I reach them, panting, and then I just stop. Neither of them speak, they just look at me silently, waiting.I wrinkle my brow.

“Is something wrong?” I ask casually, like they hadn’t just run away from me like it was second grade.

Rus puts her chin in her hand, Shiri leans back on her elbows.

“Is something wrong, she wants to know,” she says to the sky.

I grin. “I don’t think they’re taking calls right now,” I say.

Nobody laughs.

I shrug and climb up the metal ladder, which is freezing, by the way. I plop myself down next to them, causing the bridge to swing back and forth.

“Remember the last time I was here?” I say nostalgically. “I was so scared. More terrified than I’d ever been in my life. This place was my whole world and I had to leave….”

I choke up suddenly, as all the old fears overwhelm me.

I feel a hand on my shoulder; Rus has moved next to me.

I can’t get over how supportive they are. And how warm.

“You know,” I say, as Shiri pats my curls dramatically, whispering shh, shhh, “you two are a rare commodity in Stonesworth.”

*****

“Wohoooo!” I shriek as Shiri gives me an enormous push. A thud tells me she’s leapt onto the sled in just the nick of time. The wind snatches away our screams and I jerk on the rope sharply, trying to avoid a snow pile; the movement is too abrupt, we go flying off and tumble down the hill, breathless with laughter. We land spread-eagled, cushioned by the snow.

I stare up at the grey sky and hiccup myself into silence. I feel… small.

The shrieks of girls and laughter of the children playing in the snow fade away, it’s just me and the clouds and the tiny flurries that have started drifting lazily down.

I wonder, suddenly, in a lazy way, how important I am to this big world.

Do I matter? Do my choices matter?

I turn my head. Shiri is staring up at the sky, her profile intense.

“I feel weightless,” she says, and although we’re wearing around five pounds of bundling each, she doesn’t need to explain. “Me too,” I say. Her gloved hand finds mine, I smile at her. And we stay like that until the flurries turn into snow drifts and we need to run for shelter.

We snuggle up on Rus’s couch clutching oversized mugs of cocoa with floating marshmallows bobbing happily around the top.

We play Taboo and Monopoly and Code Names, eating ridiculous amounts of chocolate and popcorn and laughing ourselves silly.

Finally, at the rather forceful suggestion of Rus’s various family members, we trudge up the stairs to continue the party in Rus’s room. We slip into pajamas, layering up on the socks and sweatshirts. Huge snowflakes keep falling past the window, and life just seems picture-book perfect.

“Makeovers?” Rus suggests, waggling her eyebrows.

We high-five and she drags out all the necessary equipment: hair irons, ponytail holders, makeup brushes, and compacts.

We start on Shiri. “Although you absolutely don’t need makeup,” I declare. Rus nods and we roll our eyes at each other.

Shiri is annoyingly pretty. “But the rest of BY of B can use a little TLC,” I continue. “I mean, what is up with the Plain-Jane look?”

Rus blushes, Shiri looks down, silent.

(Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 745)