A knock on the classroom door stops Dr Kreitz’s reading abruptly.

‘Herr Hofmann…’ he addresses the tall, thin man, wearing a waistcoat and bow tie, who enters the room.

‘Heil Hitler,’ Herr Hofmann greets the class.

‘Heil Hitler,’ we echo back.

‘Headmaster,’ Dr Kreitz clears his throat, ‘delighted you can join us.’

Herr Hofmann sweeps to the front of the class.

‘Welcome to our wonderful Gymnasium,’ he says, smiling around the classroom. ‘You’ve all done extremely well to get here. But this is only the beginning. During your time at this school, with hard work and exemplary behaviour, you can become exceptional. This is not only true for the boys, but for you girls too. In the fullness of time, you shall go on to become wonderful members of our great new Reich. I am sure you will make both your parents, and our school, proud. Best of luck to you all.’

I smile back at him. My dream is to become a doctor, preferably a world-famous one. I feel that, being here, at this great school, is one step closer to achieving my ambition. I shall try my very best at all my lessons. Always.

Herr Hofmann turns to Dr Kreitz. ‘What are you studying this morning?’

Dr Kreitz silently shows him the cover of Metamorphosis.

A look of horror passes over Herr Hofmann’s face. ‘Dr Kreitz, have you lost your mind?’

The teacher shrugs. ‘It’s a wonderful text, Herr Hofmann. Perfect for introducing the themes we are studying this year: symbolism, the metaphor, the absurdity of life—’

‘We will discuss this later,’ Herr Hofmann says brusquely. ‘In the meantime, as well you know, this is not an appropriate text to be studying. Ensure you choose a suitable German author next time. Good day, children.’ And he sweeps from the room, banging the door shut behind him.

Dr Kreitz shrinks.

His hand trembles as he returns to his desk and slides Metamorphosis into his bag. He licks his lips and stares at us, as if not sure what to do next. Chatter breaks out amongst the class and he makes no attempt to stop it.

Again, he reminds me of a frog, but this time, one that has been squashed and flattened on a busy road.

*

Tomas is waiting for me when I come out of school. Long-legged and skinny, he leans nonchalantly against the trunk of a large tree on Nordplatz. Before I can make a run for it, he spots me and rushes over, bumping into me with a crooked smile.

‘What’s it like, then?’ he asks, looking over his shoulder at the school. We fall in behind a noisy group of older pupils streaming across the grassy square towards Gohlis.

‘It’s still school. Just… smarter and stricter, that’s all.’

Tomas looks a little wistful. He’d go there in a shot, if only his parents could afford the fees. He’s clever enough to pass the test.

‘It’s odd, you not living in our block anymore,’ Tomas says. ‘Emptier,’ he adds, after a pause.