The girl’s lips curled. “Right.” She turned back to her guitar, and Tammy, now that she was fully inside, took advantage of the opportunity to look around. Okay, there was no computer or full-screen TV or other noticeable media around — other than the girls who were still glued to their phones.

“What’s your name?” the girl with the guitar asked, making Tammy jump.

“Tammy Hurwitz. And yours?”

“Ilana.” The girl looked at her appraisingly. “Your name sounds familiar.”

“Really?” Tammy gave a nervous laugh.

One of the girls playing ping-pong turned toward Ilana. “I think that’s the name of ZeeZee’s eim bayit.”

“Oh, right.” Ilana raised an eyebrow at Tammy. “You here to spy?”

“No!” Tammy said with as much indignance as she could muster, considering the answer was “yes.”

The girl in the corner walked over, swinging her ping-pong paddle. “ZeeZee talked about you. You’re the one helping that girl with the eating disorder, right?”

Tammy’s heart plummeted. Even here she had to be reminded about her epic failure?

Ilana put down her guitar. “How’s Shani doing?”

Tammy stared at her. “You know Shani?”

“ZeeZee introduced us.”

Tammy was still absorbing that — if ZeeZee was introducing these girls to her seminary friends, the situation was worse than she’d thought — when Ilana added, “Is she getting therapy?”

“Yeah,” Tammy mumbled. Discussing Shani was the last thing she wanted to do right now.

“Good. ’Cuz I told ZeeZee the situation was desperate.” Apparently satisfied, Ilana picked up her guitar again.

Tammy twisted her sequined scarf around her finger. Even this OTD girl had seen the reality of Shani’s illness. Tammy was the only one who’d been blind. She felt her throat constrict.

Yet, something — maybe it was this girl’s bluntness — compelled her to say, “You were right. Shani collapsed at the Chanukah chagigah and was hospitalized. She’s gone home.”

“What?” Ilana slammed down her guitar.

Startled, Tammy turned to her.

“Are you guys nuts? Sending Shani back to her psycho mother, when she’d finally gotten free?”

Tammy noticed Ilana’s hands were shaking. “She’s not ‘psycho.’ I’d call it misguided in her parenting approach.” She belatedly wondered if she’d said too much. She probably shouldn’t be speaking about Shani to these girls.

Ilana scowled. “Yeah, that’s the kind of moronic psychobabble my teachers would throw at me when I complained about my parents.” She stood up, her face contorted. “Face the truth — you threw her into the garbage.” She stalked towards Tammy, who instinctively took a step back. The girls on the couch had abandoned their phones and were watching the scene with interest.

The ping-pong girl said, “Shut up, Ilana. You don’t even know her.”

But Tammy shook her head. Looking straight at Ilana, Tammy said in a choked voice, “You’re right. I tried to do what’s best for Shani, but I failed. You think I don’t know that?” Her voice broke, and tears began to leak from her eyes. “You think I haven’t been eating myself up about her for the past month?”

Now the tears were coming faster, and Ilana stood motionless, staring at her with wide eyes.

“Hey,” Ilana finally said, in a much softer voice. “It’s okay. We all mess up. Heck, that’s what this center is all about. Right, Rikki?”

Rikki? Tammy swiveled around, to find Rikki Klein standing in the doorway behind her, mouth agape.

There was no mistaking the disapproval in her voice as she said, “Tammy. You came.”

ZeeZee cornered Mrs. Edelman after Hashkafah class. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course!” Mrs. Edelman smiled. “Just give me a few minutes and then I’ll be with you.”

As she watched her teacher sort through notes, ZeeZee wondered if she was making a mistake. The other night, when Mrs. Hurwitz had suggested she express her desire for more open discussions with her mechaneches, ZeeZee had thought the woman was off her rocker. She’d tried to imagine how Mrs. Edelman would react if she were asked about nose piercings and tattoos.

But then ZeeZee had remembered that number 21 on her bucket list was Ask your teacher a scandalous hashkafah question. So here she was.

At last, Mrs. Edelman looked up. “How can I help you?”

“I had an idea for a program, and I wanted to see what you think. How about doing an open discussion night, where we ask a teacher whatever’s on our mind? Like, whatever,” she added, as she saw Mrs. Edelman’s brow crease.

“Didn’t we just do that recently?”

ZeeZee flicked her hand. “Those were pre-submitted questions, and they were all about shidduchim. I mean real questions.”

Mrs. Edelman was eyeing her warily now. ZeeZee clenched her teeth. Yet another teacher who wouldn’t understand.

“What types of questions did you have in mind?”

Might as well start with a zinger. “Oh like, how do I know the Torah’s true?”

Mrs. Edelman was looking at her curiously. “I didn’t realize those sorts of emunah questions were bothering you.”

She was right; they weren’t. ZeeZee shrugged. “Fine, maybe not that, but—”

“But you mean you want to be able to ask whatever you want, without feeling judged or shamed.”

ZeeZee’s heart lifted. “Yes!”

Mrs. Edelman nodded. “Fair enough. But some questions are better left for private conversation. I’m sure you can understand that.”

ZeeZee frowned. “But why? Don’t you think that other girls are also wondering about stuff, but are too embarrassed to ask?”

“Possibly. But there are also others who’ve never thought of them at all. It’s a tricky dilemma.”

ZeeZee was still frowning, and Mrs. Edelman added, “I’m not surprised this upsets you. You’re a very emesdig person. That’s why superficiality — pretending to be someone you’re not, just to play the game — bothers you.”

ZeeZee’s eyes widened. “But all my life, people have told me that I’m superficial! My sisters, my teachers, everyone thinks of me as this silly, shallow girl.”

“You? Shallow?” Mrs. Edelman shook her head decisively. The more I’ve gotten to know you, the more I’ve realized that you’re one of the deepest, most honest people I know.”

Deep. Honest. As the words reverberated inside, ZeeZee felt her face stretching into a huge, goofy grin. She was struck with a sudden urge to give Mrs. Edelman a big bear hug. Instead, she said, “Thanks. That means a lot.”

Her teacher smiled back. “Now, was there a specific question you wanted to discuss?”

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 756)