Dave Karofsky and Alia Morgan are both five years old when they emigrate from Russia to America. They were next door neighbours, friends forever, brothers (Well, siblings) from another mother. Their parents were friends as well, luckily, meaning that they could visit each other's houses anytime.
They were both Jewish, going to the same synagogue, same Hebrew class, happy with their lives. It is Dave and Alia's joint birthday when their parents decide it's time to move. A riot occurs in their hometown, Jewish shops are destroyed, and a Torah is burnt.
When they arrive in Lima, Ohio, neither of them speaks a word of English. That's fine to them, it means they can escape to their own private world, and ignore the other children. They spend most of their free time in the sandpit, making up imaginary games, and occasionally swearing at other kids in Russian.
They are five years and six months old when Alia shows Dave the book. They are sitting in the sandpit, Dave tracing patterns in the sand when Alia pulls the book out of her bag. It's blue with golden letters on the front that they can't read.
"What is it?" He asks her.
"A book. I stole it from the library." She holds it close to her chest, as if she's not sure Dave should see it.
"Stole it? Alia, that's bad!"
Alia shrugged and opened the book. "It had pictures in."
The pictures are illustrations of fairy tales, Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, and Snow White. The stories are written underneath, handwritten in black ink.
They don't know what it says, but it doesn't matter, because they are entranced by the pictures. They are so engrossed that Alia and Dave don't notice the little boy sitting behind them.
He coughs quietly, and they turn around. "Hello."
They stare at him. "Hello."
"Can I see?" He points towards the book.
Alia pulls it away from him and snaps at him in Russian. "Go away."
He cocks his head to one side. "Where are you from?"
Dave stares at him blankly. Then he gestures to Alia and himself. "We speak no English."
The little boy nods, and taps his chest. "Kurt."
Alia smiles. "Alia."
Dave doesn't say anything. His eyes flick over Kurt's face, like a painter might stare at a model.
Alia taps Dave's shoulder. "Tell him your name" She says in Russia.
"Dave Karofsky."