I Must Betray You by Ruta Sepetys

accidentally outwit ourselves.

|| INFORMER REPORT ||
    [11 Nov. 1989]
    Cristian Florescu (17), student at MF3 High School.
    Observed Saturday afternoon entering and departing the apartment of the Van Dorn family. Florescu engaged in private exchange (undecipherable) with Mr. Van Dorn in the hallway. Florescu then departed with Van Dorn’s son and proceeded to the American Library in Bucharest.
    Appears Florescu is pursuing private communications with Mr. Van Dorn. Advise cross-referencing with other Sources.

29
DOUĂZECI ȘI NOUĂ
    I noted Dan’s behavior as we walked through Rosetti Square, his general ease in all things. He swung his arms, casually looking about, speaking louder than most Romanians would.
    I envied him, the courage to be himself. In public.
    The American Library was housed in two elegant turn-of-the-century villas—buildings spared by the bulldozers. As we entered the library, we had to present identification in a reception area. Dan leaned across the desk.
    â€œHi there, Brenda. What are you doing up front?” he asked.
    â€œReception clerk is sick,” said the older woman. “It’s so chilly by the door. Sure do miss the weather in California.”
    â€œI know. I’m missing the weather in New Jersey. So that says a lot!” replied Dan.
    Dan and the woman shared a laugh. He gestured to me.
    â€œThis is my friend Cristian. He’s my guest today. He speaks English.”
    â€œHello, Cristian,” said the woman, smiling brightly. “Just need a peek at your ID.”
    A peek. What did that mean? Dan had given his ID, so I handed her mine.
    She looked at the photo on my identification for an extended beat. She finally looked up and stared straight at me. A gentle smile appeared.
    â€œMy, what lovely eyes you have,” she said.
    â€œOh, they’re . . . weird,” I blurted. I was uncomfortable with the exchange but comfortable with the memory of Liliana’s description.
    â€œNo, not weird at all,” she insisted, handing back my card. “But maybe weird that an old lady is complimenting them?” She then did something I’d seen in movies.
    She winked.
    An American woman winked at me, as if sharing some sort of private joke. Was this as strange as it felt? I turned to Dan for his reaction.
    â€œThanks, Brenda,” he said, unfazed. “We’re off to rot our minds with pop culture crap.” He gave a salute.
    â€œRot away!” she said with a wave of her hand.
    Was I misunderstanding their English? This was an official building. Yet they were being so casual, just like in the movies. Were Americans ever serious? No—I reframed the question. Were Romanians always serious?
    Dan walked casually to a long table positioned near a shelf of newspapers. He tossed his backpack on the table and it landed with a thud.
    â€œYou can leave your bag here. Have a look around.”
    I wasn’t going to leave my bag anywhere. It remained hanging from my shoulder as I walked through the warm building. There were shelves of fiction, nonfiction, biography, reference, and a section for children. There was also a section with books on Romanian history and language. Most of the books were in English. I wanted to read them. Every single one.
    And I wanted to share them with Liliana.
    I continued browsing the section. At the end of the bookshelf I noticed a wooden podium containing an official-looking album with the Romanian flag on the cover. I opened it.
    The first page featured the new portrait of Ceauşescu. Two ears.Beneath the portrait was a paragraph in Romanian:
Leader of the nation, Father of Romania, Nicolae Ceauşescu has established diplomatic relations all over the world and has visited over 100 countries.
    The album contained photos of our leader during his travels or hosting other countries:
    1969—U.S. President Richard Nixon visits Bucharest. He is the first American president to visit a