***

ZeeZee flung her bag on the floor and leaped onto her bed, her red hair splaying across her hot pink pillowcase.

“Nu, girlies. Tell me about your first day of school.” She mimicked a mother’s voice.

Shani looked up from the book she was reading. “It was good. The teachers seem nice.”

ZeeZee clucked her tongue. “Now Shanaleh, is that all you can say? Let’s hear about the girls in your class, which teachers you like, which you don’t like. Mama wants to hear everything!”

Rusi laughed, but Shani, for some reason, turned red and didn’t reply.

As far as ZeeZee was concerned, the judgement was still out on her roommates. Rusi, who came from Lakewood, had spent the past three days crying on the phone — with her mother, with her best friend back home, and with her newly engaged sister whose vort she’d be missing next week.

ZeeZee had tried to be sympathetic at first, but this cryfest was getting to be a bit much. ZeeZee herself was never homesick. The way she saw it, wherever she was, that was exactly where she wanted to be.

And then there was Shani, from Detroit, who was sweet, but too private for her tastes.

“Well, I thought Mrs. Litwin’s Navi class was amazing,” Rusi said.

“Not normal,” ZeeZee agreed.

“And, let’s see, there was Mrs. Edelman for Chumash, that was also interesting. It was cool what she said about learning Rashi like adults.”

ZeeZee rolled her eyes. “Please, I’ve never heard anyone get that dramatic over Rashi.” She made her voice soft and breathy. “‘Girls, say goodbye to the Rashi of your childhood! Prepare to encounter him in all his depth and brilliance!’ I mean, really?”

Rusi shrugged. “She looks like the type who would go all crazy over a Rashi, no?”

“Yeah, I guess.” ZeeZee pressed her finger on a photo of her family whose tape was coming off the wall. Looking at her sisters, she felt her stomach tighten. “But I wish Mrs. Litwin was my mechaneches, and not Mrs. Edelman. She just doesn’t look like she gets it, you know?”

ZeeZee knew this teacher was considered a real legend at Shvilei Bracha; she remembered some of her sisters — the older ones especially — going on and on about her incredible classes.

A part of her had been curious: Maybe this teacher really did know how to work magic? Maybe by the end of the year, ZeeZee would be transformed into one of those seminary girls who quotes pesukim and spews endlessly long and complex divrei Torah at every Shabbos meal until you feel like smacking her?

But, sitting in class this morning, taking in Mrs. Edelman’s short brown Rebbetzin-style sheitel, her buttoned-up-to-the-collar shirt, it just wasn’t happening. She wasn’t sensing the aura that had so inspired her oldest sisters.

She knew what they’d tell her. She could just hear her oldest sister Gitty’s voice. “Have some patience, ZeeZee. Don’t be so impulsive in your impressions.” And, the worst: “Wait ‘til you mature, and then you’ll understand.” ZeeZee clenched her teeth and turned away from her photo wall. Did Gitty have any clue how irritating it was when she played mother?

Of course, Gitty was old enough to be her mother. Which, as far as ZeeZee was concerned, made her ancient opinions from 20 years ago totally worthless. ZeeZee would form her own opinions and make her own decisions — about teachers, about seminary, about life — exactly like she’d done up until now.

***

“What’s with all the cookies?” Yehuda leaned over to grab a cookie from the tray on the counter.

“Well, we can’t have Cookie Thursday without cookies,” Tammy said, tucking a floury strand of hair back into her snood.

“Cookie Thursday. How could I have forgotten?” Yehuda raised an eyebrow as he took a bite.

She laughed. “Well, I just made it up, but I thought it was cute. I’m inviting the girls over every Thursday night, for cookies and schmooze. I hung up a sign in the dorms last night, and they loved it.”

Yehuda chewed silently, his smile fading. Finally, he said, casually, “And where should I be during this weekly cookie party?”

Tammy looked around their matchbox apartment. “Um, the bedroom?”

It had been time to upgrade to a two-bedroom just as she’d found out that she’d gotten this eim bayit job. So naturally they’d looked for an apartment as close as possible to the seminary; unfortunately, they couldn’t afford to be picky about size as well.

Yehuda stared at her. “You’re telling me that I’ll be spending every Thursday night in the bedroom.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Come on, is that so different than learning in the living room? I’ll even bring you cookies.”

He sighed. “Remind me why we took this job again?”

Tammy’s eyes widened. Hold on a second.

“Yehuda, you agreed to this! When I said I wanted to find work in a seminary, you told me to go for it!”

“Well, I knew how badly you wanted it,” he mumbled.

That was true. Playing the role of inspirational mentor was something she’d dreamed about forever. Back when she and Yehuda were dating — gosh, was it really eight years ago? — she’d told him about her dream.

And then Hashem had sent them on a six-year detour, filled with fertility treatments and emotional anguish too all-consuming to allow her to focus on giving to others. Now, baruch Hashem, that experience was behind them. She had Shimmy, her miracle baby.

It was time to move forward with the rest of her life dreams.

Yehuda swallowed. “Forget it, I’ll just stay on later in kollel. When do you expect this to be over tonight?”

“Well, curfew’s at 10:30. Though of course, I’m in charge of that…” Tammy laughed. Picturing this evening, she’d had visions of the girls not wanting to leave, begging her to bend the curfew rules — “Isn’t it, like, up to you?” — and her shaking her head, saying, “Girls, we can’t break curfew the very first week!” Smiling, implying that maybe later in the year…

“Fine, the house is yours ‘til 10:30.” He gave her a stiff smile and walked out of the kitchen.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 720)