There is a bird outside my window. I lean on the sill and let the cool air, just beginning to feel like spring, caress my face. I peer up through the leaves and smile at the bird. He is a swallow, I think.

    I like birds; I have always liked birds. My middle name, Zipporah, comes from the Hebrew word meaning bird. But Tata told me today that I must not tell anyone my middle name. I don't know why.

    Amalie Zipporah Chladek. That is my name.

    I listen to the swallow singing, his voice soaring up and down, higher than he flies. His feathers are bluer than the sky, and they shine in the sun.

    I think happily about the trip Andrej, my brother, has promised me. I have just turned eight and he says he'll take me with him on an adventure throughout Prague, the city where we live. I don't know where, but anywhere with Andrej is sure to be wonderful. Soon, he will be fourteen.

    "For Andrej's birthday, Mama and Tata are giving him a new bicycle!" I tell the swallow. But the moment I have said this, I wish I had not.

    At the sound of my voice, the swallow leaps into frightened flight, so quickly that I do not realize he is gone until I see him rise above the trees. He circles once, warbles down at me, and flies away. The spring air flows across my face and the windowsill is cool on my elbows.

    I am burrowed under my covers, curled into a tiny ball, my nose touching my knees. I poke my head over the top of my blankets and see the streetlights shining outside my window. The water flowing down the glass makes them look funny; the gold color of the light is all blurred. Spring is almost here, but for tonight it is rainy and cold again.

    I huddle back down and give a little contented sigh because my bed is so warm and lovely, and I am tired and almost asleep. Somewhere, perhaps in the apartment above us, soft music is playing.

    "You can't publish that!"

    Drowsily, I hear Mama's voice floating down the hallway.

    "Petra, don't worry." That's Tata, my strong and wonderful father, who works for a newspaper.

    The corners of my mouth turn up just from hearing his voice. It sounds like the water running over my windowpane, gently soothing and comforting.

    "You know what they're doing to Jews. We can't give the Germans another reason to target us!" Mama's voice is just the opposite of Tata's. She sounds nervous and angry, as she usually does.

    My legs are beginning to hurt. I stretch them out, but not so far that my toes come out from under my blankets. I can hear Tata's voice coming in a gentle stream from the kitchen, but I can't make out his words.

    I'm almost asleep when Mama says sharply, "I told you two years ago, when the Germans invaded in 1939. It's bad enough that you're a Jew, worse still that you work for a newspaper and openly oppose the Nazis. I don't know why we've lasted this long. I should have listened to my mother, who told me not to marry a Jew..."

    Tata speaks again, indistinguishably. A chair scrapes back violently and footsteps tap harshly away.

    The rain taps softly on my window. I nestle under the covers and fall asleep.

    I skip down the sidewalk, feeling the warm cobblestones through the bottom of my worn-out shoes. Summer has come to Prague. I tip my head back and look up to the top of our building, smiling at the birds wheeling in the sky as they sing gaily. The world is bright, beautiful, and full of joy.

    Hearing footsteps behind me, I turn around. My smile grows. Hana and Magda, two of my good friends from school, are coming towards me. I have not seen them in a long time.

    I expect them to stop and play. Surely they have nothing they must do on this beautiful summer afternoon, when all of Prague is in the streets despite the German soldiers at every corner. But they walk past me. They do not even look at me.

    "Hana," I say, low. Confused. I lick my lips and try again, louder. "Magda. Where are you going? I've missed you!"

    Hana turns around, tossing her blonde braids over her shoulder. When we were younger, I was always envious of her blonde curls, wishing I could trade my own dark locks for a lighter color.

    "We don't play with Jew-pigs," she says haughtily.

    The world stops spinning.

    I hear nothing but her voice. My birds have disappeared, and I no longer feel the ground beneath my feet. All I can see is her blonde hair, shining as brightly as the summer sun.

    Magda deliberately leans forward and spits on the cobblestones at my feet.

    They turn and walk away.

    Feeling suddenly floods back into my limbs. I see the people walking by and hear them talking. Pan Kov, our neighbor, leans out of her window and calls my name. But I ignore her. Quietly, I go to the door, walk upstairs, and shut the door to my room.

    I sit on my bed and look out the window. I can no longer see the birds flying, but I hear them singing, somewhere far, far up in the summer sky.