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Summer

No barrier could hold me from the rare summer sunshine. I shoved through the crowd of sweaty, shouting students, all thrilled to death for the release into not only the much cooler outside, but the summer recess. The light blinded me as students threw open the heavy wooden doors of the school, but we continued to sprint down the stone steps, throwing off jackets, socks and shoes as we went. Spotting one particularly familiar blonde head, I sped up a little more, landed my hands on his shoulders, and leapt along his right side. He gave a shout, ducked to the left, and sent me tumbling. Just my luck.
"I'll kill you for this, Jacob Rheder!" I shouted up at his great height of 5'5". Anyone's height was greater than mine: I was no more that 5' tall, not even a blessed half inch more. Jacob grinned.
"You won't have the chance," he pointed to my black stockings. "Your mother will kill you first!" I glanced down and took in the hole in my stocking. There was no hiding it, it was easily twice the size of a 1-euro coin. And it was perfectly situated on my left knee. Jacob offered me a hand up, and helped me collect my shoes before they could trampled by the large herd of stampeding children of grades first through eighth.
"Tell you what," Jacob began with a twinkle in his eye, "race me from here to the bridge." I wiggled my toes.
"You don't have shoes on," I stated, not in the mood for racing.
"So? Take your's off."
"But I just put them back on." Jacob rolled his eyes and began to walk away.
"We can say you forfeited, then." I sighed, my eleven year old pride at stake, and undid my shoes, balling the socks and shoving them into the shoes, which I clutched by their straps.
"Are we going to race or not?" I called.
Jacob glanced at me and shrugged. "I'm already at the starting line, you'll have to come to me!" I thought for a second, plotted more like, and began to jog toward Jacob. Slowly, so he would not notice, I began to pick up speed. As I approached, Jacob turned and set his feet, but by the time he had found a comfortable position, I was yards ahead, zooming at a full sprint. My jog had given me enough of a warm up to have the lead, and I laughed as he cursed behind me. Our legs burned, our breath came in pants, but still we continued up and down hills, dodging carts and a few cars here and there. Jacob began to catch up to me as we crossed a series of old stone bridges. He pushed me one way, I pushed him back. He shoved me, I shoved harder. I was stupid; I knew I'd walk into the following event. Jacob was so much stronger than I was, that he shoved me up against the wall of the bridge, I lost my balance, and soared into the water below.
I couldn't swim. Mama had said swimming was for boys, so Otto and Jan had learned, but not me. I screamed and swallowed the still frigid, green blue water as it closed over my head. I knew neither up nor down, and flailed my arms and legs, trying to find some purchase to push off of. My heavy school jacket weighed me down, my limbs were beginning to feel exhausted. I felt dizzy, yet my lungs screamed and burned for air. I felt a splash beside me and was launched through the water until I was sprawled on the river bank. I was aware of nothing but the water in my lungs and the incessant need for air. I gulped, spluttered, and coughed over and over again. When breathing normally was possible, I brushed wet and sandy hair from my face. Squinting into the four o'clock sun, I noticed Jacob, soaked and breathing heavily, sitting beside me.
"Decided to take a swim, huh?" I gasped bitterly. Jacob didn't meet my eyes, only drew circles in the sand. Moments passed, and my ragged breathing slowed to a normal pace.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot you couldn't swim." I shrugged and studied the circles. "I didn't plan on swimming, but decided it would be best to follow you in." I snorted.
"Follow me?" I scoffed. "Why would you-"
"We should be getting home," he said, and passed me my shoes. "You dropped these on the bridge."
"Danke," I said and tugged the socks up my wet skin. "We should be dry by the time we get home," I stated. Jacob chuckled.
"Yes, but that hole will still be there for your mother to see."
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By the time we reached the edge of Felsental, we were nearly dry, save a rather obnoxious squeak in our shoes from wet socks and stockings. We stopped by the auto bodies shop, jangling the bell as the door opened. It was a small space, the actual office building. It consisted only of a front desk, a stool, an ancient telephone on the wall, and an overhead light. Otto, my older brother, poked his head around the corner of the back office. I was never allowed back there, as Otto shut the door and locked it every day when we came to take him home with us at five o'clock sharp. He studied me.
"Alina," he said patiently, "care to explain to me why you're damp?" I hated the way he talked to me. Ever since he turned eighteen, he was no longer the old Otto. Otto, my partner in crime who kept my antics a secret from Mama, now told her everything. And he didn't even call our parents by their rightful names, which were Mama and Papa, but Mutter and Vater. I kept closed lips, to which he sighed, put on his hat, and held the door for us as we left. We talked about school, for the most part. He and Jacob made a few remarks on cars, and, unable to keep a secret under our hats, spilled the story about the river to Otto. He threw his head back and laughed.
"It's not funny!" I cried, "I could have died and then what would you have done?" He chuckled more.
"I would have delivered an amusing speech at your funeral of all the trouble you'd gotten into over the years, and Mutter would be so shocked she'd fall off her chair!" I glared at him, but continued walking in silence. We dropped Jacob off at his home, bid him goodnight, and continued on to the next block toward our house. The houses in Felsental look nearly identical: all grey or white, with three windows in the front (one on top, two on bottom), window boxes on each, and the front door to the right side of the house. Our house was grey, of course, but was the only house on our street with faded yellow flower boxes that housed white blooms that I couldn't name. Mama rose hell when I came through the door, and sent me up to my room with no dinner. As I sat on my bed stitching the hole back together, I could hear her scolding Otto for laughing at my expense.
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There was a knock at my door.
"Come in," I said as I hung my jacket on a hanger. I could iron it in the morning. Otto appeared, a cheeky grin plastered across his face. "What do you want?" I asked, annoyed with his previous performance. He shut the door and tossed an apple at me, which I caught and dug into. We sat in silence.
"If you could have one wish, what would it be?" he asked me. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I answered.
"For the old Otto to come back." I felt his eyes on me.
"I can't help growing up, Alina." I rolled the apple between my plans.
"I know." He rolled onto his side and faced me.
"Deep down, I'm still the old Otto. Just in a different form." I gave him a small smile.
"How was work?" Otto pressed his tongue against his teeth.
"Slow. But not that bad." He stood, tugged one of my braids, and left the room.
That night, I heard voices coming from the kitchen. They weren't angry, but we're at that level of quiet that every child knows is used to keep them from knowing critical information. So, like any other curious child, I snuck down the stairs, perfectly balanced on the sides that would not creak.
"...no one is driving cars anymore. All the rubber and metal needed to fix them are going to the war effort." Otto's voice was even, calm.
"But, Otto," my mother's voice was shaking, "you cannot go. It's against our morals. It's against what we believe in. You cannot!" Though no words could be made out, my father's consoling voice seemed to make no progress in solving the situation.
"Vater, if I don't go-"
"-you do not have to do anything!" my mother interrupted with a shrill cry.
"-what will it say to the neighbors? What will they think? An eighteen year old man-"
"-practically a boy!" she interjected again.
"-not fighting? What does that say?" By now Jan had joined me on the stairs. "I have to go, Mama," Otto said softly. Old Otto came back for a minute, I thought. Jan rubbed his face.
"What are they talking about?" he murmured sleepily, clutching his lamb a little closer to his chest. I pulled him closer.
"I don't know."
It was 1940