Rudy's hands were still wrapped in the folds of her jacket. She had stopped fighting; most people had gone in after a few glances at them. The procession of beaten down, starved Jews could no longer be seen.

The two of them lay there together for a second, body to body, before Liesel smudged a dirty hand across her cheek, a small sob bursting through her lips, and Rudy's fingers loosened their hold. He pulled himself off of her, to his feet, and she felt the pressure ease. She didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She didn't know whether the thrum of her heart was because of Max or because of him.

He took her hand and helped her to her feet. Their eyes met for a long, slow interval of time. She felt a mixture of anger, grudging gratefulness and guilt.

Rudy dropped her hand. "Who was that?"

"I–" Liesel swallowed, her throat dry. It was always easy to talk to him. Why was she fumbling for words now? "It was Max," she finished lamely.

An eyebrow shot up. "I might have guessed that from what you screamed at him." There was a distinct coolness to his tone.

"Stop that," she snapped, finding her courage again. "Papa knew his father in the war. Erik saved his life. In return, he told his family that he would help them at any cost. In November, Max came to our house. He lived there for months, in hiding. He left when Papa gave that man bread, because he didn't want us to be–to get in trouble because of him."

A brief, clipped-toned summary of something so precious to her. Liesel hadn't known she'd had it in her.

There was an initial moment where his eyes widened, his expression shocked, even an amount of respect for her in it.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"That's what you have to say?" Her incredulous tone made him wince slightly.

"We kept a Jew in our house for months, and he ended up in a goddam parade, and you ask why I didn't tell you?" She was not being altogether reasonable but someone had to bear the brunt of her emotions.

Rudy looked ashamed, but then shifted his weight from one foot to another, glancing at the ground and then back up at her.

"I'm your best friend," he muttered finally, turning away.

She softened, touching his arm. "I didn't mean it like that. I just couldn't tell anyone. What if someone had heard? What if I wanted to tell someone else after you? What then?"

He turned back, and suddenly, she was in the circle of his arms. "I know you couldn't," he said quietly. "I was upset because–because–I know you're–I just want you to–"

This time he was fumbling, but she understood. He knew she was strong, but he didn't want her not to need him at all. He wanted her to want to confide in him, just as he wanted her to want to kiss him. I have often thought this aspect of human males is a strange concept indeed.

And she wanted to, now. Confide in him.

So she laid her head against his shoulder and told him everything, sparing no details, not caring about the ill placed confidences.

And when she finished and he looked down at her again, with that same look, of belief and admiration and love and concern and his own unruly self shining out of his face, she thought that she wanted to do the other thing too. Maybe she had always had. Maybe a small part of her hadn't only because she thought Rudy would stay only as long as she was out of reach. Maybe that had changed now, with that act. So she did.

The sun sank, a winking, beaming spectrum of light; the sky was a fiery one, of passing light, and fleeting cloud; and under it Liesel Meminger and Rudy Steiner kissed each other. They were gentle and flushed and it was only a hesitant kiss, but it was one nevertheless. And when they broke apart, they said the words after all. They whispered to the stirring winds that they loved each other. Playmates and best friends, competitors and protectors, they had both started something that would lead to another title very soon.