Just like in a debate competition, I had told Cade we needed to dress up and make an impression on Principal McNeil and Mr. Bartley. We’ll make an impression, all right. But this isn’t quite what I had in mind. I take in Cade’s church clothes—white oxford and pressed black chinos—then appraise my untucked fitted white dress shirt I borrowed from Dad and my black pants. I swear Cade and I didn’t plan it this way. Even our black Converse high-tops match.

Cade shakes his head and laughs, shuts his locker, and joins me at mine as I arrange the papers we need for our meeting with Mr. Bartley and Principal McNeil.

Cade says, “You want me to change into my gym T-shirt?”

“And spoil our fun?” I say in jest.

“You’re sure? I could run to the locker room. It’ll take two minutes. Five max.”

“I’m sure,” I say, lying through my teeth. But it’s better for us to be a bit early than late.

We’re not a couple, but we look like one and I’m even more self-conscious. At the museum, I had wanted to kiss Cade. I had wanted him to kiss me. I think he was going to, but I panicked. We spent the rest of the night keeping a safe distance from one another, pretending like we’d never held hands and that everything was status quo between us.

The way we’re dressed is definitely not status quo. We look like one of those couples. If I saw a couple dressed like this, I’d make a sarcastic comment about it to Cade, have a good laugh over their color-coordinated coupledom, and maybe make gagging noises once they were out of earshot. Why didn’t I wear my red or purple Converse? At least that would have given me some individuality.

Cade leans in and whispers, “We’ve got this.”

When we reach the office, Cade opens the door for me. Miss Wather takes us in from head to toe and smiles. “I’ll let Principal McNeil and Mr. Bartley know you’re here, dears. Have a seat.” She motions to the chairs outside Principal McNeil’s office. Cade takes the middle. I sit on his left and clutch our presentation in both hands.

Ten minutes pass, and every person who has come into the office has noticed our coordinated outfits. Or maybe they’ve wondered if we’re in some kind of trouble. Or maybe I’m reading too much into their smirks, raised eyebrows, and curious glances? I don’t think so.

Why is Principal McNeil making us wait?

The anticipation is killing me. Cade and I spent every spare minute of the weekend preparing and practicing our presentation. I can’t think of anything more we could have done.

I rub my palms on my pants, then tuck my hands under my thighs. Cade bounces his knee. I slide my foot next to his, getting his attention. Our eyes meet. We have a conversation without saying a word. We will not back down, he says. I tap my fingertips against our presentation and nod. We got this!

Finally, Mr. Bartley opens the door, ushering us in.

“Have a seat,” Principal McNeil says from the chair behind his desk. He sounds pleasant enough, but his body language is dismissive, putting me even more on edge. A copy of the assignment covers most of his tabletop calendar. The blood-red “TOP-SECRET” pops among the stark white papers and dreary textbooks.

Mr. Bartley takes a few long strides and stands next to Principal McNeil like a sentry guarding a king. I read their body language like a book. Spoiler alert. Cade and I, the protagonists, are about to be hit with a metaphorical freight train.

“So,” Principal McNeil says, bracing his elbows on his desk and lacing his fingers together. “I’ve thoroughly reviewed this lesson and the assignment and support Mr. Bartley one hundred percent. Studying the Final Solution and understanding the Nazis’ actions and motivations are important parts of fighting racism, antisemitism, and hate. And I see nothing wrong with historical reenactments. In fact, I believe they’re great teaching tools. Mr. Bartley has made it very clear that this activity is to help you and your classmates understand the mindset of the Nazis and what led to the most destructive acts of antisemitism in modern history.”

He taps his copy of the assignment. “Furthermore, Mr. Bartley told me that he expressed his strong opposition to the Final Solution and agreed with you that all genocide is immoral. Is this statement correct?”

I glance at Cade. Reluctantly, we both nod.

Principal McNeil smiles. “Excellent. We have no doubt you’ll do a fine job presenting the Nazi points of view, and then write outstanding papers expressing how you strongly oppose their actions.”

Cade speaks up. “With all due respect, we won’t do this assignment. It’s not just that the Nazis actions were immoral. This assignment is immoral. We want it canceled.”

“Excuse me?” Mr. Bartley says.

As we rehearsed for this scenario, I hand copies of our presentation to Principal McNeil, Mr. Bartley, and Cade. Cade’s hand shakes as he takes his copy from me.

“What is this?” Principal McNeil flips through our eight-page document.

“Cade and I spent many hours researching and putting together our arguments against this assignment and creating alternatives.” I hold up my copy.

“We’ve been asked to debate the Final Solution of the Jewish Question, but the Wannsee Conference had ultimately one purpose: to discuss how to implement the systematic murder of the Jewish people. That was confirmed in Conspiracy, the movie our class watched this past Friday. If you look at our document, we have included additional source material from the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum’s website supporting this fact.”

I focus on Mr. Bartley. “Furthermore, you compared our assignment to acting. Actors choose their roles. Everyone knows it’s pretend. But by having us re-create the Wannsee Conference, you are forcing us into the Nazis’ shoes, rationalize their actions, and justify their thinking. This assignment allows for the possibility that the Nazis were right.”

Waves of frustration or resentment or both roll off Mr. Bartley, but he hasn’t uttered a word since I handed them our document.

I straighten my posture as if I’m standing in front of the judges for one of my debate competitions. “As you know, the purpose of a debate is to persuade others that your position is correct. In order to be persuasive, there must be legitimate arguments. How can anyone justify starving people to death in ghettos? How can anyone legitimize enslaving people for the sole purpose of profit, abusing them until they’re dead? That’s murder. How can you ask us to justify genocide? We can’t debate two evils. Asking us to do so normalizes the Nazi perspective. It dehumanizes the Jewish people. We shouldn’t be asked to support systematic annihilation of any people, whether it’s a historical perspective or not.” I pause for their reaction, but from their silence it’s clear I haven’t convinced them.

I forge on. “After World War Two, the results of the Nuremberg Trials prove our position. The defense attorneys argued that these Nazis were only following their superiors’ orders. But the International Military Tribunal concluded that under international law, morality overrode any order from a government or from a superior. Again, what the Nazis did was pure evil. There is no debate. Morality overrides this assignment!”

In need of support, I reach for Cade’s hand. He laces his fingers with mine and holds tight. For two long beats, silence suffocates the room. I look over at Cade. It’s his turn to speak.