Tutored by Allison Whittenberg Page A

father also came downstairs to refresh his teacup.
    “That movie was as subtle as a sledgehammer,” Wendy told her dad.
    “It was made two years after the end of World War Two. People needed a sledgehammer to wake up and see just how wrong prejudice is.”
    Wendy’s chin dropped to the linoleum floor. “Did you just say what I thought you said?”
    “I’m not in favor of prejudice, Wendy. I never have been.”
    Wendy shook her head in almost violent denial. “Dad, hundreds of times I have heard you—”
    “You have never heard me speak against Jews. I would never do that. They’ve been put upon and abused everywhere they go in this world.”
    “So are
we
.”
    “We were never rounded up and put in concentration camps, Wendy.”
    “No, we were rounded up and put on slave ships.”
    “Still, we were allowed to live.”
    “So now you’re defending slavery, Dad?”
    “Slavery isn’t genocide, Wendy.”
    “It may not be genocide, but it’s no walk in the park. And what about the Jim Crow laws?”
    “Wendy. Wendy. It’s ten o’clock at night. This is no time for—”
    “I just can’t
believe
you, Dad. You have such empathy for one group’s struggle and none for our own.”
    “Jewish people have proven their worth to society. They are intelligent and orderly. They are very well organized.”
    “What are we, Dad? Chopped liver?”
    “It’s ten o’clock. I’m going to bed.”
    Her father added cream to his tea, pouring the last of the carton into his cup, then discarding it.
    “Dad, would you object if I applied to Brandeis or Yeshiva?”
    “Good night, Wendy.”

23
    I f Hakiam could corner God for twenty seconds, he’d ask him this:
Why are white people always so damn happy?
It didn’t seem to matter the day or time: every single moment Hakiam saw a white person, he or she was smiling. His GED teacher was no exception. He stood now at the head of the class, dressed in a V-neck sweater and brown slacks, with a standard-issue grin on his peaches-and-cream face.
    His expression didn’t match the drabness of the gray room or the lackluster subject matter.
    He listed celebrities who never finished high school (Chris Rock, Tom Cruise, and Christina Aguilera, to name a few). He went on to speak with the same optimistic fervor of political figures who were dropouts.
    “Former governor Ruth Ann Minner of Delaware left school to support her family, and former senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell dropped out of high school atsixteen to join the air force during the Korean War,” he said with a bright grin.
    Hakiam stared at the wall to avoid being blinded by the teacher’s pearly whites.
    Next, the instructor told them that the GED test was split into five parts: reading, writing, mathematics, science, and social studies. Most of it was multiple choice. You could use a calculator but not a dictionary. In the state of Pennsylvania, you could take it over a few days or all at once.
    Then the teacher smiled again.
    “This is roughly a seven-hour test,” he warned, “so pace yourself.”
    Some students nodded.
    Some were lost in space.
    Many find school difficult; others find it just plain boring. For Hakiam, GED classes managed to be both at the same time.
    Then the teacher talked about how they needed a number 2 pencil and an energy bar for the big day.
    “This test is administered every Wednesday at nine a.m. You can take it in English or Spanish. I don’t want to give this the hard sell, but you might as well take it now rather than later. You only have eight weeks in this program. Who wants to see where he or she stands? Who would like to sign up for next week?”
    Hakiam nodded, absorbing the information, but couldn’t bring himself to sign up for the slot. So this whole thing would be over when he just took that test—what was he waiting for? What were any of them waiting for?
    He watched as three hands out of thirty went up. One belonged to a dark-complexioned fortyish woman wearing a man’s coat