhart hasn’t ordered Danny to the principal’s office, or said what would happen to him if he ever tried any Nazi shenanigans again.
    â€œDo you even know what Sieg Heil means?” Sybil demands. “It means ‘victory for Hitler,’ who wants to kill the Jews and all his enemies so he can take over the world.”
    â€œGee,” Danny says helplessly. “I only saw it in a movie. It was some kind of a German thing. I don’t knowwhat you’re gettin’ so upset about.”
    â€œAahh,” Sibby groans, turning away disgustedly. “You’re nothing but an ignorant slob.”
    Danny likewise turns his back and goes galumphing off with some of his friends. They laugh and hunch their shoulders, and one of them calls back at Sibby, “Hey, Red, don’t look now but your pants are on fire!”
    Because of the scuffle between Sibby and Danny Brill, I haven’t had a chance yet to