“Question, Spencer?” This is a surprise. Like me, Spencer Davis never raises his hand in class. If Spencer talks, it’s to his hockey teammates or to the girls he deems worthy of his time and attention. He claims to have hooked up with at least a dozen. As if. Thank everything holy Logan isn’t one of them.
“Can we get extra credit for dressing up for the debate?”
I turn around to see if he’s serious. Oh yeah. Dead serious.
Mr. Bartley says, “Although I appreciate your desire for authenticity, Spencer, that does not extend to dress. No uniforms for this debate.”
Someone whispers, “Damn.” I glance around, but I can’t figure out who it was.
“Excuse me, Mr. Bartley—” Logan breaks off when Mr. Bartley calls on someone else.
He answers a question about citing sources, then another on the structure of our papers that are due the same day as the debate. Moving over to his desk, Mr. Bartley grabs a paper bag and shakes it. He says, “Each of you will draw a number—either a one or two. Call it out after you pick. Mason, you start.”
When it’s my turn, I mumble, “One.” Logan says, “Two.”
“All the ones will take the pro side. Twos will take con,” Mr. Bartley says. “You may work together to create your platform, but your paper must be your own. Your arguments should be based on the Wannsee Conference held on January 20, 1942. A week from this coming Monday we’ll transform our room into the Wannsee Villa and hold our own top-secret Nazi conference to debate how to handle the biggest threat to the Aryan race—the Jew.”
The Jew. The way he said it makes my skin crawl.
Mr. Bartley advances to the next PowerPoint slide. “These were the fifteen Nazi men who came together to address how to handle the storage problem of Europe’s eleven million Jews. Adolf Eichmann is in the center because he was instrumental in implementing the Final Solution. He oversaw the deportation of Jews from their homes to ghettos to death camps. Tomorrow, we’ll watch the movie Conspiracy, which reenacts the meeting with these men.”
Men? More like monsters, I think.
“The movie will be a good resource, but I highly recommend you get a jump start tonight on your research to support your arguments.”
“But they—they’re…Nazis,” Logan stammers without raising her hand.
Mr. Bartley’s stern expression cautions her not to speak out of turn again. “Yes, and your job is to understand their mentality. I know re-creating this debate is a challenge, but history is filled with many horrors and this is an impactful way to learn. Experience is always a great teacher.” Mr. Bartley smiles. “Unless you’d rather memorize dates and facts and take multiple-choice tests like I had to in my boring high school history classes.”
The room erupts with groans and “No thank yous.”
Once again, Mr. Bartley raises a hand to quiet us down. “All right then. Back to the Wannsee Conference.” He goes through several more slides. My eyes meet Logan’s, and then hers dart over my shoulder.
She gasps. I twist in my seat to see why Logan’s freaked out and my mouth drops open.
Jesse Elton stands and snaps his feet together. He lifts his right arm and salutes like a Nazi. “Heil Hitler,” he calls out.
Several people laugh, and Jesse gives them an appreciative grin. Cade’s stunned expression matches mine. Does everyone else find that funny? I look around. Revulsion flashes across Daniel Riggs’s face, but it disappears so quickly that I question whether it was there to begin with.
Spencer holds out his fist to Jesse, then mimics the salute and says, “Seig Heil. Hail victory.”
This can’t be happening here, in my favorite class with my favorite teacher.
And just as I wonder if Mr. Bartley is going to do something, he walks over to Spencer and Jesse. His tone is sharp as a blade cutting through metal. “Those actions are inappropriate. This isn’t a joke and you are never to make light of the Nazi salute and the hate it represents. I expect you to take this assignment seriously.”
Jesse drops his gaze, but not his smirk. Spencer shrugs his shoulders and looks at Mason, the RHS varsity hockey team captain and my biggest rival for valedictorian. Jesse and Spencer are his guys, his teammates, and for one second I hold out hope that maybe Mason will be the leader he’s supposed to be, to say something, do something—even a look of disapproval. But he’s not looking at them. He’s not looking at anyone. He’s picking at a thread on his jersey.
Another teammate, Reginald Ashford, however, shoots daggers from across the room at Spencer and Jesse. The muscle in his jaw tics. He’s pissed. Good. There’s always been a bit of a rivalry between Mason and Reg, and now I can’t help but think Reg should have been team captain instead of the coach’s son.
And then there’s Spencer. He shrugs his shoulders when he sees me glaring at him. Disgusted, I turn back in my seat. It hardly matters that Mr. Bartley reprimanded them. This assignment is a green light for these guys to act like Nazis. I don’t know if I’m more disappointed with Mr. Bartley or with Spencer and Jesse. Definitely Mr. Bartley. I don’t get why he thinks it’s a good idea to promote fascism by having us do an immoral debate.
Mr. Bartley says, “Let me be clear. I am not asking you to be sympathetic to the Nazis. Quite the opposite. This is a serious examination of a historical event. Let’s learn from this moment and remember to be respectful.” He looks pointedly at Jesse and Spencer.
“By examining these perspectives, this assignment gives you the opportunity to discuss and present a topic that will force you out of your comfort zone. Why is this important? It’s important because there will be plenty of times in your life when you’ll be in a situation where people will express ideas existentially and philosophically opposed to your own. It happens every day on the internet. You’ll face it on your college campuses.” Mr. Bartley looks at me. “The point is to understand all sides and be prepared to debate. I promise, after you complete this work, you’ll have a better grasp on how to create and present compelling arguments.”
“But, Mr. Bartley—”
He goes all traffic cop on me and I close my mouth. “Let me finish, Logan.”
Kerrianne snickers. I so want to raise my middle finger and tell her to go perch on a building with her fellow gargoyles. Mason asked me to prom last year. Not my fault she was second choice after I said no. Ever since, Kerrianne has been nasty to me. You’d think after eleven months as Kerrison, she’d be over it.
I focus on Mr. Bartley.
He says, “We only need to look to Sudan and Myanmar, to name just a few nations, to understand that genocide is not history. It’s a part of our modern society. We can turn to China and the reports of concentration camps holding up to a million Uighur Muslims. What is the excuse for this inhumanity? Power and politics!