CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I’d been back at my parents’ house in Calderhill just two days when I found out that Marek was dead. One morning, a letter arrived from East Germany. I rushed upstairs with it, but my excitement faded to horror as I read it. It was from Magda’s friend Kerstin, the girl with the black hair and the sultry eyes. She said that Magda was too upset to write personally. Marek had been discovered crossing the border. He didn’t stop when the guards shouted out to him, and so they shot him. He’d been betrayed. She hoped she didn’t have to say any more.
I sat down on the bed and wept. Not for Marek. I was still angry with him. And a big part of me was thinking: I told you so. I cried for myself. And for Magda. I couldn’t bear the thought of her hating me, as she now must. What wo
