Projekt Liebe

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Light snow fell as I made my way to school that morning. I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the fatigue—I hadn't slept at all last night. The British had been dropping bombs on us. Again.

I pulled my mittens snugly over my wrists and quickened my pace as I crossed the street, hoping to avoid any encounters with SS officers.

The streets were eerily quiet, save for the crunch of snow beneath my boots and the distant rumble of military vehicles. I glanced over my shoulder, The German Look, as locals called it, half-expecting to see an officer's shadow lurking nearby.

When I arrived at school, I hung my coat on a peg and settled into my seat for class. The familiar scent of chalk dust and musty books enveloped me. As the teacher began the lesson, I forced myself to focus on the words being spoken, all about 'praising the führer' and boring things. I held my head up, trying my best not to fall asleep to Frau Krüger's droning voice- but something she said woke me up.

"Today we shall be doing something fun with the younger girls, yes? We will partner up with them and bake cookies! As we are the eldest, we must teach our friends many things before we go. I will hand our sheets of paper with you and your partner's name!"

My eyes tracked Frau Krüger as she moved up and down the rows, handing each girl her paper. There were murmurs of "Yes!" or frustrated sighs of "Ugh!" as each sheet changed hands.

Finally, she stopped at my desk and held out a pink sheet of paper. My stomach clenched as I took it, glancing down at the familiar names. Right beside Birgitta Bernadotte, I spotted it—"Lina Brendler."

As I finished tying my apron, all the younger girls rushed in, their cheeks flushed from the cold and their eyes bright with curiosity. They looked up at us, the "big girls," with expressions of awe and shyness. I spotted my partner—a small girl with two blonde braids (as I had) and a wide-eyed expression, clutching her own apron.

I bent my knees so I was closer to her level. "Hi there," I said softly, smiling as reassuringly as I could. "I'm Birgitta. Are you ready to bake some cookies?"