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Eva brings up our tickets on her phone. “It’s assigned places, so I grabbed seats in the front row of the balcony.”
“Those are the best seats in the house.” I nod at the concession stand hidden in a side alcove. “Do we want any snacks?”
Lina pats her stomach. “We had dinner before we came. Renate made goulash for lunch. The leftovers were delish.”
“I’ll take a soda, if you’re getting something.” Eva pauses beside the digital ticket reader. “I guess we have to wait, though, since I have all of the tickets.”
“I got this.” Hans takes Eva’s phone and photographs the QR code on the screen, then swipes to the next one and holds it out to me. “Snap a pic. Then we can get in with the goods. I don’t have a fabulous cook for a landlord.”
“No, you live in a dorm with an excellent dining hall.” Lina waits for me to take a photo of the screen, then grabs Eva’s phone. “We’ll meet you guys inside.” They use their tickets and disappear up the steps and through the carved doors.
Hans orders popcorn, wurst, fries, sodas, beer, and candy, then waits for me to pay. “You’re the wealthy aristocrat.”
I roll my eyes but hand over my credit card. The girl behind the counter glances at me, then does a double take. She looks at the credit card—which says “Teodor Feltz” of course—then frowns at me again. I give her a friendly nod, and her eyes go wide.
Oblivious, Hans waves his hand wildly at the long receipt rolling out of the machine. “What? This is for both of us.” He helps the starstruck girl load a tray with his ill-gotten goods. “And I bought the beer last weekend.”
“You did. Both bottles. And it was even the ‘good stuff’ as you say.” I take the laden tray he hands me, ignoring the stricken look of my new fan, and follow him to the ticket reader. We juggle the snacks to wave our phones at the device, then tromp up the steps. I push the double doors open with my shoulder.
The dim lighting inside makes it hard to see the faces of the few people in the large theater. Hans checks the ticket, then directs me down the aisle to our seats. He shuffles past the girls, leaving me the seat on the end beside Eva. As soon as he’s seated, he leans across Lina. “Gimme the food. I’m starving over here!”
“Sometimes I wonder why you put up with him.” Eva takes the tray and passes it to Lina.
“I heard that!” Hans’s voice echoes through the nearly empty theater as he places his food on the narrow shelf-like table behind the balcony rail. “He’s lucky to have a friend as charming and loyal as me.”
Lina and Eva laugh and take their beverages.
I shrug. “He is charming. And loyal. Kind of like a Golden Retriever.” I think about the people I know here in Freiberg—many of whom I’ve known my entire life. They are always friendly when I see them, but they know who I am and that staying in the good graces of the royal family is a smart move. None of them bother keeping in touch when I’m out of the country.
Hans and I have been friends—real friends—for over a decade. My parents always enrolled us in classes when we went to Oregon, trusting our tutors to catch us up on anything we missed back home. The American school system was so different from ours that we Feltz kids viewed it more like a summer camp than school. Don’t get me wrong—we still did the work, or at least I did, because I’m the responsible one, remember? I vaguely remember Andela getting into trouble for skipping assignments.
Hans and I met in second grade. As usual, we had arrived in Rotheberg mid-way through November. After a weekend to recover from jet lag, our parents enrolled us in school. I remembered most of the kids in Mr. Fishburne’s class, but they’d already formed cliques for the year. I sat at a table with three other kids who ignored me while we did math and spelling.
When the teacher released us for morning recess, I followed the crowd to the hooks and cubbies at the back of the room. As I slid my arms into my new American puffy coat, a skinny Asian kid bounced up to me and yelled, “Guten Tag!” in the worst accent I’d ever heard. “Ich heiße Hans. Wir können deutsche Freunde sein.”
I’ve never forgotten his willingness to “be German friends” with the new kid. He’d only moved to Oregon the previous summer and had integrated seamlessly into the local social scene. Through him, I was able to fit in every year when we arrived in town.
And since he didn’t have a clue about my background, I know he’s a real friend. Although, since he visited me here a couple of years ago and learned who my family are, he occasionally takes advantage of my perceived wealth and influence. Like when we’re buying snacks at the theater.
“One of those popcorns is mine.” I jerk my head at Eva. “Can you reach it?”
Hans puts a protective arm around the food. Lina tickles his ribs, and he nearly spills the beer when his arm jerks in response. As Lina continues to torture him, Eva manages to snag the bucket before he knocks it over.
“Ruhe! Der Film fängt an,” someone hisses from behind us as the lights darken.
After the movie, which is almost as good dubbed in German as it is in English, we exit the theater. The girl behind the counter must have been watching for me because she stops serving a customer and points at us as we depart. Eva catches the action and frowns at the whispering girl. “What’s that all about? Haven’t they seen Americans before?”
I glance at her. Since Eddie called me “cousin,” I thought the cat was out of the bag, but I’m not sure. Every time I start to broach the subject, she makes a comment that implies she knows. Then something like this happens, and I think maybe she doesn’t. “You don’t look that American. Except maybe the hair. There aren’t a lot of girls with blue hair here.”
She laughs. “There aren’t a lot of girls with blue hair anywhere. Not this blue.” She tosses her head, and her variegated braid flips over her shoulder. “But still, with an international university, you’d think people would be used to people from all over the world.”
“I think they are. It’s probably not you.” How do I tell her they’re looking at me without sounding conceited? I frown as we leave the theater. This isn’t the type of conversation to have while strolling around town. I need to sit down with her, in private, and make sure she knows.
Her lips make an O, as if she’s just realized something, and she taps her index finger against my chest. The tiny point of contact seems to burn, and I almost miss her comment. “It’s you. At least they mostly leave you alone. I’d have thought people would be all over you—trying to cozy up to Eduard.” She tucks her hands into the pockets of her black bomber jacket.
See what I mean? She clearly knows. I shrug off her concern. “I’m used to it.”
The weather has turned. It’s October, and we’re in the mountains, so it gets cold fast. Our breath billows out in white clouds around our heads, and a light dusting of the first snow sprinkles over us. Lina slides her hood up over her blonde braid, and Hans yanks the collar of his windbreaker up around his ears. “Shoulda worn my puffer coat.”
