Madeline leaned conspiratorially into me. “Imani,” she whispered. “Isn’t your grandpa named Fred?”
I gasped. How had that occurred to Madeline and not to me? I was so glad we’d read this part together. “Yes!” I said. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” My body started to tingle.
“Do you think he’s Freddy?” Madeline asked.
Yes! I wanted to scream. But then I came to my senses. “No. It can’t be him. Grandma Anna was Grandpa Fred’s mother. Not his wife.”
“Oh,” Madeline said, her shoulders sinking. “You’re right.”
Of course I was right. But it was still a major disappointment.
“What was Anna’s husband’s name?” Madeline asked. “Was he named Fred too?”
“I don’t know,” I realized. “I never met my great-grandpa. I think he died before I was born. But I doubt his name was Freddy, since Jews don’t give their kids the same name as their parents like that.”
“Oh. Right,” Madeline said, clearly bummed. “They name after someone who died.”
“Who are you named for?” I asked.
“My great-aunt Mildred,” Madeline said. “What about you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “My parents kept the name my birth mom gave me.”
Wait, I thought. My parents kept the name my birth mother gave me. It wasn’t like a lightbulb clicked on, but I could sense there was a switch nearby.
Madeline was still focused on Freddy. “Maybe Anna did marry Freddy, but he died before your grandpa was born. Like, while Anna was pregnant or something!”
I gave her a look to show how unlikely that was—if it were true, I’d probably know that story (though maybe not, seeing as I don’t even know my great-grandfather’s name). But Madeline must have thought my look meant that she was being insensitive, getting excited about my great-grandpa dying young, because she apologized.
“That’s okay,” I said. “Maybe my great-grandpa was named Milton.” I raised my eyebrows twice.
“Scandalous!” Madeline said with an exaggerated gasp. “Milton and Enid are a gruesome twosome!”
I laughed, and Mr. Garonzik, the librarian, looked our way. “The bell is going to ring any second, girls,” he said.
We both kept giggling as we packed up our bags. Until Madeline remembered that she had a test in social studies next period. “Quiz me,” she said, handing over a list of famous explorers, the countries they represented, and the places they explored.
I skimmed the paper, full of names and places. “Vasco da Gama,” I said, but in my head, I was thinking about my own name and history, and the words I’d spoken minutes before: My parents kept the name my birth mother gave me.