Besides, it’s Super Naftoli. If I’m going to be nice to anyone, it should be to him

I feel like whenever I’m feeling happy, math comes along and rains on my parade.

Really. Enough is enough. I frown at the ridiculously convoluted problem on the page, then roll over, letting my math book slide to the floor with a thump.

From my new position, I spy my sewing machine, just chilling out, all cool, on the desk. I really shouldn’t, I need to study….

An hour later I stand and stretch, smiling admiringly at the new chambray skirt I’ve just finished. It’s nothing like Atara’s, of course, just, you know, inspired by hers.

I step neatly over my math book and head downstairs for a post-studying/sewing snack.

Naftoli is sitting at the table, surrounded by a sheaf of neon yellow papers.

“Help,” he says when he sees me. “Belka, you gotta help me.”

“Oh no,” I yawn. “Are the bad guys after you?” I reach for a box of doughnut holes.

He drops his head onto the table.

“Yes,” he says, muffled. “The packing bandits.”

I raise my eyebrows, because there is no way I’m feeling bad for him; he’s the one going to Israel while I stay at home and bake in the muggy Brooklyn summer. And yes, I do feel like he stole my trip.

But then I actually do feel bad for him, because I look at the papers and there are like six different packing lists, because he’ll be visiting so many different sites, and it really is extremely overwhelming.

Besides, it’s Super Naftoli. If I’m going to be nice to anyone, it should be to him.

“Okay,” I say, sitting down and gathering the papers into one neat pile. My doughnut holes will have to wait. “This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to divide and conquer. Get note paper and a pen, we’ll start with basics. You’ll want to go cheap with those, socks from Walmart and bathing suits from Target. Save the fancy stuff for the things that won’t get ruined at Ein Gedi or Masada….” I trail off, jealousy has stolen my voice.

“Bell?” Naftoli looks worried. “You okay?”