The Knife Sharpener's Bell by Rhea Tregebov

classes, then the school has a chance to compete in the district competitions.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œA red-banner class gets prizes, too, Annette. We get to go to the children’s theatre and the museum.”
    â€œOh! That’s great.”
    A tall thin girl wearing glasses comes up to us.
    â€œLuba, I’m explaining to Annette about the socialist competition.”
    â€œDon’t you know what a socialist competition is, Annette?” Luba drawls out the words.
    I look down at my shoes, the bump where my big toe sticks up. “Elena was just telling me.”
    Luba’s playing with one of her braids. She doesn’t have any bows in her hair, just elastics to keeping the braids tidy. “I guess they don’t have socialist competitions in America, do they Annette?”
    I’m not American. I’m from Canada. It’s a different country.
    â€œ
Do
they have socialist competitions in America, Annette?” Elena’s head is cocked to the side, making her look even more like a Scottie. I shake my head.
    Luba’s friend Sonya, a sturdy girl with bright button-blue eyes and masses of red curls, has come over too. She puts her hand on the sleeve of my coat, runs her fingers along the knitted wool cuffs.
    â€œDid you bring this coat from America, Annette?”
    I nod.
    â€œMy mother says you probably brought diamonds, too. And a whole trunkful of saucepans.” Sonya tugs at the cuffs.
    â€œDon’t be silly, Sonya,” Elena says. “Annette’s father is an ordinary worker, a good Soviet citizen. How could he have diamonds?”
    Sonya shrugs. “She dresses pretty fancy. Who knows what her father did in America?”
    â€œHer father dresses real swell. I saw him. In a camel hair coat. He dresses like a real bourgeois.” Luba gives me a little shove.
    â€œThat wasn’t my father. He’s my uncle Lev.”
    â€œWell your uncle’s pretty fancy looking too.” She gives me a second little shove.
    â€œLeave her alone,” Elena says. Both their chins are jutting out, about an inch from each other.
    I want to tell them I’m not American.
    â€œShe’s a show-off,” Luba says.
    â€œIs not.”
    â€œIs too.”
    Luba gives me another good shove, and then Sonya shoves from the other side.
    â€œCut it out,” I tell them.
    â€œTwo against one isn’t fair,” Elena says.
    They both smile. Sonya steps back, and then Luba suddenly rushes at me with a big shove and I’m sitting in the gravel on the playground, my elbow scraped red and full of little stones. Luba’s standing above me, and suddenly every-thing’s bright, white, and I can’t see anything but her, can’t see Elena, though I hear her yelling, can’t see the sky. Luba’s still smiling. I want that smile.
    The brightness swallows everything but I want what I want, that smile, and then it’s Luba on the ground beneath me, I don’t know how, brightness pouring through me and I’m happy, so happy, and I’m sitting on her stomach and I can feel myself pounding my fists on her shoulders, my voice spilling out words in English, the language I’m not supposed to speak.
Leave me alone leave me alone leave me alone.
The soft give of her shoulder as my fists connect. I look at Luba’s face and she’s afraid. The whiteness recedes and colours come back. I can see that Sonya’s gone and can hear Elena saying quietly, “Get up, Annette. Get off her. C’mon, the teacher’s going to see.”
    I look again at Luba’s face, her mouth open in surprise, the tears. That’s what I wanted. I wanted her face to change. I changed it.
    I get up.
    â€œHow’d you do that?” Elena asks. “How’d you throw her off you like that? She’s so much bigger.”
    Luba’s blubbering. “I’m going to tell,” she says.
    You started it,” Elena says.