Under the Same Stars by Libba Bray(94)

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Jenny wakes to someone pounding a fist on a door. Go away, Allie, she thinks, exhausted. She hears A-Blitz cursing in German—“Rat! Hurry up in there!”—and sits bolt upright in Lena’s bed. No. No, no, no. She stumbles free of the blanket and pushes open the rug drapery. Bright light streams through the dirty factory windows. A-Blitz smirks at her. His left eye is bruised and swollen. “Guten Tag, Dallas.”

“What time is it?” Jenny asks, panicked.

“Half past eleven.”

Jenny goes loose as silt.

A-Blitz grins. There’s an arched hole where his left incisor has gone missing. “I like your hair, by the way. What do you say? Raaad!”

Jenny runs a hand across her prickly scalp and nearly faints.

She is so dead.

By the time she returns to her apartment building, it is nearly one o’clock. She slips her key in the lock and quietly opens the door. She’s hoping against hope that she can tiptoe to her bedroom and come up with a story about the hair—I went to the barbershop for a trim and he misunderstood what I was saying!

Her father’s voice booms out from the living room. “Where in the hell have you been?”

Helga peeks her head around from the kitchen. She stops drying the dish in her hands and stares at Jenny as if she were an intruder, then shakes her head, muttering, and disappears into the safety of the kitchen again. When Jenny enters the living room, her mother puts a hand to her mouth. A little cry creeps out anyway. Her parents are in their tennis outfits, their rackets zippered in covers by their feet.

“What. Have. You. Done?” Her father says it low and hard and that’s scarier than the yelling.

Jenny can’t answer. Her brain is a radio with no signal.

“You look like a goddamned Dachau victim!”

Drawn by the drama, Alison clops into the foyer wearing her daisy bathing suit and rubber swim fins. She stares at Jenny. “You look ugly.”

“Shut up, Alison!” Jenny yells, but she’s scared, not angry.

“Don’t yell at your sister,” her father scolds. “Alison, go to your room. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Does this mean we can’t go swimming?” Alison asks.

“Go to your room!” their father and mother say at the same time.

“I never get to have ANY FUN!” Alison wails and stomps away, like a tiny Godzilla.

“Sit down,” Jenny’s father demands. “Close the door behind you first.”

Jenny does as she’s told.

“Where were you last night? And don’t say at Martina’s because when you failed to show up to look after your sister like the goddamned adult you claim you want to be, your mother went down to their apartment. Martina’s mother was very surprised to hear that you were supposed to be there. Or that you had supposedly been there on the other nights you said you were staying over. So. Think carefully about your answer.”

“I was out. With friends.”

“Out where?”

“Just a party.”

“That’s great. That’s just swell. A party where people shave their hair off. Sounds respectable.”

“Jenny, who are these friends? Why haven’t you let us meet them?” her mother asks.

“Just … friends, Mom. People I met here. Lena. And Zehra. Anke. A-Blitz. Rat.”

“What kind of a name is A-Blitz? Who calls himself Rat? Christ.” It’s early but her father pours himself a scotch anyway.

“Not everybody belongs to the country club, Dad.”

Her dad points a finger on the hand holding the tumbler. “Don’t get fresh, Jennifer Anne. Trash. You’re associating with trash.”

“They are not trash, Dad! They’re my friends!”

“Honey, this isn’t like back home. It can be dangerous.” Her mother, the peacemaker.

“There’s a goddamned wall dividing the city from rifle-toting communists in case you hadn’t noticed, young lady.”

“John.”

“We should’ve sent her to boarding school, Susan.”

“You just want to control everything—like, like fascists!” Jenny says.

“Listen to you.” Her father laughs. It’s not a kind laugh.

“You know why I take pictures? So I can remind myself of what’s true! What’s real. So I know I’m not crazy!”

“That’s enough, young lady.”

Hot tears spill over Jenny’s cheeks. There’s a terrible ache in her throat. Years’ worth of anger is coming up and she can’t stop it. “You want everything that doesn’t fit into your picture-perfect life to just go away.” She turns to her father. “I hate the way you talk to Mom, like she’s just your secretary of life.”

“Jenny…,” her mother starts.

“And I hate the way you never stand up for yourself, Mom. You just go along to get along. You’re like a ghost in your own life!”

“I said that’s enough.” Her father’s voice is a crisp slap. “You’re grounded. You don’t leave this house unless it’s with us. Do I make myself crystal clear?”

“Just like the GDR,” Jenny shoots back. “Should I get my papers in order?”