Sender could hardly pay attention in class that afternoon. While the limudei chol teacher spoke about the American Revolution, Michael’s comment ran round and around in Sender’s head.

“Welcome to the real world, Rabbi Edelman.”

The real world? A world where people steal things and break old men’s hearts and hoodlums try to destroy holy places? A world where it isn’t obvious that a Jewish boy learns Torah? Where he has to be a rabbi to learn Torah? A world where a yiddishe neshamah has to go to a goyish school, especially with those creeps, just because his father is a businessman?

This is real?

“Sender, are you with us?” his teacher asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” was what he said, but what he wanted to say was, I don’t know. Are you in the so-called real world?

The bell rang and the class filed out. Sender sat until everyone had left, and then angrily stuffed his books into his book bag. He walked slowly down the hall, lost in his own thoughts. When he got outside, he was not surprised to see the front of the school empty; most boys were picked up right after the last class.

Sender scanned the no-parking zone where Mr. Myers usually pulled up. Empty. Then he went around the side to the parking lot, but the only cars there were parked and empty. He went back to the front of the school and looked up and down the block. There wasn’t even one car that remotely resembled Mr. Myers’ old black Ford.

I guess something held him up, he thought and sat down on the curb, resigned to waiting patiently. Twenty minutes later, he stood up again. I’d better call, he thought and went back to the school building.

The door, however, was locked. Everyone must have gone home. He was alone.

There must be some mistake, he thought. Probably, someone else was supposed to pick me up, and there was a mix up, and Ima thinks I’m at shul and Aba thinks I’m at home.

What a mess!

He looked down the block towards home. It’s not as if I don’t know the way home; I’ve walked it before. Those kids at the high school were arrested, right? They won’t be there to bother me. Besides, their school got out a long time ago. They must be long gone.

Right?

Sender took a deep breath and began walking home. In the distance, he could see the dark bulk of the high school. The sunny spring day had changed into a chilly spring evening; Sender buttoned his sweater and walked quickly. Clouds collected overhead, but in the still evening air, only the tips of the trees stirred.

A block before the high school, he crossed to the other side of the street. Sender walked faster. His heart jolted in his chest when he saw the group standing next to the chain-link fence. Subconsciously, he looked for familiar faces.

The group was smaller. Frank with the skull wasn’t there, neither was Blond Spikes, nor two of the other boys who had harassed him in the past.

A boy he’d never seen before, a boy with white-blond hair and baggy black pants looked at him and turned away deliberately. Another kid glared at the boy and hit him on the shoulder. He whispered something and jerked his head towards Sender. He smiled nastily and drew his index finger across his throat. The blond boy just stared, eyes narrow in his thin, pale face.

Sender jerked his eyes away from the group and walked on. He was almost convinced they wouldn’t touch him, or even come near him; they were in enough trouble already. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t feel safe until he was well away.

Two blocks away from the high school and one block from home, Sender let himself look over his shoulder. The street was empty. He let out a breath he didn’t even know that he was holding and looked down at his trembling legs in surprise; I didn’t think I was that scared, he thought and sat down hard on the grassy verge.

It’s so quiet here, he thought. Is it always so quiet? I’m always in the car or running somewhere, I never noticed. And there’s no one on the street. Only one person, far away. Sender saw that the person was young and had white-blond hair. He slipped behind a parked car. It’s him, the boy from outside the high school! He’s following me! Sender got on hands and knees and looked out around the bumper. The boy was still there, but he’d stopped. Sender ducked back and squatted on his heels, arms around his legs, chin resting on his knees.

He can’t be following me, he reasoned. Why would he follow me? He must live around here, that’s all. I’m acting like this is a spy book. Disgusted with himself, he uncurled and stood up.

The boy saw him and ducked behind a parked van.

Sender ran.

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