When I return to the table, flushed and red-eyed, the girls jolt apart quickly. Were they talking about me? Whatever, that’s the least of my problems right now. “You okay, RaRa?” Tamara asks lightly, breaking the awkward silence.

“Fine,” I say, trying to sound calm. “Ready to bentsh?”

Tiffy titters, Bina elbows her. “Yes, let’s bentsh,” she says quietly. Tamara motions for a waiter to bring the bill. I calculate quickly, put 40 on the table, and begin bentshing. Tiffy slides over a shiny credit card, Rikki does the same. Bina, on the other hand, is engrossed in her bentshing. Tamara instructs the waiter crisply. “Forty cash, forty each on these two cards, and charge 80 for mine.”

I glance at Bina, but she won’t meet my eyes.

Tamara pays for Bina’s dinners?! The realization flashes through my mind. How often? What else does she pay for? Come to think of it, how would a rabbi’s daughter afford Michael Kors shoes and Chanel earrings?

I blink, slightly shocked. So, there is more to Tamara than hairspray and Gucci. I knew it. I file this away for later and walk out to the car; the girls are giggling again, and suddenly I’m annoyed.

Why should I have to be the only one who hides things from my parents? Why should they get to be lighthearted while I feel like I’m walking to the guillotine? We weren’t doing anything wrong! We were eating, for goodness’ sake! There is no reason I should have to feel guilty or bad for wanting to have dinner with my classmates!

I resurface and join the conversation, feeling as if my ears have just popped and everything is clear again.

I’m a good kid. I did nothing wrong. Yes, maybe I should have been upfront about where we were going for dinner, but that doesn’t mean I did something terrible, does it?

We’re back to discussing Ruchy Frank. “Okay, ballpark, how much is a Balenciaga?” I ask, trying to distract myself from my impending doom as we settle into the car.

Tamara yawns. “More than you can afford,” she says, and they all crack up. Ha ha, very funny, make fun of the Brownsfeld girl.

“Around two,” Tiffy says, bored. I scrunch my nose. “Two hundred dollars? It’s a lot, but—”

“Two thousand,” Bina says in a hard voice. Oh. Ohhhh. Ew.

I can’t even comment on that so I fall silent again. We drop off Tiffy and then Guy pulls up in front of the public school on the corner. “Kisses, Bina,” Tamara says lazily. Bina hops out. “Goodnight, thank you, see you.”

The door shuts and I try to follow Bina through the window but I lose her pretty quickly.

“What… why does she get out here?” I ask Tamara and Rikki. They share a look.

“She’s embarrassed,” Tamara says quietly. I must look confused because Rikki sighs, exasperated.

“They live in a tiny house on the shul grounds. Ten kids in the family. None of them have style or flair or appreciate that Bina has regular high school needs….”

“We take care of her,” Tamara says. “We take care of each other.”

Rikki looks pleased. I just feel… sad. And tired. Tired of games and lies and deceit, tired of everyone trying to impress other people who are just as insecure as they are.

It is all so pointless, so unnecessary. The electric air from earlier has dissipated and I’m left feeling old. (Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 737)