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Will he be alone, or will there be others in the cell? What if there are real criminals in there? What if they are enemies of the people? Spies and wreckers? What if my dad is in there, too? No, that’s impossible. They don’t lock a hero in a cell. But Finkelstein’s dad could be there. His mom is probably in the women’s quarters. His dad could be sitting in that cell, all worried, when the door opens and his son walks in. That’d be something to see.

    I stop walking. People bump into me and the ranks get confused. “Keep in line, children, keep in line!” calls Nina Petrovna. Someone punches me in the back and I fall in with everybody again.
    How stupid of me! I should have guessed it right away. Four-Eyes took the blame so he would be taken to Lubyanka. What a clever guy! He figured out how to get inside. He did exactly what he wanted, and I helped him. Well, not directly. But it doesn’t matter now. Imagine how happy he’ll be to see his dad, and how happy his dad will be to see him! I wonder if they have prison cells for whole families. Tonight they could be together, talking away. And who knows, maybe his parents are not enemies of the people after all. Maybe they were arrested by mistake, like my dad. Soon Stalin will let them all go. And if not, Four-Eyes is clever; he’ll think of something.
    Nina Petrovna holds the classroom door open and we file in. She pats each passing head, counting.
I smile at her—I can’t help it. By the look on her face, I know the Pioneers rally is back on track. Soon I will see my dad. Soon I will become a Pioneer. Soon everything will be good again. But just as I’m getting in, Vovka Sobakin jumps out from behind the door and slams me into the wall. “Nice work, Amerikanetz .” His face is so close, his spit is all over me. “Let others take the blame. That’s the Pioneer spirit.”

22
    â€œAS THE PROVERB goes, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” says Nina Petrovna, looking out at us from behind her desk. “We should have known better than to permit Finkelstein to remain in our ranks after his parents were arrested. We have failed, class, slackened in our vigilance. But this will not happen again.”
    Nina Petrovna rises, walks to where the group photograph of our class hangs on the wall, and blackens Four-Eyes’s face with her ink pen. That’s what we always do to the pictures of enemies of the people, and it usually feels good, but not this time. Four-Eyes is not an enemy. He just wanted to see his parents.

    Satisfied now, Nina Petrovna turns away from the picture. She says, “Thanks to Finkelstein, we have very little time left to prepare for the Pioneers rally. But will this stop us from doing an excellent job?”
    â€œNo!” we yell.
    â€œThat’s the Pioneer spirit, children. Drums and bugles, line up by the blackboard. Zaichik, bring the banner.”
    We line up in a flash, eager for Nina Petrovna’s next command, but for some reason she’s staring at the class photograph again. I look at it, too. The black ink glistens, still wet on Four-Eyes’s face. When Nina Petrovna turns around, she looks serious and determined. “Children,” she says, “your teacher has a confession to make.”
    Everyone gets really quiet; we’ve never heard a teacher confess to the students before.
    â€œFor some time, and contrary to my Stalinist
principles,” she says, “I have been forced by my superior to keep silent.” Here she looks up at the principal’s office, right above our classroom; then she looks back at us significantly, making sure that we understand she’s talking about our principal. “But in view of the vicious act of terrorism that happened in our school today, I refuse to be silenced any longer. Listen carefully, children. This is something I should have told you before.” She takes a deep breath and