“I know,” he said, sitting down at the table with me. “I wish I could bring you some good news. Oh, wait, I do have one piece of news. We have a new directeur at school. Guess why!”

  “Pastor Luc joined a traveling circus?”

  “Actually, I heard he joined the Resistance. He’s apparently part of the Maquis now. And I heard that thousands of maquisards are gathering in the mountains, preparing for an assault on the Germans.”

  “That’s incredible!” I said. I tried to imagine our gentle, soft-spoken principal training to be a Resistance fighter. And I wondered if what Vivienne had said to him had moved him to volunteer.

  “It’s a good sign,” agreed Julien. “There were two major attacks in German cities recently—it’s been all over the news. So maybe the war will end soon?”

  “I hope.” It was such a funny word, “hope.” I still said it often, and I pictured hope as a candle that needed to keep burning, no matter what. But for me the flame had been just about extinguished. I had nearly lost hope of ever seeing my home and my family again.

  “Speaking of joining up, you know what else I heard?” asked Julien. “Vincent quit school, and people are saying that he joined the Milice.”

  I let out a low whistle. “Like father, like son, I suppose.”

  “Exactly,” said Julien. “The Nazi doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “Is it just a rumor, or is it true?” I asked.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s true. What, you’re surprised?”

  “Of course not! I know he’s a monster. But for some reason I still hope”—there was that word again—“that people can change.”

  “People can,” said Julien softly. “But Vincent just might be too far gone already. Can’t you see him marching around with those arrogant Milice guys?”

  “I can imagine,” I reminded him.

  “Sorry—I always forget that you don’t get to see everything I do! Though you should be glad.” He made a face. “The Milice are the worst. Because they’re French, like us. But they’re like honorary Nazis.”

  “Like the gendarmes?”

  He shook his head. “No, the gendarmes were regular policemen before the Nazis came along. The Milice is a new police unit full of guys like Vincent who always wanted to have free rein to be thugs.”

  I shuddered at the thought. “Wow. Maybe I don’t want to go outside after all,” I said.

  “I mean, it’s not perfect up here. But there are some advantages. You get to spend time with me, and of course there are the amenities. Like free haircuts.” He took hold of a lock of my hair and pretended to nibble on it.

  I laughed and pulled back, so my hair slipped through his fingers. “Some advantages!” I complained. But I could feel his eyes on me, and I could feel myself enjoying his attention.

  I wondered if any of the girls at school had noticed how he’d changed in the past year. It wasn’t just that he was more self-confident, more open, and quicker to laugh. He had also filled out and gotten more handsome. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Mariann or Sophie had had crushes on him—that is, if they could see past his crutches and the ridiculous rumors about his smell.

  A wave of jealousy at the very thought of one of my friends flirting with Julien took me by surprise. I pushed it away and tried to reassure myself. They probably hadn’t noticed his dimples and warm brown eyes like I had. There were times he would catch me staring at him, and I’d have to turn away. And when I’d find him looking at me and he’d blush, I’d dare to think that maybe he felt the same way about me.

  Increasingly, I daydreamed about the two of us. There was a movie I saw, back when I lived in Aubervilliers-aux-Bois and I was nine or ten, in which a beautiful woman fainted and a strong, handsome man caught her and carried her to a sofa. I thought about that scene often. If something like that happened, I wasn’t sure if Julien could carry me, on account of his crutches. But I kept picturing myself in his arms like the lady in the film.

  “Sara?”

  “Huh?” I blinked, realizing that Julien had caught me daydreaming again.

  “I asked if you wanted to go for a drive,” said Julien.

  “Oh. Of course,” I said, happy that, at least on this occasion, his mind-reading skills didn’t seem to be revealing my secrets. “Can I drive?” I asked.

  “What? Why should you drive?” he asked, getting up and tossing his crutches down below.

  “Well, I’m older,” I reminded him.

  “Barely. And I’m taller,” he said proudly, sliding off the edge of the hayloft. This was a recent development, and one he liked to point out.

  “Barely!” I replied, following him.

  * * *

  —

  Then, one evening in May, Julien and I were up in the hayloft, sitting back to back, as we often did. We had gotten into the habit of connecting to each other physically in the most casual of ways. If we weren’t back to back, we were side by side. Even when we played cards, we often had our feet or knees touching. I’m not sure when this started, and we never said a word about it. It just sort of developed, and I liked it.

  Out of the blue, he said, “Hey, Sara. I have a surprise for you.”

  “A surprise?” I asked. “You mean, like a treasure?” I had told him about the thoughtful little presents my father used to bring home to me when he traveled.

  He laughed. “It’s not from a store, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Some of the best things aren’t,” I pointed out.

  “Close your eyes,” he said. I felt him twist around and put something gently in my hands. “Okay, you can open them.”

  I looked down. “It’s a little bird,” I said with delight. I held it up to examine it more closely. It was carved from a single piece of wood, with carefully detailed features and even tiny feather notches on its wings. It was a deep chestnut color, polished smooth. It fit perfectly into the curve of my hand.

  “Do you like it?” Julien asked. “I whittled it for you.”

  “It’s lovely,” I told him. “Thank you.”

  “Were you really surprised? I could have sworn you saw me working on it.”

  “I didn’t,” I told him. It was sort of true. I had seen him working on something and secretly hoped it was for me. “I love it,” I said, turning around so now I was sitting on the floor facing him. My heart was beating fast and I felt certain that Julien’s was, too. I leaned a little forward, my hands holding the bird between us. I took a deep breath. “I love…”

  “Yes,” said Julien, leaning in as well.

  Creeak…

  By now, I knew the unmistakable sound of the barn door opening.

  “Wait. Did you hear that?” I whispered, hoping it might be the wind.

  “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you.”

  Julien’s eyes sparkled as I got to my feet and ran to the edge of the hayloft. There were Vivienne and Jean-Paul, serenading me while holding the most beautiful cake.

  “Happy birthday, dear Sara,” Julien chimed in. “Happy birthday to you.”

  “Wait. It’s May twenty-eighth?” I asked, feeling ridiculous. “How did I forget my own birthday?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s a good thing you have us,” he replied. “We didn’t forget!”

  “It is a good thing,” I agreed.

  Julien accepted the cake and a variety of other provisions from his mother before helping his parents climb up to join us. Then, balancing on his crutches, he extended his arm to me, like a prince in a fairy tale. Together we made our way to the table, where Vivienne presented me with my cake. A whole cake! With luscious dark brown icing all over and the deep mouthwatering scent of—

  “Chocolate? Is it really chocolate?” I asked greedily.

  Vivienne laughed. “Yes!” she said proudly.

  “Vivienne has been saving our ration points for months,” Jean-Paul told me. “Once she gets an idea into her head, good luck trying to stand in her way.”

  “That was so kind of you!” I told her. “I hope it hasn’t been too hard—”

  “Hurry up, Sara!” interrupted Julien. “Finish cutting already! Cake first, conversation second.”

  “Yes, sir!” I sliced four thick pieces and we all dug in.

  Mmmmmm…As I happily shoveled cake into my mouth, I had a fleeting moment of missing Papa and, especially, Maman. I often pictured them hovering above me, between my head and the rafters where the bats lived. Maman was gazing at me with love but also cringing at my shocking lack of table manners. Please forgive me, Maman! If I make it through this war alive, I’ll go back to using my best manners, I promised her.

  And I’ll eat chocolate every single day for the rest of my life, I promised myself.

  I looked over at Vivienne and noticed she was surreptitiously licking her fork.

  Julien must have seen her, because he soon followed suit.

  Then Jean-Paul.

  Finally, I took mine and timidly began to do the same.

  The Beaumiers all started laughing. “Oh, Sara, you must think us such rubes,” said Vivienne.

  “Not at all!” I told her. “Remember, I have been living in a hayloft for over a year. If you told me fork licking was the latest trend in high society, I would have to believe you.”

  “It is!” cried Julien. “Everyone who’s anyone is doing it!”

  “They’d have to be fools not to,” I said. “I still can’t believe you were able to make me a chocolate birthday cake! How many ration points did that take?”

  “And how did you find chocolate?” asked Jean-Paul. “There’s been none in the shops for months.”

  “Oh, mon Dieu!” exclaimed Vivienne. “Don’t make me reveal all my secrets. Besides, it was worth it. Oh, wait, I almost forgot—I brought milk to go with the cake. Who’d like some?”

  My hand shot up, as did Jean-Paul’s. Julien raised both of his at once, making everyone laugh.

  But the mention of milk made me remember something. “Wait, how did you get past the Lafleurs tonight?”

  Vivienne made a strange face, like our neighbor’s cat Louis when our other neighbor’s parakeet went missing. I looked at Jean-Paul, and his mustache was twitching at the corners, as if he was trying hard not to laugh. One glance at Julien made it clear that whatever was going on, he was in on it, too.

  “We did something naughty…,” Vivienne finally confessed. “God forgive us.”

  “They’ll be fine,” said Jean-Paul. “Well rested and none the wiser.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” joked Julien.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  The three Beaumiers exchanged glances. Then Jean-Paul piped up. “Well, last week I had my tooth pulled, and the doctor gave me sleeping powder for the pain. I had a little extra, and…”

  “And I put it in the Lafleurs’ milk this afternoon,” boasted Julien, grinning.

  “Sleeping powder! Did it work?” I asked.

  “Did it ever!” replied Julien. “We could hear them snoring through the walls!”

  “All right, all right,” said Vivienne. “Enough drama for one night. We have one more surprise. Our evening entertainment continues with…the evening news!”

  “The news?” I gasped as Vivienne pulled their utility radio out of her market bag. Jean-Paul switched it on and turned the dial, trying to tune in a clear signal.

  Static…more static…and then…

  “…by the Allies…”

  “I think that’s Radio London,” Julien told me.

  “Shhh!” came from both of his parents. We all leaned in, staring at the radio. My stomach might have been full of cake, but the rest of me was hungry for news.

  “I repeat,” said the radio announcer. “More developments in the wake of Monte Cassino’s liberation by the Allies ten days ago. The German First Parachute Division has been destroyed.”

  “Destroyed?” I said with wonder.

  Jean-Paul nodded solemnly. “I had heard rumors that the Allies were closing in. Hopefully, France will be next.”

  “Do you really think so?” I asked. I was terrified to get my hopes up, but hearing Jean-Paul say it made it feel possible.

  “I believe—”

  He started to reply, but stopped speaking as soon as the announcer continued.

  “To the southwest of Monte Cassino, the French Expeditionary Corps has taken control of—”

  Jean-Paul pointed excitedly at the radio. “It’s happening all around us. We’re gaining strength. I believe the war will be over soon.”

  “The war will be over soon?” I repeated. I liked those words so much, words I hadn’t dared to say in my entire time in hiding. So I said them again. “The war will be over soon.”

  “The war will be over soon,” echoed Julien.

  Then his mother stood up, and she too said, “The war will be over soon.”

  It felt so good, all of us saying it together and having it not be a dream. Perhaps I was giddy from the unexpected party and all that chocolate and sugar, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

  “The war will be over soon! The war will be over soon!” Julien clapped out a beat, as if we were singing a song, and we all started embracing happily. First Vivienne hugged Jean-Paul. Then I hugged Vivienne and Jean-Paul. And then I reached out and spontaneously hugged Julien. He hugged me back, and I remembered the first time I had hugged him, when he returned my sketchbook to me. All those days of sitting side by side and back to back, but always with a certain careful reserve. And now here we were, finally able to be a little less careful. To revel in a little glimmer of joy and hopefulness after so long. I savored the feeling of his arms around me, not wanting to let go of this moment or of him.

  But suddenly I remembered that Vivienne and Jean-Paul were standing right there, watching us. I pulled back, and a wave of uncharacteristic awkwardness washed over me. I snuck a peek at Julien, and he seemed to be experiencing the same thing. His face was flushed, perhaps with the excitement of the news, but I sensed that he too was feeling something more.

  “Uh…um, here, Vivienne, let me help you with that.”

  Quickly, I busied myself with collecting and stacking the dishes. Vivienne packed away the utility radio, the milk bottle, and everything else she had brought in her market bags, and I bade the whole Beaumier family a fond and grateful farewell.

  “Bonne nuit! Fais de beaux rêves!” called Vivienne softly from the barn door.

  I waved from the hayloft before trying to settle in for the night.

  I lay down on my mattress.

  I pulled my blanket around me.

  I stared up at the rafters.

  How can I sleep at a time like this??

  Blame it on the chocolate cake. Blame it on the radio broadcast. Or blame it on the real culprit: that hug. I was hopelessly smitten—by Julien, and by the exciting prospect of returning to the world and all its pleasures and possibilities.

  I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but instead of drifting off into my dreams, I lay there imagining leaving the barn. The war will soon be over, I thought, and then what? What would I do? Where would I go?

  First, you’ll fly home to me, I pictured Papa saying. I ran into his arms and rested my head on his chest. He looked the same to me, of course, and I could tell how happy he was to see that while we’d been apart, I had grown from a little girl into a strong young woman. And me, Maman would say, coming over to wrap both of us in her loving embrace. I lay there with my eyes closed, grinning like an idiot. In all my time in the barn, I had not dared to picture our family’s tender reunion—without the chance of it actually happening, I knew it would hurt too much to wish for it.

  “Aughhh!” I sat up abruptly and swatted wildly at a mouse that had dashed by my ear.

  Squeeeak!

  “You’re lucky I don’t sleep with my shoes!” I called after it. But I was feeling too good to bother chasing it down. Fine, I thought, the mice can find some cake crumbs. They also deserve to celebrate that the war will soon be over.

  Since I didn’t feel sleepy in the least, I got up and decided to draw for a while. I pulled out my sketchbook and selected a pencil—Julien had recently sharpened several for me. But when I went to draw a picture, I started to write instead.

  Mrs. Julien Beaumier, I wrote boldly. I admired it before quickly scribbling it out. Not quite yet. But maybe, someday.

  In my head, I heard Papa clear his throat.

  So many things to do first, he reminded me. You’re a clever girl. You should get yourself a degree, like your mother!

  “Yes, Papa,” I said dutifully. In my sketchbook, I wrote: Go to a university. To study—

  Science, suggested Papa.

  Or math, Maman chimed in.

  —art, I wrote.

  Papa and Maman frowned.

  Art and design. Fashion design. Art history, I added. I will follow my passion and work hard and make Papa and Maman proud.

  It’s hard to argue with that, Maman whispered to Papa.

  I kept writing. Julien will go to a university, too, I wrote. He’ll study mathematics, of course. We’ll study together and stay great friends. On the weekends, we’ll go on picnics and go to cafés and go to see movies. He’ll take me out in a rowboat, just for fun. And we’ll go for drives in a real working car with actual inflated tires. Someday maybe we’ll even go on an actual trip to Africa, not just in our imaginations. We’ll take long walks and hold hands and talk about the future. We’ll start a life together.

  I wrote and wrote, losing all track of the passage of time. I wrote about so many things, but mostly about Julien. It felt good to be finally able to put my feelings for him somewhere. And once I started putting my feelings into words, it was like a water spigot stuck in the on position! I filled pages and pages with my feelings for Julien. Then I shifted into drawing mode and balanced out my pages of words with pages of images of Julien and hearts and feathers and swirling designs that flowed as freely as my love for him. Because that’s what I had come to realize was what I was feeling. Love for Julien.