Here, I’m Miss Nobody. But back home… there I was Miss Popular

When Rivi, who’s organizing our class Chanukah party, announces, “We need homemade doughnuts,” no one volunteers.

Batya offers to buy some, but Rivi frowns, shakes her head. “Not good enough,” she says, wagging her finger in mock rebuke. “We need homemade.” She raps her pen on her desk. “Anyone?”

Silence.

“Aw, come on,” Rivi says. “Don’t any of you bake? We need this party to be the most amazing party ever!”

I hesitate, then blurt out, “I can do it.”

Silence again as all turn to stare at me. My ears burn, and I rub my tongue along my top teeth.

“You can?” Rivi asks.

I nod.

“That would be great!” she exclaims. “I didn’t know you can bake,” she adds unnecessarily.

“Neither did I,” Shiri calls out. “Even though you’ve been in our class for two and a half years already!”

I shrug silently, picking at the corner of my new burgundy sweater. Two and a half years is not long in the big scheme of things. They didn’t know me for my first 13 years, before we moved to Newtown.