Was I the confident, popular principal — or Lulu the reject?

T

hen I look in the mirror, I still see her. Not Leah Weingarten, 46, mature, stylish, accomplished. Not the new principal of the elite Bais Nechama, sought out and hired at a salary that’s dizzying to contemplate. Not a woman who commands admiration from students and respect from teachers.

I see Lulu Lippman, the chubby, bespectacled nobody who had stumbled through school, desperate for acknowledgement.

Go away, I tell her silently, smoothing down my skirt and adjusting my sheitel. There’s no place for you here. It’s been nearly three decades since my awkward high school years, and I stride from my office with my head high and a warm smile.

This is a different city, a different school. I’m a different person now. No one here would ever believe that I was once Lulu Lippman.

“Good morning, girls,” I greet the earliest arrivals, and they beam at me, summer- fresh faces like beacons of light. “I’m Mrs. Weingarten.”

“Right! My cousin had you in Baltimore for Megillas Esther!” one of the girls announces, puffed up with the connection. “She said that you were the best.”

“Ah, but you already have a fantastic Megillas Esther teacher here,” I remind them with a wink. “I applied for the second-best job instead.” They giggle to each other, secret little smiles, and I nod toward the auditorium. “Go ahead. You’ll get your class schedules after davening.” I stand back, waiting for the next crowd of girls.

I’ve already met most of my teachers at orientation. One returned from summer camp and went straight to a simchah and couldn’t make it, and I keep an eye out for the elusive Aviva Jaffe, aforementioned Megillas Esther teacher, as I greet more girls. Some of them recognize me — Sruly and I moved in at the end of the year and joined a robust shul — and glow with recognition.

It’s really something, to be known. The Lulu that lingers deep within me likes to bask in wonder at it before I can lock her away again.

The girls are eager to be here. Bais Nechama is a top high school, academic without becoming restrictive, known for excellent teachers and excellent girls, and I’m still in awe that I’m standing at its helm. This is my dream job. This is probably a thousand educators’ dream job. My smile is genuine as I greet the girls, and I—

I falter. The next group streams in, and there’s someone who doesn’t belong.

The girl shlumps. It’s not a limp, not an indication of a physical disability, but the shuffling walk of someone who doesn’t care. She doesn’t bother to wear the neat black sweaters that her classmates have, and her shirt is untucked. Two buttons near her waist bulge a little, and her hair is wild, flyaway frizz a halo around her glasses. In the back, her skirt is at the bend of her knees; in the front, it’s halfway down her calves.

The other girls move around her like she doesn’t exist, and I don’t blame them. There is something about her that repels the others, that makes it clear she wants nothing to do with them. I remember Lulu’s disdain for her classmates, her certainty that she was above what she decided was petty superficiality, and I am sure that I know this girl.

Still, I am principal enough to smile at her. If my smile is thinner than it had been for the others, I don’t think anyone can tell. “Hello! I’m Mrs. Weingarten, your new principal.” The girl doesn’t respond. “And you are?”

“Perel,” the girl says shortly, lumbering past me. There is no smile, no attempt to ingratiate herself with her new principal, and I turn away, irritated…

…and come face-to-face with a vision from my past.