# 0001 - Friedrich’s Mother - Draft 01 > [!warning] Orange: Light Spoilers > Please note: This is [[Backstory]], not the actual beginning of the novel. If you want to understand how this all fits together, start at [[A. What if -- Intro]] > [!example] Scene Links > - Scene Cards: [[0001 - Friedrichs Mutter - Szenen-Karte|deutsch]] & [[0001 - Friedrich's Mother - Scene Card|english]] > - Draft 01: [[0001 - Friedrichs Mutter - Entwurf 01|deutsch]] & [[0001 - Friedrich's Mother - Draft 01|english]] “What are you doing up here alone, Peter? Don’t you have class now?” A woman’s voice. And a disruption. The end of my time with [[1 • Projects/P • Das Buch/Floflake 01.0 - Act Level Draft - 2026-04/Lou]], naturally. As if the day hadn’t already delivered enough. Mum rattling on about her study week in Ettal. Diri orchestrating breakfast with that familiar sad and dismissive efficiency—just get the children fed—before vanishing into his atelier. Nearly colliding with the others on the way to school, hiding long enough to almost be late. The heat pressing down like a weight. Which obviously didn’t stop Ms. Kahler from dragging us outside for physical education. Because who wouldn’t want to sweat and gasp while the others use you as target practice in Völkerball? Just another ordinary day, really. Except for the minor miracle that Ms. Kahler forgot her measuring tape and sent me to fetch it. Ten minutes of freedom. Well, that _should_ have been ten minutes. If this woman—one of the mothers, I think—hadn’t arrived early and decided against waiting in her car. Instead, she wandered upstairs and discovered me. Not that I mind adults seeing me dance. They’re usually safe. Ignorant, but safe. Still—it’s an interruption. And very likely means no more [[1 • Projects/P • Das Buch/Floflake 01.0 - Act Level Draft - 2026-04/Lou]] time until we get home. “We’re outside for physical education. Ms. Kahler asked me to fetch the measuring tape.” She nods. “Ah, okay.” Good, she doesn’t want anything. I turn toward the classroom, already calculating how quickly I can grab the tape and return. Maybe even steal another thirty seconds with [[1 • Projects/P • Das Buch/Floflake 01.0 - Act Level Draft - 2026-04/Lou]] if I’m fast enough. Ms. Kahler will see I’m reliable. Trustworthy. The kind of student who gets sent on future errands when teachers forget things. My hand reaches for the door handle. “Aren’t you Peter?” My shoulders tense, and I force my face into what I hope looks like polite attention instead of the grimace trying to break through. She knows my name. I straighten my posture, tuck my hands behind my back, and arrange my expression into something I hope passes as neutral. She’s studying my face with that particular slightly amused arrogance—the kind that means they’re about to treat me as if I was a child. “Peter Pek, right? You’re in Friedrich’s class.” Friedrich. The name floats somewhere in the middle distance of my mental map—not a threat like some of the others, but not Jonathan either. My cheeks warm at the thought of Jonathan’s quiet presence in the front row. Friedrich exists in that gray zone of the easily forgettable. “Yes, I know Friedrich.” Her smile stretches wider. “I’m his mother, Doris. He’s mentioned you.” My forehead wrinkles. Friedrich mentioning me to anyone seems as likely as Ms. Kahler forgetting her own name. “That’s unlikely,” I report. The woman’s face shifts into something I can’t decode—something that promises this conversation isn’t ending anytime soon. But I need that measuring tape. Ms. Kahler will notice I’m taking too long, and then there’ll be questions about why I can’t manage a simple errand. Her eyebrows arch. “Unlikely? But you’re the smartest one in the class. Friedrich says you could already read and write before you even started school. And your math—he says you finish everything first.” A warm, bubbly feeling spreads through my chest and crawls up into my cheeks. “I love math. It’s so joyful!” The advanced problem sets flash through my mind—those beautiful moments when Ms. Kahler slides extra worksheets onto my desk while explaining basic addition to everyone else. The satisfying click when numbers lock into place, when logic unfolds into the one perfect solution. Ms. Kahler’s warm smile when she checks my work. “Friedrich struggles with numbers.” Something shifts in her voice, something that makes my stomach tighten. “He sees how quickly you solve everything. How Ms. Kahler always calls on you when no one else knows the answer.” Her smile grows wider, but underneath it lurks something with edges. Something that wants. “Your parents must be so proud. Such a bright boy. Does your mother help you with homework? Or your father? They must spend so much time encouraging your studies.” I recognize this feeling from home—when Mother talks about leaving academia after Clara and I were born. Her whole body becomes an instrument then, vibrating with an intensity I can’t help but absorb. The way her shoulders draw tight, her voice drops half an octave. But this has never happened with anyone else. The sensation scrambles my thoughts completely. My mouth hangs open, but no words come. She doesn’t seem to need them anyway. Her face transforms completely—like someone switching on a light inside her. The edges disappear, replaced by something bright and desperate. “You know, I was good at school too. Really good.” Her voice picks up speed, becomes lighter. “My parents—well, Papa owned the grocery store, and Mama stayed home. They never understood why I spent so much time with books.” My chest tightens further. The feeling spreads down into my stomach, a pulling sensation that makes me want to step closer and run away simultaneously. I nod. “I had to study alone. Every evening, after helping in the store. Papa would shake his head—‘What’s the point?’ he’d say. ‘You’ll just get married anyway.’” She laughs, but it sounds hollow. “But I kept going. Top marks in everything.” The measuring tape waits behind the door, forgotten. Ms. Kahler waits outside with the others. But this woman’s emotions fill the hallway like magic, and I’m paralyzed, drawn into her intensity. “I wanted to be a teacher. Can you imagine? Standing in front of a classroom, helping children discover how wonderful learning can be.” Her eyes shine now, looking past me toward something I can’t see. “But when I told my parents about university, Papa just stared. ‘University? For a girl? Who’s going to pay for such nonsense?’” My throat feels thick. The sadness isn’t mine, but it lives in my body now anyway. “And then Frank started working for Papa—Friedrich’s father. Such a sweet boy then, always making me laugh after those long days in the store.” She sighs. “One thing led to another, and suddenly I was planning a wedding instead of university applications.” She looks directly at me again, and the intensity makes my skin prickle. “But you—your parents must encourage everything. The way you read, the way you think. I bet they buy you books, sit with you during homework, celebrate every success.” Her voice grows wistful. “Friedrich tells me how confident you are, how you never hesitate to raise your hand.” The warm feeling from before twists into something uncomfortable. My parents never had to help me with schoolwork. Sure, they aren’t against it. But they don’t do anything about it either. It’s just what I do—normal. “You’re so lucky, Peter. To have parents who understand what intelligence means.” Her smile trembles at the edges, and suddenly I understand that she’s not really talking to me at all. There’s an awkward silence after she’s done. What just happened? Why did this woman tell me about her childhood? Adults don’t do that. Not real adults, not normal people. Can it be that I did something that made her behave like that? Finally, she notices. “Oh my God, I’m forgetting myself. Go, get your measuring tape.” Relieved, I nod and turn toward the door, grab the tape—and then I need to get back through the corridor. I try to sneak out, hoping she won’t see me, and I almost make it. “Peter, wait. Are you coming to Friedrich’s birthday on Saturday?” The question hits me like a physical blow, and my body goes completely still. Birthday party. Friedrich’s birthday party. I’ve never been invited to any birthday party. Not one. Not ever. My own birthday sits in the middle of summer holidays when school’s out and everyone scatters. In kindergarten, I watched other children distribute colorful invitations from their cubbies—little cards with balloons and cake drawings that meant you were chosen, you were wanted, you belonged somewhere. I even threw myself a party once. Set up chairs in the garden, made pretend invitations, served cake to my stuffed animals. [[1 • Projects/P • Das Buch/Floflake 01.0 - Act Level Draft - 2026-04/Lou]] was there, naturally. It was wonderful and terrible simultaneously—wonderful because I finally experienced the ritual everyone else took for granted, terrible because it emphasized how completely alone I was. “I wasn’t invited.” The words emerge flat, factual. No emotion, just information. Her face shifts again, that same strange brightness returning. “Oh! Well, I’m inviting you now. I think it would be wonderful if you and Friedrich became friends. You could help him with his studies.” She pauses, studying my face with that unsettling intensity. “What do you think?” My mind races through possibilities. A birthday party invitation—the first one ever. But more than that, something about her eagerness suggests an opportunity. But then - what about the others? Who will be invited? What do you do on a birthday party? What if one of the bullies is invited? The bullies. The measuring tape twists between my fingers as pieces click together in my head. Doris drives Friedrich to school. Every morning, I see them pulling up in that blue car while I’m still navigating the gauntlet of older children between our house and the schoolyard. The route to school—a daily minefield of shouted names, thrown stones, deliberate shoulder checks. Marcus and his friends positioning themselves at the corner by the church, waiting. The sick anticipation that starts building the moment I leave our front gate. But if I had a ride… “Could I get a ride with you to school every day?” The question bursts out before I can filter it properly. My cheeks warm immediately—too direct, too desperate. But it’s too late to take it back. Her eyebrows shoot up. “A ride to school?” My brain scrambles for a logical explanation. “Well, if you want Friedrich and me to be friends, we should spend time together. And the car ride would give us a chance to talk every morning.” She tilts her head, considering. “That… actually makes sense. Getting to know each other better outside of class time.” “Exactly.” Relief floods through me. “And I could help him with homework on the way if he needs it.” She nods slowly, that bright intensity returning. “Yes, I think that could work very well.” Her smile widens. “Your mother wouldn’t mind?” “She won’t mind.” Mother rarely notices my departure times anyway. “So… every morning?” “Every morning.” She extends her hand like we’re making a business deal. “And you’ll come Saturday for Friedrich’s birthday?” I shake her hand, marveling at how quickly everything shifted. No more daily terror between home and school. No more scanning for safe routes or timing departures to avoid the worst harassment. “Yes. I’ll come Saturday.” “Wonderful! Run along to your physical education class. I’ll call your mother this afternoon to arrange everything.” I clutch the measuring tape and sprint toward the stairs, my chest lighter than it’s been in months. “Peter!” Ms. Kahler’s voice cuts through the hallway like a blade. My stomach drops as I see her climbing the stairs, her face tight with that particular expression teachers wear when students have exceeded acceptable absence times. “What are you doing up here? The class has been waiting for the measuring tape.” My carefully constructed plan crumbles. All that time talking with Doris—time I should have been proving my reliability. Instead, I’ve demonstrated exactly the opposite. “I’m sorry, Ms. Kahler. I got the tape right away, but then—” “Mrs. Schneider!” Ms. Kahler’s attention shifts past me. “I didn’t realize you were here already.” “I was early for pickup and decided to wait inside. I hope that’s alright?” Doris’s voice transforms completely—polite, deferential, nothing like the intense woman who just spilled her life story to me. “Of course. Peter, please return to the yard immediately.” I hand over the measuring tape, watching my reputation for efficiency dissolve in real time. The disappointment in Ms. Kahler’s eyes burns worse than any physical education humiliation. But as I head toward the stairs, something else crystallizes in my mind. What just happened wasn’t random. I didn’t stumble into Doris’s confession by accident. She needed something—someone to listen, someone to absorb her disappointment about her abandoned dreams. And somehow, I gave her exactly that. I felt her emotions like they were my own, nodded at the right moments. And in return? A birthday invitation. Daily car rides. Protection from Marcus and his friends. That was worth the price of missing my dance with [[1 • Projects/P • Das Buch/Floflake 01.0 - Act Level Draft - 2026-04/Lou]]. I pause at the top of the stairs, my heart racing with a different kind of excitement now. Asking for help never worked. Begging teachers to intervene, telling parents about the harassment, even trying to negotiate with the bullies directly—all failures. But giving a powerful person what they need? That secured my protection instantly. I need to test this with other adults.