Thousand Oaks had often been ranked one of the safest cities in the United States. White power didn’t seem to fit into our suburban bubble, so most of us didn’t take it seriously at first. We figured the white power kids were just making some sort of joke — that Matt would snap out of it and be Arturo’s friend again. At one point, a Jewish friend of mine even wrote a “W” on the back of his left hand and a “P” on the other. He crossed his arms in front of his chest so “WP” was on display. “White power,” he said. “Like Nazis.” Then he spat on the back of his hands and wiped it off.

Matt continued huddling with, and dressing like, his new friends. It slowly became clear they took it seriously. Lauren — the sole girl in the group, who followed the all-black dress code and tied her straight blonde hair in a tight bun — began bullying Latinx kids with racial slurs as they passed by the oak tree. It wasn’t a joke.

One day, I approached Matt after English class. “Why aren’t you friends with Arturo anymore?” He didn’t respond. His broad shoulders stared me down. “We were all friends in middle school,” I reminded him. Nothing. I brought up more middle school memories, of sharing bands and hanging at the mall. Nothing.

“So what,” I continued, boiling over, “you’re not going to be my friend either, because I’m Jewish?”

That piqued his interest. I had never told him I was Jewish, and my Judaism often surprised people. I may have curls, but I’m also fair-skinned and blonde. One could say I “pass.”

In that moment, in his eyes, I became non-white. And in that instant too, he stopped being the quiet type. Our argument was a blur. It moved into the hallway. We yelled our separate forms of teen angst back and forth. I don’t recall the resolution — though I did call him out as a Nazi. For a moment, I felt victorious. A sophomore came up to me afterward, and said, “I’m glad you stood up to one of the white power kids. Someone’s gotta do it.”

Later that week, the rumor began.

“You know Matt wants to stab you to get his red ribbons?” Arturo told me.

“Red ribbons?” I asked, too stuck in an unreality to believe I could be stabbed.

“It’s what you get for the first time you stab a Jew, and Matt wants you to be his first Jew.”

I Googled it and discovered what red ribbons are. They’re shoelaces. Red shoelaces. When a white power skinhead wears red shoelaces, it means that person has shed blood for the cause. Jewish blood would count.