The Glow of the Spotlight: My Journey with Rebecca

I stumble through nine times four and nine times five, guessing right on both. Nine times six leaves me stuck. Part of me wants to glance at Rebecca, but I don’t dare, not with Miss Maloney’s eyes fixed on me. Miss Maloney gives me a moment, then loses her patience and turns toward the boys’ side of the room. She calls on a chubby-cheeked boy named Leo Berg, who springs from his seat and races through the rest of the table without missing a single answer.

The instant Miss Maloney turns her attention back to me, Leo puckers his lips into an ugly face and sticks out his tongue. I’m the only one who catches it.

Miss Maloney announces a new problem for the whole class: if a man named Mr. Smith earns forty cents an hour and works twelve hours in a day, how much does he earn? My face goes hot, and I wonder if she’s singled me out on purpose. I see Rebecca shoot her hand up in the air, but Miss Maloney ignores it. My mind scrambles for the answer, and I blurt out a guess of forty-eight cents.

Miss Maloney tells me crossly that I’ve lost some money at work today, and waves me back into my seat. She calls on Sam next, and he stands reluctantly, gripping the back of the chair in front of him. He admits, in his heavy accent, that he doesn’t understand the problem, and sinks back down looking humiliated. Another boy volunteers the correct answer, $4.80. I realize with a fresh wave of embarrassment that I forgot to carry a zero.

By the time recess arrives, I’m relieved to escape the classroom. Rebecca leads me up a long flight of stairs to a play space on the roof, where girls jump rope and hopscotch squares are chalked across the surface while boys toss a ball back and forth. Rebecca’s friend Rose crosses over with a jump rope in hand. For once I’m actually good at something, keeping pace easily as we turn the rope.

I take the opportunity to ask about Sam. Rose explains that his real name is Sergei, and he came from Russia just like her. Teachers don’t like names that sound too foreign, she says, so Miss Maloney simply renamed him. The same thing happened to Rose. Her name used to be Rifka. By the time she walked home from her first day of school, she’d already become Rose.

Back in class, I can’t stop thinking about how many ways immigrants have to change to be more American. I know the school is trying to help them adapt, but it must be difficult. Sergei sits hunched at his desk for the rest of the afternoon, and I don’t blame him one bit.

But I think about the arithmetic problem Miss Maloney gave us. She’s trying to help us learn. When Sergei gets older and gets a job, he’ll be better off if he doesn’t make the mistake I did in calculating his paycheck. Otherwise, he’d be cheated out of what he’s earned.

After school, Rebecca’s mother gives us a snack of her own homemade bread with jam, and I can’t help comparing it to the store-bought bread I’m used to at home, the same every day. This loaf is crusty outside and chewy within, and I could easily eat the whole thing myself.

While we eat, Rebecca asks her mother if she’s heard anything about Sergei. Mrs. Rubin explains that she ran into Mrs. Rogenetsky at the synagogue, and Sergei’s father still hasn’t found work. She’s already put together a basket of food for the family and asks Rebecca and me if we’d like to carry it over. We agree at once, and Mrs. Rubin writes down the address for us.

As we set out, Rebecca tells me about her cousin Ana, who is still in Russia. She explains to me that Jewish people are fleeing the country as fast as they can, since new laws bar Jews from living in certain cities or working certain jobs. The country is caught up in a war besides. Sergei’s family managed to escape, but Ana’s family still needs to get out before things grow worse.

Rebecca says her father sends money to his brother whenever he can spare it. She’s taken on extra hours at the shoe store instead of him paying for outside help, hoping the savings might go toward ship tickets for Ana’s family someday. Delivering the basket to Sergei’s family, she admits, will at least make her feel like she’s doing something.

Rebecca leads me down streets I don’t recognize, both of us scanning building numbers as we go. Every stoop we pass is crowded with children close to my own age, minding even younger siblings while their parents work. Rebecca finally stops to ask one of the girls for directions. The girl points us to a building just a little further down the block.

Inside, Rebecca pushes open a splintery wooden door into a dark hallway. Wallpaper peels away from the walls in long curling strips, and the whole stairwell smells of boiled cabbage and garlic. We start up the stairs. With each flight the light grows dimmer, until we’re climbing the last flight almost by feel alone, all the way up to the fourth floor.