Ezra sprawled his long legs out into the bus aisle on the ride home. He rehashed his day. “My math teacher practically had a coronary when I answered the problem of the week. She posts a brain teaser every Monday on the top left-hand corner of the blackboard. Apparently no one ever solves them.”

Ezra could describe the people he’d met so well, I knew who he was talking about even when he couldn’t remember their names.

Once, Muncie turned in our direction. Then Rudie started talking to her and slowly Muncie turned away again.

I guess I heaved a pretty big sigh. Ezra looked from me to Muncie, then back to me again. But he didn’t say a word.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Twenty-Six

Every afternoon that week, Ezra offered to help with chores. But he looked so tired at the end of the day, I told him I didn’t need him. At any rate, after dinner each night we’d park ourselves at the kitchen table to tackle homework.

Ezra usually finished before me. It all came so easy to him. I’d be procrastinating, putting off something I didn’t want to do, while he’d whip through math, English, science.

“Mrs. Haskins wants us to write a letter to the person in history who’s had the greatest impact on us,” I told Ezra.

“Tough one,” Ezra said.

We’d just finished a unit on World War II, so I started thinking along those lines. I considered the people I’d read about who had survived concentration camps. And the ones who hadn’t survived.

As I sorted through my ideas, Ezra pulled a fresh sheet of paper out of his notebook, uncapped his pen, and began writing.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Thought I’d do the assignment with you. Keep you company,” said Ezra.

“You don’t have to.”

Ezra shrugged and kept writing.

As I stared at my blank notebook, Ezra filled one side of a page. His script slanted every which way.

“You have lousy penmanship,” I said, trying to read his sentences upside down.

“You’re one to talk,” Ezra answered, moving his arm so I couldn’t see his paper.

At last I started writing too.

I read over my words, changing one here, crossing out a phrase there.

Finally Ezra put his pen down and looked up.

“Can I read mine to you?” I asked. “I picked Anne Frank.”

Ezra nodded.

“Dear Anne Frank:

“You are the person from history who had the greatest impact on my life. Though you never reached adulthood, you taught me more than many people twice your age. Your death opened my eyes to the horror of prejudice and war.”

I looked at Ezra. His chin rested on his fist as he leaned on the kitchen table.

“I admire your courage and your, and your—” I had trouble deciphering my own scribble. “—and your—spirit.”