Chapter 2
The New Kid

It wasn’t like I hadn’t been to the new school before. It was nearby—just a few minutes’ walk along a path leading to the main road, then a quick right, and then you reached a huge building three times the size of my old school in Katzrin with classrooms all over the place, a soccer field, and a science laboratory. I hoped I wouldn’t get lost on my first day. A week before school started, I went there with my dad to register. I met the principal, Edna, and my fifth grade teacher, Ariella. They seemed friendly enough. But what would the kids be like?

On the morning of my first day at school, I sat at the kitchen table, trying to choke down a few bites of cold cereal while my mother rebraided parts of my hair.

“Ima, my stomach is killing me,” I whispered.

“It’s okay to be a little nervous, honey. Don’t worry, everything will be all right,” she reassured me. Abba came back from the store with fresh rolls and made sandwiches for me and Lemlem.

“Who’s taking me to my new preschool?” asked Lemlem.

“I am,” said Ima, adding a final bead and surveying my fresh braids with satisfaction. I lifted my gaze to meet Abba’s blue eyes.

“I’ll walk with Macy,” he said.

“I can walk on my own.” I looked away.

“I know you can, but I’d like to walk with you.” Abba handed me my lunch. “Trust me, Macy, you’re a great kid. Just be yourself and everybody will want to be your friend, you’ll see.” Dad tried to make conversation on the way, but I was so nervous I felt like I was going to throw up if I opened my mouth.

On the other side of the road I could see kids my age walking in groups to school. None of the others were with their parents. I quickly let go of my dad’s hand.

“It’s all right, Abba, I can take it from here,” I said.

“Are you sure?” Abba hesitated.

“Yes, no problem. See you later.” I said firmly.

“All right, then. Have a good day.” Abba smiled at me a little sadly but left me to continue walking on my own.

“Look at that Ethiopian, that kid—you see her?”

“Check it out. She’s Ethiopian!”

I overheard some kids behind me talking as I walked up the steps into my new school. I looked around, but I didn’t see anyone nearby who looked Ethiopian. It felt like all the kids were staring at me, and I told myself to relax. I heard more whispering, and a few seconds later, when I noticed a kid pointing right at me, I suddenly realized that they meant me.

I was the Ethiopian.

A girl with long hair pulled back into a messy ponytail appeared in front of me, hands on her hips, blocking my path through the school entrance. “When did you come to Israel?” she asked.

“Don’t be silly, Sarah, she doesn’t know Hebrew,” someone else said behind me.

“What’s your name?” asked the girl in front of me, this time in heavily accented English. Her brown eyes narrowed as she stared at me, expecting an answer.

“Back off, you’re scaring her!” A short, chubby girl with bright green eyes smiled at me encouragingly.

“Be quiet, Helen,” snapped the girl called Sarah. “Seriously. I just asked her what her name was.”

“I speak Hebrew,” I mumbled, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow me.

Somebody clapped their hands as if I had performed a trick or something.

“Good, good, she speaks Hebrew,” repeated a red-haired boy covered in freckles.

“Were you on Operation Solomon? I saw it on TV!” a boy nearby shouted. “I saw them bringing all you people in great big planes with no seats.”

“Can I touch your hair?” A kid reached for my braids.

Another tugged at my brand-new shirt. “Bet you got that at the airport. I saw how you got here on TV. You didn’t bring anything with you, did you?”

“Yes, I saw that too. They had to give them all new clothes.”

I blushed and stuttered. “I’m not a new immigrant!”

“Sure, you’re not.” Helen grinned. “My mom says that as soon as the Ethiopians got here they all became Israeli.”

“Shut up, you idiot, you don’t know anything,” said Sarah scornfully. Then she turned to me: “We can all see that you’re a new immigrant. What class did they put you in?”

“You didn’t even have schools in Ethiopia, did you?”

“So, they’ll put her in first grade!” The kids all snickered.

“I’m not from Ethiopia!” I shouted. They all fell silent. I hung my head. I just said that to shut them up, without even thinking about it. In a way it was true, and in a way it wasn’t.

“What do you mean, you’re not from Ethiopia?”

“But you’re black!”

“And your hair, the braids . . .”

I searched desperately for an answer that might satisfy them, and then I had it. “I’m from America,” I said.

“You mean you’re African American?” The children looked at me, wide-eyed.

“Do you speak English, then?” asked Helen.

“Of course she does, stupid. If she comes from America, then she speaks English!” answered the red-haired boy. They all took a step closer.

“Have you ever been to Disneyland?”

“Do you know Michael Jackson?”

Sarah announced suddenly, “I don’t believe her; she’s lying!”

“Her clothes do look American. Who gives clothes like that to Ethiopians?”

“And her sneakers—look—they’re Nike!”

They went on and on. I wanted to shrink into the floor and disappear as everyone offered their opinions about the American qualities of my hair, my skin, and my clothes. This was turning into the worst day of my life.

Finally, I was saved by the bell. They all scattered for their classrooms. I stood for a moment, gathering my strength, filled with regret at my decision not to allow Abba to walk all the way with me. If they’d seen Abba, they would have believed me!

• • •

My new teacher, Ariella, stood at the entrance of my classroom wearing a bright blue dress and flat sandals. She waited for me to come in and find a place to sit down, smiling at me in a friendly way. I did not feel like smiling back.

“As you can see, we have a new student in our class. Welcome,” said Ariella. Everybody stared as Ariella turned to me and said kindly, “Would you like to introduce yourself?” I squirmed, uncertain. Only a week ago, when I met her with Abba, we registered me as Meskerem.

“I’m Macy,” I muttered. Abba calls me Macy. Why couldn’t I use that name at school? I thought. “My name is Macy,” I lifted my voice, avoiding Ariella’s gaze.

The lesson began, and we were asked to take out our notebooks and pencils. I froze. My pencil case, the one that Grandma had so carefully embroidered with my name, would immediately give me away!

“Excuse me,” I said to the girl next to me, “Do you have an extra pencil? I forgot my pencil case.”

• • •

When I finally got home, I took out my pencil case and threw it across the room. Looking at it, on the floor of my bedroom, I was suddenly filled with a deep sadness. I felt ashamed, as if I had somehow offended Grandma. This is ridiculous, I told myself angrily. All I did was use my other name at school! So, I’m not from America, but I’m not from Ethiopia either! Let those stupid kids think whatever they want. What do I care!

But when my gaze rested on the embroidered letters that spelled “Meskerem” in red, yellow, and green, I was once more overcome with sadness and shame. I shoved the pencil case angrily into my drawer. It was only a stupid pencil case, after all!

• • •

“How was your first day at school, Macy?” Abba asked me at dinner.

“All right,” I mumbled without looking at him.

I felt Ima and Abba exchanging glances.

“Why don’t you ask how my day was?” asked Lemlem.

“Because I picked you up, remember?!” Abba bent his head and rubbed noses with Lemlem, who giggled.

“Ah ba-ba-ba-ba,” garbled Abeva, like she was trying to participate in the conversation. Ima fed her another spoonful of soup.

“How was your new job?” I asked Ima, trying to change the subject.

“Good, it was good,” Ima smiled. “I’m preparing my big presentation for the annual Principals’ Conference. I’ll be working on the speech from home, but from next week on, I’ll need your help with the little ones. I thought maybe tomorrow I could meet you at school and we could walk together to Lemlem’s preschool. When I’m at work, I’ll need you to pick her up after school and bring her home.”

“No!” I exclaimed, much too loudly, and Ima looked startled by my refusal. “I mean . . . sure, of course. Only it would be better if I walked with you in the morning. You can show me then.”

“All right,” Ima nodded, her expression puzzled. I hurried to clear my plate before she could ask me any more questions.

“Don’t you want to tell us about school?” asked Abba as I got up, adding, “You didn’t finish your food.”

“I’m done eating,” I answered him abruptly. Then I took the telephone into my room and shut the door.

“Adi?”

“Meskerem! How are you? It’s so good to hear from you!” The sound of her voice filled me with longing.

“I’m all right. How are you?”

“All right, but we miss you!”

“How’s school? Anyone new this year?

“Yes, these two boys who came over on Operation Solomon. My dad brought their families over to Katzrin. I keep checking, but nobody’s moved into your old house yet. And our class got Deborah as a teacher this year—she’s super strict. Today she wouldn’t let Noam back in after the bell rang. He had to get a note from the principal!” I relaxed for the first time that day and let Adi’s chatter wash over me in a friendly flood.

“How’s your new school?” Adi was asking me.

I hesitated. What could I say?

“Meskerem, are you there?”

“Yes, yes . . . the new school is . . . nice . . .” I lied. “I’ll call you tomorrow, all right?”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon!”

“Say hello to Naama and everybody for me.”

“All right, I will.”

I brought the phone back to the living room, feeling better after talking to Adi. It occurred to me that tomorrow was a new day. Maybe things would get better. Tomorrow I would just go to school and tell everybody that I am Meskerem, born and raised in the Golan Heights. There was no reason not to. After all, I never planned to lie. It just happened because of all those kids with their dumb questions and the pushing and shouting. Tomorrow I would be ready.

Tomorrow I would begin again with the truth.

I smiled and went to take a shower.