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sidewalks ringing the building, the gymnasium for basketball, and a tennis court up on the third floor where there’d once been a roof garden.
    I pointed out the rigorous academic requirements of the novel’s school, and the fact that there were no girls on that cam-pus, and they simmered down and moved on to the issues the book presented.
    The 1950s sensibility that wrote it, and the 1940s sensibilities that informed it were a stretch for them—but worthwhile when we “translated” some of what the book took for granted—
    World War II and the home front, rationing, the draft, and the attitudes toward the war and service. Once again, history seeped into the English classroom, but this group didn’t seem to find that an intrusion.
    GILLIAN ROBERTS
    30
    This morning, we talked about the pivotal moment in the book when Gene jostles the tree branch and doesn’t reach to help Finney, who is also balancing on it, thereby ensuring his friend’s plummet to earth.
    “Don’t forget,” Ma’ayan Atias said. “Finney had saved Gene on that branch. And Finney hadn’t caused the problem then, the way Gene did now.”
    “Good point,” I said. “Why do you think Gene suddenly jostled the branch?”
    “Gene was scared of jumping off that tree,” Ben said. “He, like, had to, or—”
    “Or what?” Ma’ayan snapped. “Gene was scared of losing!
    Everything was about losing or winning to him.”
    “But—but it wasn’t a contest, really.” Ben’s cheeks slowly turned color until they looked as if somebody had scraped them.
    Ma’ayan was a formidable debater made even more so by her self-assurance. And she had the ultimate weapon—she was cute, thereby rendering boys her age, particularly Benjamin, tongue-tied or speechless.
    “Yes it was!” she said with great authority.
    Ben had the dogged appeal of someone doomed to lose, but determined to stay the course. “Finney was better at sports,” he said softly.
    “But Gene was better at academics,” I said, joining the match.
    “Yes,” Ben said. “Yes. But . . . sports are more important—
    not with teachers, but with kids?” His wistfulness was heartbreaking. Ben appeared made completely of Tinker Toys, sticks and spools, with a large—intelligent—head on top. He grew almost visibly day by day, and he didn’t look as if all the new inches had been wired yet, so he didn’t function as a unit. It was obvious that athletics would have to wait until he got the neurons firing in sync.
    “But also, also—because Finney didn’t have to follow the 31
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    rules. That’s another reason Gene was angry, even if he didn’t say so.” Ma’ayan waved her hand in the air while she spoke. Speaking in turn was the rule of the classroom, raising your hand first.
    Her hand followed the rules, signaling that she wanted to be called on, but the rest of her couldn’t contain her idea one second longer.
    “What does that mean?” I asked her. “Why might that be so?”
    “Because . . . because Finney wasn’t worried about what people thought the way Gene was. He wore that pink shirt, except why that was such a big deal, I don’t know.”
    Ben swallowed hard before speaking. “Because it made him look— pink. You know, pink —”
    “Gay,” a male voice interrupted from the back of the room, and there was a burst of nudge-nudge laughter.
    Only a brief burst after a glance from me, but the winks and faces continued on. They always do, and it always depresses me.
    “Jeez,” Ma’ayan said, her posture and expression of incredulous disdain as regal and remote as Queen Victoria’s must have been. “Like wearing a certain color makes you whatever! But anyway, Finney wasn’t afraid to wear it.”
    “It might be worth considering,” I said, interrupting her,
    “that a pink shirt was more outrageous when this book took place. So think of what it meant that Finney didn’t mind wearing it. And try to expand your minds a bit and think about this: The