Lauren Yanofsky Hates the Holocaust by Leanne Lieberman Page A

people hang out naked. There were gross, wrinkly, old naked people right where we were taking soil samples.
    I’m not sure what to say to Brooke about the party, so I ask, “Is Kelly still going out with Dmitri?” Dmitri graduated from our school last year but looks like he’s thirty.
    â€œYep. The party will be fun. I’ll ask my sister for some coolers.”
    â€œWell, I’m not sure…”
    â€œOh, come on, it’ll be fun.”
    â€œOkay. I’ll have to ask if I can go out.” I know I don’t sound enthusiastic.
    â€œTell your mom we’re going to get coffee and study.”
    â€œUm, okay. What are you going to wear?”
    â€œJeans and a sweater.”
    â€œOkay.”
    I hang up the phone. I’m not entirely sure about going to hang out with the Smokers. It sounds like something I’m going to suck at. I think about calling Brooke back and telling her to forget it, but at least she’s making an effort to include me.
    When I’m ready to leave, Mom and Dad are sitting in the living room with the glass doors to the front hall closed. I open the door a crack. Mom looks exhausted, Dad frustrated. He’s slumped on the white couch, his feet on the glass coffee table. I know from their conversation at dinner that Zach’s bar mitzvah lessons started today and did not go well. His session ended with Rabbi Birenbaum chasing him through the sanctuary and Zach hiding under the stage in the auditorium. Mom had to leave work early to get him to come out, and now Zach is refusing to leave his room until they call off his bar mitzvah.
    â€œI’m going out with Brooke for a while,” I say.
    â€œBe home by ten,” is all Mom says.
    Brooke and I ride our bikes to a house in Kitsilano and wheel them around back. A group of kids is hanging out on lawn furniture in the backyard, all smoking. I see Dmitri and Kelly and some other Smokers who graduated last year. There are some older guys too, friends of Dmitri’s, I guess. Kelly waves to us, and Chantal turns around in her chair. She and Brooke exchange creepy air kisses, like they’re old Mafia ladies. I hang back and wave hi.
    Chantal’s wearing leggings and a black sweater with a plunging neckline that shows off her cleavage. Shit, I think, I’m dressed all wrong. Everyone is wearing black, and I’ve got on my red hoodie, like I’m going to watch a football game. Brooke is wearing a charcoal sweater over a skimpy tank top and tight jeans.
    Brooke pulls out coolers from her backpack, and we perch on a lawn chair together. Brooke and Chantal start talking in low voices about some guy Chantal likes who hasn’t shown up yet. I pretend I’m part of the conversation.
    I sip my sickly sweet raspberry cooler, take a deep breath and look around. Everyone is smoking. Brooke and I tried smoking last year in my back alley, but it made us cough too much. Besides, athletes shouldn’t smoke. The guy sitting in the lawn chair beside me has blond curls poking out from underneath a ballcap. He looks like he might be twenty. Alexis says I should get over my fear of talking to guys, so I take a deep breath and say, “So, you think the Devils will win this year?” I point to the basketball logo on his ballcap.
    â€œYou like Duke?” he says.
    I nod. “They’re okay.”
    He sits up straighter. “Just okay?”
    â€œWell, they’re not North Carolina or UCLA.”
    â€œYou sound like you know your stuff.”
    I shrug.
    â€œHey, check it out.” He nudges the guy next to him with his foot. “A chick who knows college basketball.”
    I sigh inwardly and ignore the chick comment. I sip my disgusting drink and discuss my favorite players. I pretend to be interested in his fascination with Duke.
    Then Brooke and Chantal get up. “We’re going to the bathroom,” Brooke says.
    I feel like saying, “ So? ” or “ I