*****

I shuffle to the sidewalk, half-carrying, half-dragging the garbage bag behind me. One thousand men in my house and there’s no one to take out the garbage when it’s overflowing. I step onto the curb and try to heave the bag in, but some goof has stuffed in like six seltzer bottles that are protruding against the sides of the plastic, and the whole thing is too heavy and riiiiiiiiip.

“Oh, come on,” I say, because, honestly, can this day get any worse? I drop to my knees and begin trying to gather the garbage up without actually touching it, which is a lot harder than one would think.

“Do you, uh, need help?”

I look up, it’s the new girl from across the street.

No. No, I’m not doing this. I’m not being all “lost my old best friend but made a new one on my way out of our friendship.” No way.

“Nah.” I look back down. “But thank you.”

The girl drops onto the sidewalk with me and gathers the seltzer bottles.

“It’s so annoying when people are helpful, don’t you think?” she says, and then she tosses the bottles into a recycling bin and turns to go.

“We don’t really recycle,” I say dumbly. But she’s already gone.

*****

I don’t even know her name, but I have to admit, the girl’s got style.

I love how she just delivered a snide comment and then disappeared into the night. Very my vibe.

Um, you know, before I grew and changed and became a better version of myself.

“Met the new girl,” I tell Ma, as we fold laundry in the living room. One couch hosts a mountain of bein hazmanim loads, the other holds four baskets lined up neatly, waiting to be filled with each boy’s cleaned and folded clothing.

Life is very fair.

Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t want to be fishing in the wilderness, getting stabbed by tent spikes (the story behind Naftoli’s stitches), but it would be nice if someone would fold and put away my laundry for a change.

“So what’s her name?”

“Um, we didn’t get that far.”

Ma blinks at me over a pile of undershirts.

“Oh. Well, what school will she be going to?”

“Um. Well, actually, all I know is that she recycles.”

Ma’s eyes twinkle. “Ah, recycling, the basis of any good friendship.”

And then we crack up, just because we’re tired and the whole thing really is ridiculous.

*****

I see her again the next morning, as I try not to panic over what my first day of not being Atara’s best friend will look like. I’m already walking to school alone, the first of many changes, and there she is, now wearing a pair of black Toms that actually look pretty cute with her uniform. Hey wait, that’s my uniform.

“Hey.”

I don’t look at her as we wait for the crossing light.

“Hi.”

“You coming to Bais Yaakov?”

“Yup.”

“Nice. Ninth grade?”

“Yup.”

“Great. Uh, I’m Bella Rena, by the way.”

She smirks at this as we cross the street. “Cute. Do you dance?”

“Not anymore. What’s your name?”

“Pearlie White.”

I snort.

“Yeah. My dad’s a dentist.”

I stop mid sidewalk.

“You’re joking!”

“Yup.”

“Oh.”

I smile to myself as we turn into the driveway of good ol’ Bais Yaakov.

I have a feeling that ninth grade just got a lot more interesting with the appearance of Pearlie White.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 824)