Why couldn’t a different teacher have given over those announcements? Why, oh why, did it have to be my mother?

I wake up slowly, eyes creaking open one by one.

The view outside my window is a mass of gray roiling clouds. It’s freezing, and my Uggs are nowhere to be seen. Oh, I can already tell it’s going to be a fantabulous day.

I miss the bus and have to get a ride with Ma. Wonderful for my reputation.

And of course, Ma is running late. So not only do I get to ride in her 90’s Green Toyota minivan, I also get to be late for cheder tefillah.

I wait for her in the car, sipping my cold brew — never too cold outside for cold brew — and scowling out the window at absolutely nobody.

Ma settles into her seat with a flurry of notebooks and pens and roll call books; a thermos of coffee nearly spills all over my pleated skirt. I jerk away.

Ma looks at me. “You okay there?”

I look at her and then look away.

We drive in a silence that fills the entire car. Of course, I feel bad as soon as we pull into school.

“See you later, Ma,” I say sweetly, leaning over to peck her cheek.

I’m pretty sure Ma wants to disown me.

I tiptoe into the cheder tefillah, waving my late note, and plop into my seat. I’m tired already.