I walk over to my dresser and pick up the photo of Grandpa and me. I loved him, respected him, but did I really know him? All these years, how did Nana and Grandpa endure keeping their true identities a secret? I close my eyes and imagine Grandpa as a starving, terrified boy wandering alone in the wilderness. And Nana forced to watch her brother hang from the gallows. To stifle my cry, I bite my bottom lip hard. I lay the photo facedown, sit on the edge of my bed, and stare out my window. I had my whole life mapped out, proud to carry on my grandparents’ legacy. But what is that? How could they have hidden something so BIG and important?

I need to get out! This room. This apartment. This inn!

Nana is in her room and the TV is on. I go in search of my parents and find Mom sitting at the reception desk. Gross-Rosen concentration camp is on the screen. Mom gets up and hugs me. “I didn’t know or even suspect,” Mom says. Her eyes flick to the screen. “My entire life—lies.”

“Where’s Dad?”

“He needed some air. He’ll be back soon. I think.” She clasps the locket dangling from its thin gold chain—the one Dad gave her when I was born.

“Can I borrow your car? Logan needs my help with the assignment.” She doesn’t, but I couldn’t come up with another excuse that would guarantee my freedom from this cage.

She glances at the time. “Nana wants to bake tomorrow and needs a few things from the grocery store. I was planning on going in a few minutes.”

“I’ll go,” I say. “I’ll stop before I head over to the Marches’.”

“That’s fine. Are you okay?”

“Are you?”

She shakes her head. For several long beats neither of us says anything. What’s there to say? She holds my hand, then gives me the list. It takes every ounce of self-control not to run out the door.

—

I’m adding bags of flour to my cart when I hear someone say my name. I look over my shoulder. At the end of the aisle, two women are standing with full shopping carts. They’re not talking to me. They’re talking about Logan and me, the assignment, and the article in the Lake Towns Journal. I don’t recognize them. Blue Coat has her back to me. The other is angled away. Her bracelets clang together as she talks with her hands.

“Those kids humiliated this town,” Bracelet Lady says.

“Personally, I agree with them,” Blue Coat says. “That assignment is ridiculous.”