The casters turned off the camera, and Ms. B spoke to the Axis team. “Weren’t those medals worn by the Nazis?”
“Actually, Ms. B, they’re from way before World War Two,” Crosby quickly replied. “They go all the way back to the Teutonic Knights of the Middle Ages.”
“And they’re on the pickup bumpers my dad got for off-roading,” added Mackenzie.
It was obvious that the Axis squad had prepared for Ms. B’s reaction to the medals. Mackenzie typed something on her computer and turned the monitor for the rest of the club to see. She’d found images of knights from the Middle Ages in white robes adorned with black crosses.
Ms. B’s forehead was still wrinkled. Several long silent moments passed. Finally, she told the casters that they could comment on the day’s match, but they were not to use the camera that showed the gamers. Then she said: “Go ahead with your match. But I’ll have more to say when you’re done.”
* * *
Crosby was royally ticked off. For the fourth week in a row the Axis squad had lost to a suck-up, a mousy girl, a wack job, and maybe one half-decent gamer. After being ahead three matches to none a month ago, the Axis squad was now behind in the overall match standings, three to four. And what really hurt was that, even with the camera turned off, the gameplay had been streamed for all on Twitch to see what a bunch of noobs the Axis squad had played like. And now, instead of letting them go home, Ms. B was making them stay in the computer lab while the Allied squad was allowed to leave!
“I understand that Iron Crosses have been around for thousands of years,” she told them. “And if you were just wearing the crosses without the gray shirts, maybe that would be okay. Or if you wore the gray shirts without the crosses. But wearing them together reminds me too much of the Nazis. I want to make sure you’re clear about what these symbols represent and how hurtful they could be to some people. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The Axis squad averted their eyes and nodded the way kids do when they know it’s expected of them. Tyler played with his plastic German soldier. Mackenzie sat with her arms crossed tightly. Gavin stared at his lap. Crosby glanced at the clock on the wall. “Are you going to keep us past the late bus, Ms. B?” he asked.
Ms. B’s face darkened. “This is far more important than whether or not you catch a bus, Crosby. Many, many people, especially those of Jewish descent, lost their families in Nazi concentration camps. I think you need to understand what the Iron Cross represents to them. Those medals might have been worn at other times in history, but they are still symbols of hate, anti-Semitism, and terrorism. They are a reminder that the Nazis slaughtered millions of innocent people just because of their religion and ethnicity. Those murders had nothing to do with trying to win World War Two. The Nazis killed children and women and old people who were no threat to them. It was genocide, plain and simple.”
Ms. B’s face was flushed. It was obvious that she was really upset. The Axis squad cast their eyes down, trying to appear remorseful. But Crosby had doubts. A few nights ago Dave had told him about the Jewish threat to the United States. Unlike Muslims and Mexicans, Jews were white and could go almost unnoticed. According to Dave, even though the Jews were a small minority, they controlled most of the politics and banking.
Ms. B kept talking, and the members of the Axis squad kept sneaking peeks at the clock. A rain shower was passing outside. It would be really mean of Ms. B to make them miss the late bus and have to walk home in the rain or call their parents for rides. Finally, Ms. B added insult to injury by assigning them extra homework. That night they would each have to write out the definition of genocide and give three examples of it from history.
“And there’ll be no more logos, medals, or anything else that hints of the Germans in World War Two,” she concluded.
* * *
The rain had been brief, and patches of blue appeared between the clouds. The late-afternoon sun had begun to dry the asphalt between the puddles in the parking lot. When Ms. B left the school, she saw Principal Summers ahead of her, carrying a brown satchel.
Ms. B jogged to catch up, then told the principal about the Axis squad’s gray shirts and Iron Crosses. “Honestly, I think we need to have an assembly about hate symbols,” she said. “I get the feeling that these kids have no idea what some of these things mean.”
Maybe it was Ms. B’s imagination, but at the mention of an assembly, Principal Summers went pale. “After what happened at the last one?” she asked.
“But this would be with a different presenter,” Ms. B said. “I’m sure we can find someone younger. Someone the kids can relate to. Hopefully there’d be a PowerPoint or video to help hold their attention. And I don’t think it will cost us anything. I think there must be organizations that do that kind of assembly for free.”
Principal Summers pursed her lips pensively. “I understand your concern, but I’m worried about blowing this out of proportion. We’re talking about only a handful of students, while an assembly will introduce hate symbols to the entire student body. Kids who may be completely unaware that these things even exist. And if you bring up racist symbols, don’t you have to include nooses? And if you talk about nooses, you have to talk about lynchings. I’m not sure all our kids are mature enough for that. And with anti-Semitism, you’re obviously going to have to introduce the Holocaust and the ovens. I mean, of course, our students will have to learn about these things, but don’t you think it would be better to learn about them in the appropriate historical context? So yes, they should learn about lynchings when they study the post–Civil War period. And about the Holocaust when they study World War Two. But I’m worried that dropping hate symbols into their laps out of context will be confusing to them. And I’m especially concerned about how their parents might react.”
“But if they’re being exposed to hate symbols here in middle school, shouldn’t we be educating them now?” Ms. B asked.
Principal Summers gazed up at the last few dark clouds drifting across the sky. “Ms. B, you and I both know that kids today are exposed to so much more than we were at their age. The internet has changed everything. Here in school we can’t possibly keep up with what they see on their phones and computer screens. We have to depend on their parents to pick up some of the slack.”
“Then maybe it’s the parents who need to see the assembly,” Ms. B said. “I mean, I consider myself a politically aware adult, and yet I had no idea what ‘RaHoWa’ and ‘1488’ meant.”
“I’ve never even heard of them,” Principal Summers said.
Ms. B explained that “RaHoWa” stood for “Racial Holy War,” something white supremacists spoke of as a solution to the “problem” of minorities. The number 14 stood for the fourteen words that made up a popular white supremacist rallying cry: “We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.” And 88 stood for “Heil Hitler” because “H” was the eighth letter of the alphabet.
“And those are just three,” Ms. B said. “There are dozens and dozens more.”
Principal Summers’s face scrunched with frustration. “I don’t have to tell you that one of the problems we face here in Ironville is low parental participation. We’ve tried programs for parents before, and the turnout is always minimal. The ones who come aren’t the ones we need to reach, and the ones we need to reach don’t come.”
“So there’s nothing we can do?” Ms. B asked, feeling vexed.
“No, we always do something,” Principal Summers insisted. “If there’s an incident involving hate speech or a hate symbol, we send a notice to the parents suggesting they speak to their children about it.”
“But that’s being reactive instead of proactive,” Ms. B pointed out. “Instead of teaching them not to use hate symbols and language, you’re waiting until they use them and then responding.”
Principal Summers nodded sadly. “I know, a
nd I’m sorry, Ms. B, but it’s the best we can do.”
* * *
Caleb and Zach stood at the crest of a long hilltop road, strapping on helmets and pulling on gloves. Caleb’s stomach felt like it was filled with fluttering butterflies. “You sure it’s dry enough?” he asked.
“See for yourself,” Zach said. “There’s hardly any wet spots.”
Caleb looked down the road and saw mostly sun-dried asphalt. “Tell me again how I stop?” he asked.
Zach rolled his eyes in good-natured exasperation. “We’ve been over this, like, a thousand times. If you’re not going too fast, you can foot brake.”
“I take my foot off the board and drag it on the ground,” Caleb said.
“Right. And if you’re going too fast for that, use the glove-down slide.”
“Uh…Maybe you could show me that again?” Caleb asked meekly.
Zach sighed. It was obvious that Caleb was stalling. They’d practiced foot braking and the glove-down slide for the past two weeks. Caleb knew how to do them; but he was just scared.
“Listen, we don’t have to do this hill today,” Zach said. “No one’s going to know.”
While he appreciated Zach’s offer to let him get out of boarding the hill, Caleb always wanted to succeed, and this was a new challenge. Yes, he was super nervous, but he knew he’d be totally disappointed in himself if he didn’t give it a shot.
“Just remember,” Zach said. “If you do start to fall, make sure you tuck and roll.”
Caleb recited what he was supposed to do. “Elbows bent, tuck, and try to roll over a shoulder.” To demonstrate, he crouched down and pulled his elbows in.
“Right,” Zach said. “The one thing you don’t want is a hard stop. But you’re not going to fall. You’re going to control your speed by…?”
“Carving!” Caleb answered. Last week Zach had shown him how to carve on a gradual slope. Carving was cool. Surfers carved. Snowboarders carved. And in a few moments, Caleb told himself, he, too, would carve.
“See you at the bottom.” Zach pushed off and gracefully wove down the long tree-lined road until he disappeared around the bend far below.
Caleb was left alone at the top of the hill. Now what? he asked himself. His heart was thumping in his chest. He knew he had to get down the hill one way or another. If he walked, it would take forever and Zach would know that he’d chickened out. Caleb didn’t want to think of himself as a wuss. Besides, he liked the idea of doing something purely for the sake of the thrill. Something that wasn’t going to be graded. That didn’t count for extra credit. Something that was just for fun. He wanted to lose himself in the exhilaration and adventure. When was the last time he’d done something solely because it was fun? Carving was fun. Caleb was willing to bet that going fast was fun. Well, going a little fast, at least.
He gazed down the hill again. It was a lot steeper and longer than the one he and Zach had practiced on. His heart was still thumping. Maybe this isn’t a good idea….
Oh, come on, you wuss. At least try….
He pointed the board down the hill and pushed off. He was rolling. He leaned and carved to the right, then carved left. Look, Ma, I can do this! Carve right, and…
Uh-oh. He was speeding up. Keep carving to control your speed! he told himself.
He tried to carve, but the result was more of a wiggle. The wind was in his face. He was still gaining speed. The wiggle got wigglier. Under his feet, the board began to rattle. Caleb wanted to stop, but he was already going too fast for the foot drag. He knew what Zach would tell him to do…the glove-down slide.
At this speed? Who am I kidding? Maybe Caleb was able to do a glove-down slide when he was practicing on a gradual slope at a slow speed, but now he was going way too fast to squat that low, turn the board sideways, and use the friction of the sideways wheels and his gloved hand against the asphalt to stop. If he tried that now, there was no doubt in his mind that he’d lose his balance and go kersplat on the hard asphalt.
He was still picking up speed. The board’s wiggle had become an all-out wobble. The wind was blowing hard enough to make his eyes tear. Blood was pounding in his ears. The skateboard’s wheels were making a loud whining sound. He must have been going a hundred miles an hour.
I’m gonna die!
* * *
In Sarah’s bedroom, Emma looked through the shelves for that book about Anne Frank. She knew it was about a Jewish girl and the Nazis in World War II. The whole issue of the Nazis was bothering Emma. It seemed to come up now every time the eSports club met. Especially today when Ms. B nearly went bonkers over the goon squad’s gray shirts and Iron Crosses. It felt so strange. World War II had ended about eighty years ago. That was before any of Emma’s grandparents had been born. Before TV, for Pete’s sake. Things like smartphones, texting, and Instagram were at least 50 years in the future. It was a time when girls were expected to wear skirts and blouses every day. It might just as well have been the Stone Age. Also, the Allied forces had won the war. Nazi Germany and the Axis were defeated. So why, all this time later, were the Nazis still on people’s minds?
Something else nagged Emma about the Axis squad. First the custom tees, now the gray shirts and the medals. Where’d the money for those things come from? Ever since Gavin’s father had gotten injured, his family didn’t have money to throw around. And she got the impression that was true of Crosby’s family as well.
Emma found the Anne Frank book, with its maroon cover and black-and-white photo of a cheerful-looking girl with shoulder-length dark hair. Emma remembered that Sarah had read the whole book in one weekend. She’d refused to do anything except read, eat, and sleep. Emma couldn’t remember her sister doing that with any other book.
Now she was going to find out why.
* * *
While Zach waited at the bottom of the hill for Caleb to come down, he thought back to that afternoon’s eSports match. It had been tight and close, and once again the squads had been tied going into the final round. It was clear from the start that the Axis team had come prepared with a counterstrategy. As the squads went into the ninth and final round, Zach had doubts about winning. But then, partway through, Nathan went back to his old one-man lone-wolf kill-spree mode—the approach that the rest of the Allied squad had warned him wouldn’t work forever.
But it worked again today. And thanks to Nathan, the Allied team eked out the win. Probably, Zach suspected, because the last thing the Axis squad expected was for Nathan to go rogue again.
A crow landed on the road and began to peck at something. Zach realized that Caleb had still not come down the hill. Zach couldn’t see the top of the hill because at the bottom the road curved to the left behind the trees. But Caleb definitely should have been down by now.
Zach jogged back around the curve. At the bottom of the straightaway, he looked up the hill. There was no sign of Caleb. Zach felt his stomach tighten and his heart begin to race. If Caleb wasn’t on the road, then the only other place he could be was in the trees. Zach pictured Caleb wrapped around a tree. He imagined calling 911. He pictured an ambulance coming, and the EMTs rolling Caleb away on a stretcher. He imagined Caleb in a hospital bed wearing a neck brace, one of his arms in a cast and his leg in another cast elevated by wires.
Zach began to panic. Where was Caleb? Which of the hundreds of trees had he crashed into? He ran up the hill, looking left and right. As he passed a patch of tall grass, he heard laughing.
* * *
Caleb quietly opened the side door. He eased himself into the house and started to tiptoe down the hall to his room.
“That you, Caleb?” his mother called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Be there in a second,” Caleb called back, ducking into his room and closing the door. The sight that met him in the mirror wasn’t pretty. He definitely had to get into the bathroom and clean
up before his mother saw him. He silently opened his bedroom door and slid back into the hall…where his mother was waiting.
Her eyes widened. “What in the world?”
Caleb froze. “It’s nothing, Mom.”
“Nothing? Your face is covered with scratches. You’re covered with grass stains and mud. Were you trying to sneak into the bathroom without me seeing?”
“No,” Caleb lied. He stepped back and winced from the pain that shot through his knee.
“Are you limping?” Mrs. Arnett asked.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Fine? You look like you’ve been in a fight. What happened?”
“I fell off a skateboard.”
His mother’s jaw dropped. “Since when do you skateboard?”
“Well, I—”
“Were you wearing a helmet? Did you hit your head?”
“I was wearing a helmet,” Caleb assured her. “I didn’t hit my head. I just need to get into the bathroom.” He took a step and winced in pain.
“You’re definitely limping,” Mrs. Arnett said. “I want to see that knee.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Caleb said. “Just give me a cold pack and it’ll—”
“How do you know it isn’t sprained?” she asked. “How do you know you didn’t tear a ligament? You probably need an MRI. I’m calling Dr.—”
“Mom!” Caleb didn’t know where the shout came from. Well, it came from him, obviously. But from where in him?
His mother froze. Caleb was sure they were both thinking the same thing. Had he ever shouted at her before?
“I think I’d know if I tore a ligament,” Caleb said calmly. “Just give me a cold pack, okay? That’s all I need.”
The Good War Page 9