Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray(33)

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At the end of the week, Hanna returned from the rally. Sophie watched Hanna, Klara, and the other girls coming up the street, their cheeks burnished by days spent in the sun, and felt a pang of jealousy and regret that she hadn’t gone to the rally with them. She worried that she’d missed out on something vital, especially when she saw the easy way they were with each other, laughing over some private joke Sophie would never know. But if she’d gone, she might never have found Tomas’s letter and known the depth of feeling he had for her.

Sophie waited until Hanna was upstairs in her bedroom. She shouted across the street. “Hanna! Hanna!”

Hanna appeared, arms folded. She seemed different somehow, more grown-up in only a week. “What is it?”

“Can you come to the forest with me?”

Hanna put her fists to her hips and sighed. “I’ve only just gotten home.”

“Please?”

Hanna sighed irritably. “Fine.”

They rode out to the forest. Hanna talked only of the rally and how wonderful it had been. “The boys’ camp was right next to ours. Klara sneaked off with a boy she met. She came back from his tent with her hair a mess…”

But Sophie was too anxious to hear much of it. She’d never kept a secret from Hanna before and this was a big one. “I need to tell you something,” she said as they approached the Bridegroom’s Oak. She took Tomas’s well-worn letter from her rucksack, handed it to Hanna, and watched her face, knitted first with curiosity, loosen into blankness as she read it. “I’m sure Hans will write to you very soon! Tomas said that he was very busy with the cows.”

“Gott in Himmel, Sophie!” Hanna said. “You can’t be so full of romantic notions! You need to see the world as it is, not as you wish it were.”

“But don’t you need both? How can the world be made better if you can’t imagine it better first?”

“Stop being so naive!” Hanna snapped. “Klara told me everything at the rally. Those letters that you love so much? They’re not from two brothers. They were written by Karl and Oskar and Leon.”

Sophie was stung. It wasn’t like Hanna to be jealous. “That isn’t funny, Hanna.”

“It isn’t meant to be. Think about it. Use that very smart head of yours: Tomas and Hans von der Trottel? I’m embarrassed to think I didn’t see it myself.”

Von der Trottel. Trottel: fool.

“But…” Sophie couldn’t even finish. A dark bird of thought was unfurling its wings inside her.

“That isn’t all. Everyone makes fun of you, Sophie. They call you Miss Lonelyhearts. Do you want that?”

“Do you let them make fun of me?” Another question came to her that she didn’t speak aloud: Did she already know?

Hanna looked away. “I can’t stick up for you forever.”

“Complicit,” Sophie hissed.

“You like to throw words around when you don’t want to face something,” Hanna said, her eyes sharp as her tone.

Sophie brushed her hair back into place and straightened her blouse. “Well, I don’t believe it. I think Klara is just jealous.”

Hanna glared. “Fine. See for yourself.”

The girls rode back to town in silence. In the distant fields, soldiers practiced their shooting, but the firecracker pop of their rifles barely registered with Sophie. She could only hear Hanna’s voice in her head: Do you want that?

Outside the shop, Oskar, Leon, and Karl had finished their repairs on the motorbike and were preparing to give it a ride. Klara and Hedy were there, cooing their praise. Klara smiled coyly at Karl. “Take me for a ride on it, won’t you?”

Hanna dropped her bicycle to the ground and marched up to the boys. “Tell her.” She crossed her arms and waited.

“Tell her what?” Oskar said with a sneaky grin.

Hanna kicked his shoe. “Tell her!”

“Ow!”

Leon snickered and pushed his glasses up his nose. Karl stepped forward. He shrugged. “You wanted a romance with a tree, so we gave you one.”

“Oh, Tomas, I’ll kiss your mouth, your n-neck…,” Oskar sputtered on a high-pitched laugh until the next word was nearly lost. “And y-y-your Sch-Sch-Schwanz!!!”

Klara gasped in horrified delight. “Sophie, what a dirty little bird you are!”

Everyone laughed. Even Hanna. And all at once, Sophie, the collector of words, understood the definition she had missed. Her humiliation was overwhelming. She feared she might be sick. Sophie had believed with all of her heart that the tree was magic. She’d believed the letters were real. She’d believed that she was worthy of love. Worst of all was Hanna’s betrayal. The Hanna she knew would’ve thrown a punch, made them apologize. This was worse than keeping the secret about kissing Oskar.

Sophie refused to give everyone the satisfaction of her tears. She squared her shoulders and glared at Hanna. “Complicit: Allowing a wrongdoing and saying nothing. A sin.”

“Refusing to see truth is willful ignorance,” Hanna shot back.

“You are … impudent!” Sophie cried.

“What does that mean?”

“Rude. With a disregard for others.”

Hanna folded her arms. “I think you mean honest.”