“Really? If I cheated on something, you wouldn’t be friends with me anymore? Nine years of friendship, gone, poof?”

Surgery is scheduled for Sunday morning.

“Which is totally annoying,” I complain to Atara on Friday night, “because, like, if you’re gonna have surgery, at least miss school, no?”

Atara wrinkles her nose. “Um, yeah, but you’re missing tons anyway while you recover, right?”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever, why are you so practical?”

She laughs and passes me another doughnut hole from the platter on the table.

“How’d you know?” I say, and we both laugh. Doughnut holes are my legit weakness.

“Well, you’re also missing Fraidy’s course, and that’s really annoying. We’re doing blowouts.”

I sigh. “Yeah. Everything is just piling up.”

We look at each other. “Do we have poor priorities?” I ask Atara, wiping powdered sugar off my nose.

She sighs and pops a handful of Mike and Ikes into her mouth. “Probably,” she says.

We crack up.

Ma pokes her head into the dining room. “Ladies, heading to bed anytime soon?”

“Nah,” we say in unison, and crack up again. Mommy emits a sound between a sigh and a groan as she sinks into a chair.

“I missed your laugh, Bella,” she says lightly, and I blush. Atara’s mother never says mushy things like that, and it totally mortifies me when Mommy does, but what can you do.

“Well, thanks for inviting me over,” Atara says, smiling at Mommy.

Mommy had decided I needed major distraction, otherwise I might actually drive myself insane the whole Shabbos, and despite my protests that I’m tired and grumpy and have no patience to actually get dressed on Shabbos, she had gone ahead and invited Atara.

We’re having a blast, and the distraction thing is totally working. Okay, sort of.

“Did you know it’s an outpatient procedure?” I ask Atara suddenly.

“Actually?”

“Actually,” I confirm.

“So, in two weeks you can basically be dancing again?” Atara asks, eyebrow raised.

I shrug and push away the doughnut hole in front of me. “Nah.”

“Bella will most likely need physical therapy,” Ma explains quietly.

Atara nods, face red. Dumb physical therapy. If it were up to me, I’d be heading straight from cast removal to dance practice, but apparently that’s not how life works. Sigh.

Naftoli pokes his head into the room, spies the spread, makes a beeline for the doughnut holes, and whisks the platter away, all without making a sound.

Weirdo.

“What’s up with that whole situation?” Atara asks softly.

Ma shrugs, I sigh.

“He’s still home. It’s absolutely crazy,” I say.

“Personally, I think it’s bittul Torah.”

Mommy laughs. “Same. ’Kay, good night girls, good Shabbos, don’t stay up too late.”

She kisses my head, rubs Atara’s shoulder, and is gone.

“Sorry,” I apologize, the second she’s out of the room. “She’s—”

“Wonderful,” Atara finishes quietly.