Lauren Yanofsky Hates the Holocaust (6 page)

“I smell, um, I smell my shampoo.”

“Okay, taste. I taste, well, my teeth.”

“That's really pathetic.”

“Well, I'm not tasting anything right now,” I said. “You try thinking of a taste.”

Alexis shook her hair out of her face. “I'm moving on. What's the next sense?”

I hit her with a pillow. “Feeling.”

“Oh, right. I feel you hitting me with a pillow.”

I hit her again.

“Ow, now I really feel it.”

“The doctor was right.”

“About you not dying?”

“Well, that too, but I meant about this exercise. It's very distracting.”

“So's being socked in the head.” Alexis swatted me with her pillow.

The next morning I took every Holocaust book off my shelf and stacked them in the corner of Dad's study, next to some boxes of books and files. I even added my Jewish Encyclopedia and some books about Israel, since they also mentioned the Holocaust. Back in my room, I rearranged the rest of my books and added some framed photos to the shelf to fill the empty spaces. I hid my Jewish prayer book at the back of my closet, so I wouldn't have to look at it. I should have gotten rid of it when I'd declared myself not Jewish at the end of grade seven.

Now I get up from the computer and call Alexis. I say, “I hope I didn't hurt your feelings earlier.”

“Hey, no big deal. Different strokes for different folks.”

I sigh. “I'm glad you feel that way. I wanted to ask you…”

“Ask me what?”

I think about the holocaust stuff, about asking Alexis what she thinks of the uppercase
H
versus the lowercase
h,
and the Armenians, but it would be such a long discussion. “Nah, I just wanted to hear your voice, make sure you weren't mad at me.”

“Nope, not at all. Say hi to your mom for me.”

For a moment I feel like asking Alexis to come over, so we can hang out the way we used to, but she's already hung up.

F
our

T
he next day at lunch, Brooke is outside eating with the Smokers. Again. I'm hoping to eat with Em and Chloe because it's not a
Grease
rehearsal day, but instead of sitting down with their lunches, they head toward the main stairs.

“Where are you guys going? Do you have another rehearsal?” I ask.

“It's not that.” Chloe twists her fingers together.

“What is it?”

“Well, we're going to check out Youth Alliance.” Em looks at the floor.

“Oh. I see.” I put on my best fake smile. “Well, see you.” Like, never.

“Yeah, sure. Later,” they say.

I sit on the floor with my lunch and watch Chloe and Em walk down the hall.

Youth Alliance is a Christian youth group that recently started at our school. I understand Chloe and Em going to dances on the weekend, or bowling and other youth-group things, but at school? Who wants to pray at lunch?

I totally don't understand Christianity. Chloe tried to explain it to me once. She said that Jesus was the Messiah and he died for everyone's sins. Even thinking about this makes me feel guilty. Everyone sinned and then Jesus died and then he forgave everyone for sinning? Chloe said that wasn't quite right. She did give me an explanation of the New Testament that I could understand. “Basically,” she said, “be nice.”

“Be nice? That's it?”

“Yeah, the New Testament is all about being nice to each other.”

“Oh.” I nodded. “I can go with that.”

But not enough to show up at Youth Alliance and pray at lunchtime.

Nothing is worse than hanging out alone, but at least with a phone, you can appear less like a loser. I reach for my earbuds in my bag and curse Brooke under my breath. She should be here making fun of Christian youth group with me.

Across the hall, Mac, Tyler and their friend Justin are playing poker. With Jesse. He's been down our way more and more, hanging out with the basketball players. I'm about to put in my earbuds when Jesse calls out, “Hey, Yanofsky, you want in?”

I freeze. Jesse looks at me expectantly. “Sure,” I say. I slide my hair behind my ears and check the top button on my shirt. I feel myself starting to sweat. When I get some change from my coat pocket, I also grab a breath mint. Justin deals me in and I sit next to Jesse, our knees almost touching. I don't know Justin very well, but Mac and Tyler have been in some of my classes since grade eight. Mac's mom and my mom are friends, and Mac's had a crush on Chloe forever, so he's always hanging around.

I'm not great at card games, but I know how to play poker from basketball camp. So this is good, this is social, and I don't actually have to talk.

When the bell rings and Chloe, Em and Brooke all return to their lockers, the back of my shirt feels damp and I've lost five dollars, but it's worth every penny to see the look of astonishment on the girls' faces as Jesse and the others high-five me. “Hey, play again tomorrow?” Jesse asks me.

“Sure.” I'll take cute boys over praying or smoking any day.

Jesse leans against a locker. “We'll have to play basketball again, so I can beat you.”

I clasp my hands tightly behind my back. “Not likely.”

Jesse pretends to shoot a hoop. “We'll see.” Then he hip-checks me, hard enough to send me reeling sideways.

“Easy there, buddy,” Tyler says to Jesse, grabbing my hand before I fall to the floor. I feel my face flush.

Back at my locker, I bury my burning face in my bag. Brooke elbows me and whispers, “You were playing cards with Jesse?”

“Poker,” I say loudly.

“Wow, when did that start?”

“Well”—I turn and face her—“since you'd rather eat lunch with Smoker girls, I thought I better find some more friends too.” Now I'm really sweating. I start walking toward the gym, leaving Brooke still digging for her running shoes.

“Hey, Lauren, wait up,” Brooke calls.

I keep walking.

I ignore Brooke all through phys ed. We play volleyball on opposing teams, and I try not to even look at her. All through history class, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it the first seven times, then take a peek when the teacher has his back to the class. Bathroom, Brooke's latest text says.

I don't go.

After school I don't wait for Brooke or Chloe or Em at the lockers; I just hurry out of the building. As I head for the field, I see Jesse playing basketball with Mac and Justin and some grade-twelve guys. I catch Jesse's eye, and he waves me over. I stop abruptly. It's cool outside, and I don't have my jacket zipped up, but I feel sweaty again. Great. Am I going to break out in a sweat every time I see a cute guy? That'll be attractive. I feel the nervous beat of my pulse as I head toward him.

“Hey, you should play with us.” Jesse points back to the court.

I raise one eyebrow. “With the guys?”

Jesse bounces the ball. “Sure.”

“You're all so much taller,” I murmur. My phone buzzes in my bag, but I ignore it.

“Yeah, you are a bit of a shrimp now.” Jesse lifts his hand up, showing off his reach. I make a face and stand up taller.

“Hey, Jesse, you in or out?” Justin calls.

Jesse looks back at the guys. “I'm in.” He turns back to me. “I still want to take you on. One-on-one.”

I think I might actually need to change my shirt at home. I start walking backward, away from Jesse. “Well, sure. Some other time.” I feel my face burning again.

I stand and watch the guys play. Jesse is not the tallest, but he's definitely the cutest. And he moves down the court easily, like he's dancing. I watch him run his hands through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. Mac says, “Dude, you're going to need a ponytail, like a girl.” Then Jesse pulls a red terrycloth headband out of his pocket and shoves his hair back. Mac points and laughs, but Jesse says, “You wish you were cool enough for the headband.” If only Brooke was here to see how hot he looks. Oh right, she's too busy with her new friends. I turn my buzzing phone off and bury it in the bottom of my bag.

Back at home, the landline keeps ringing. Mom has left me a flyer in front of the computer, about the youth-group convention that Alexis is going to. It promises a weekend of praying, singing, friendship and study. I rip it in half and shove it in the recycling bin. I spend a few minutes on Facebook, but the phone keeps ringing. I know it's probably Brooke, so I go up to my room, where I can't hear the phone. Eventually, Mom comes home from work, answers the phone and calls that it's for me. I reluctantly pick up.

“Hey,” Brooke says, “I've been trying you for hours.”

“Oh,” I say. “I was busy.”

“You're not mad at me, are you?”

“Well, no.”

“Oh, good. You looked really pissed off at school.”

“No, everything's fine. Great.”

“I can't believe you were playing cards with Jesse.”

I hear a hint of jealousy in her voice. I feel like saying,
We're going to play one-on-one, him and me, too.
Instead I say, “Yeah, well, it was no big deal.”

“You keep saying that.”

“You could have played too, if you were around.” Even as I'm saying this, I doubt it. If Brooke had been there, I don't think Jesse would have asked me.

“I wanted to talk to you about that. Chantal's kinda having a hard time right now. Her parents are getting a divorce, and we're talking a lot about it. Also, there's this guy she's totally in love with. We have a lot in common.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, Chantal and Kelly are going to a party at Dmitri's tonight. Want to come?”

Kelly is Chantal's best friend. She's a little overweight, with huge breasts that look like melons. She has dyed-blond hair and a smoker's cough, and she always wears bright red lipstick and too much eyeliner. Most of the Smokers, like Chantal, won't make eye contact with non-Smokers, but Kelly talks to everybody and even participates in class. She's like the Perky Smoker. I know her a little bit because she was on my geography project team last year. We did a study of cliff erosion at Towers Beach, which is right next to Wreck Beach, where people hang out naked. There were gross, wrinkly, old naked people right where we were taking soil samples.

I'm not sure what to say to Brooke about the party, so I ask, “Is Kelly still going out with Dmitri?” Dmitri graduated from our school last year but looks like he's thirty.

“Yep. The party will be fun. I'll ask my sister for some coolers.”

“Well, I'm not sure…”

“Oh, come on, it'll be fun.”

“Okay. I'll have to ask if I can go out.” I know I don't sound enthusiastic.

“Tell your mom we're going to get coffee and study.”

“Um, okay. What are you going to wear?”

“Jeans and a sweater.”

“Okay.”

I hang up the phone. I'm not entirely sure about going to hang out with the Smokers. It sounds like something I'm going to suck at. I think about calling Brooke back and telling her to forget it, but at least she's making an effort to include me.

When I'm ready to leave, Mom and Dad are sitting in the living room with the glass doors to the front hall closed. I open the door a crack. Mom looks exhausted, Dad frustrated. He's slumped on the white couch, his feet on the glass coffee table. I know from their conversation at dinner that Zach's bar mitzvah lessons started today and did not go well. His session ended with Rabbi Birenbaum chasing him through the sanctuary and Zach hiding under the stage in the auditorium. Mom had to leave work early to get him to come out, and now Zach is refusing to leave his room until they call off his bar mitzvah.

“I'm going out with Brooke for a while,” I say.

“Be home by ten,” is all Mom says.

Brooke and I ride our bikes to a house in Kitsilano and wheel them around back. A group of kids is hanging out on lawn furniture in the backyard, all smoking. I see Dmitri and Kelly and some other Smokers who graduated last year. There are some older guys too, friends of Dmitri's, I guess. Kelly waves to us, and Chantal turns around in her chair. She and Brooke exchange creepy air kisses, like they're old Mafia ladies. I hang back and wave hi.

Chantal's wearing leggings and a black sweater with a plunging neckline that shows off her cleavage. Shit, I think, I'm dressed all wrong. Everyone is wearing black, and I've got on my red hoodie, like I'm going to watch a football game. Brooke is wearing a charcoal sweater over a skimpy tank top and tight jeans.

Brooke pulls out coolers from her backpack, and we perch on a lawn chair together. Brooke and Chantal start talking in low voices about some guy Chantal likes who hasn't shown up yet. I pretend I'm part of the conversation.

I sip my sickly sweet raspberry cooler, take a deep breath and look around. Everyone is smoking. Brooke and I tried smoking last year in my back alley, but it made us cough too much. Besides, athletes shouldn't smoke. The guy sitting in the lawn chair beside me has blond curls poking out from underneath a ballcap. He looks like he might be twenty. Alexis says I should get over my fear of talking to guys, so I take a deep breath and say, “So, you think the Devils will win this year?” I point to the basketball logo on his ballcap.

“You like Duke?” he says.

I nod. “They're okay.”

He sits up straighter. “Just okay?”

“Well, they're not North Carolina or UCLA.”

“You sound like you know your stuff.”

I shrug.

“Hey, check it out.” He nudges the guy next to him with his foot. “A chick who knows college basketball.”

I sigh inwardly and ignore the chick comment. I sip my disgusting drink and discuss my favorite players. I pretend to be interested in his fascination with Duke.

Then Brooke and Chantal get up. “We're going to the bathroom,” Brooke says.