Production placements are hung during first period, and it’s all anyone can talk about at recess. Tamara finds my choir status quite amusing. “Ohmigosh, RaRa, you know what they say, those who can’t dance… sing.”

I grin, but inside I’m doing a pretty unkind impression of her voice.

I roll my eyes dramatically. “This is so annoying, we have to go to practice and stuff?”

Tamara sighs and straightens her new Gucci bangle watch. “Yeah. And they take attendance and everything. It’s super stressful. Whatever, at least I’m in Pearlie’s dance. Poor RaRa, stuck in choir.”

Tiffy puts her hand on my elbow and Bina pouts and Rikki shakes her head pityingly. I appreciate the support, but I feel queasy and two-faced. I’m literally going to have to spend the next three weeks pretending to hate something I love. Yuck.

I’ve been doing a lot of that since my visit to Brownsfeld. All that country-girl confidence seems to have vanished on the bus ride back to Stonesworth, and I’ve been feeling shaky and insecure ever since. I feel like I burned the bridge leading me back to Brownsfeld, and the path to Stonesworth is built on flattery and lies.

And at home, I get to pretend I love something I’m not crazy about, aka, Tzippy’s marriage to Yechiel.

So, life’s fantastic.

The bell rings to signal the end of break, so we bounce back to our desks.

Yes, bounce. I’d spent the first two weeks of Bais Yaakov of Stonesworth trying to figure out why Tamara walks differently than the rest of the world, and I’d realized it’s because she does this toe-heel-toe thing when she walks. Okay, so when she does it, she glides and when I do it, I bounce, but still.

****

Guy picks me up at 6:45 for 7 p.m. production practice. “Uch,” Tamara says as I slide across the leather seat. “We should totally ditch and go get smoothies till practice is done, no?”

My stomach drops. “No!” I say.

They all stare at me. “You said they take attendance,” I protest feebly.

Rikki rolls her eyes. “Teacher’s pet much?” she asks, and they all smirk.

I roll my eyes back at her. “Actually, Rikki, some of us have GPAs worth caring about.”

Okay, it was a low blow, Rikki’s struggles with math were a much-discussed subject in the group. Her face turned an unattractive shade of puce. Tamara smirks at me and I smirk back. Yuck.

*****

Finally, finally, I was free. The posse had sauntered off to dance practice with waves and air kisses. Not Rikki, she was still sulking. And I entered the auditorium where choir rehearsals were being held, alone.

Yes, Bais Yaakov of Stonesworth had more than one auditorium.

Esti Lane and Chavivi Abrams pulled me onto stage the moment I entered. “Rachel Ahuva Brick! Finally! We need you for the opening number.”

I blink. “Really?

They grin. “Really. Ready to work like a slave and not sleep for a month?”

I hold out my hand for a high five. “I’ve never been more ready.”

(Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 750)