T

he bell rang and the girls scrambled out of their classroom to their lockers.

“Basically,” Rikki said to Matti, “We’re having some work done on our house and my mother really wants everyone out of the way.”

“Okay. No prob.” Matti’s eyes unexpectedly brightened. “Oh, there’s Ahuva. I have to ask her something. See you tomorrow.”

No prob? That was it? All that worry for nothing. Rikki almost laughed. She had to tell Ruchie. She looked through the crowded hallway, then remembered Ruchie’s haircut appointment.

“Rikki Dee!”

Rikki twirled around and saw Ruchie near the school’s entrance. Her thumb and pinky were at the side of her head, the universal sign for “call me.” Rikki nodded, and Ruchie gave her a thumbs-up before running outside.

Rikki grabbed her things and slowly walked down the hall.

“Hi, Rikki,” the eight-grade mechaneches stopped her. “Do you have a second?”

“Yes.”

“Come, I’ll walk you out while we speak.”

Rikki fell into step beside her teacher.

“I’m planning a Melavah Malkah for the eighth grade, and I thought your house would be the perfect place for it.”

“Um,” the corners of Rikki’s lips drooped. “I’m not really sure…”

“Don’t worry. There will be a committee for food and decorating. Everyone will share the bulk of the work.”

“I… I have to ask my mother.”

“Of course. That goes without saying. Please tell her that the girls will set up and clean up.”

Rikki nodded dumbly.

“Let me know by the end of the week.”

Rikki’s toes curled in her shoes. “Okay.”

“Great, thanks.”

Rikki watched her teacher walk across the street to her car. Ugh! Why were things so complicated?

Dragging her feet, she headed home. She wasn’t going to ask her mother about the Melaveh Malkah. If she couldn’t even have Matti over, having the entire class was out of the question.

She stopped abruptly. Her teacher’s mention of a Melaveh Malkah reminded her of another Motzaei Shabbos event. One she would have to cancel even before any arrangements were made.

“Thirteen. A real teenager,” her mother had said. “You’re growing up so fast … How about a party? We can have a Melaveh Malkah.”

Rikki couldn’t believe that conversation was just a few days ago. It seemed like a lifetime had passed. Someone else’s life.

She looked down at the pavement as she continued to walk. The sight of her yogurt-stained shoes made her chin tremble. She hastened her steps until she was running. The neatly trimmed lawn and colorful flowers that complimented the impressive two-story Tudor brick house came into view, but Rikki could only see the aluminum eyesore that spanned the length of the front steps and down the walkway. The wheelchair ramp was installed.

(Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 796)