I want to go in too.

"How will they know we are Jews?" I ask Sophie.

She doesn't know, she says.

But she doesn't want to go to the park anymore, anyway.

So Jews can't go to the park now.

They can't go to the swimming pool, either.

A girl at school told me Jews aren't even allowed to have pets anymore.

If I had a pet, I would never give it up!

I still dream of having my own cat, a silky calico with a pink tongue.

Not even Nazis can stop you from having pets in your dreams.

Missing Papa.

Before long, Papa sends Mama and me a photograph, taken in his fine soldier's uniform.

The photograph is black and white.

Mama puts it on the table beside her bed.

I stare at it and stare at it.

I wish I could see the brown in Papa's eyes.

I wish I could see the shine in them too.

At last, a letter comes from Papa.

He says he's a prisoner of the German soldiers.

My papa, in prison!

How can this be?

Papa says we can visit him in a faraway French town.

We must bring a cake and a box of cigars, he says.

I wonder why ... will we be going to a party?

I didn't think they had parties in prison.

Mama barely has enough money for food.

My boots are falling apart.

But we make the cake and get the cigars, just as Papa has told us to do.

Then we buy train tickets to go see him.

We meet Papa in a dark hotel room, but Mama and I blossom in the light of his smile.

He brings us pure castile soap from Marseilles.

We take turns smelling it in his hands, the hands we have missed so much.

My family is back together again!

Nothing else matters ...

not the awful sawdust bread without butter, not my ugly, worn-out boots.

Mama and Papa talk and laugh and hug and kiss.

Things are almost the way they have always been.

But in the morning Papa is gone.

He has taken the cake and cigars to the guard who let him visit us, for one night only.

Mama rushes me to the train station before dawn.

Rows and rows of French prisoners march past.

Boxcars wait to take them to Germany.

Those soldiers, the ones we saw in the film, guard them with guns.

I see my father march past.

"Papa!" I cry out.

He turns toward my voice.

Then a rifle butt slams into his back.

My hair prickles.

Mama's hand tightens on mine.

In a moment, Papa is gone.

I look up at Mama.

She stands motionless, not saying a word.

Her eyes follow the train as it rattles down the track.

When it is only a faraway speck, she sighs and looks at me.

I shiver and bite my lip so I won't cry.

"Come now, Odette," she says.

"We must be strong."

She buys hot tea for us to share while we wait for our train home.

But even if she bought me my own hot chocolate, it wouldn't stop me from shivering.

Running Away.

The enemy is on our doorstep, everyone says!

That means the soldiers have marched almost as far as Paris.

Most people are afraid our city will be destroyed, so they decide to run away.

Madame Marie and Monsieur Henri stay calm.

No, they say, they will stay in their home.

Mama and Aunt Georgette can't make up their minds.

But at the last possible minute, they throw underwear and toothbrushes into a suitcase ...

we're leaving!

We run to the big train station.

On the way, I see the strangest sights ...

a young woman pushes an old one down the street in a baby carriage, a man carries his dog in a shopping basket, and a shopkeeper pulls his cash register along like a child in a wagon.

So many people are headed for the train station.

When we arrive, it's crammed.

People try to get on any train, no matter where it's going.

A sea of taller people hems me in, pushing, shoving, shouting.

Bryzzt!

A voice crackles over the loudspeaker: "No more trains! The last train leaving Paris is full!"

People cry and faint and curse.

Lost children shriek for their mothers.

Somehow, Mama and Aunt Georgette and Sophie and I drag ourselves out of the crowd.

We head to the subway, the Metro.

The scratchy seats, the squeal of the wheels, comfort me.

We're going home.

Bombers.

Bombers fly over Paris at night.

Wailing sirens announce their arrival.

We rush into the basement shelter.

We huddle in the dark, holding our breath, waiting for crashes.

One lady wearing a lace nightgown thinks she can hear them nearby!

But then the all-clear siren comes, and we creep back up the stairs.

Our building is still standing.