Sara Leah Steinberg. My neighbor. But never my friend

L

eaves dance in the air, a collage of brilliant reds and golds framing the streets. The breeze is brisk against my cheeks as I walk home from school with Malky, our shoes tapping rhythmically against the concrete. Va-ca-tion — va-ca-tion — va-ca-tion. Succos is in the air!

“… Rik? Rik! Earth to Rikki!” Malky taps me on the shoulder, looking amused. “Did you even hear what I just said?”

I grin. I’m slightly infamous among my friends for my tendency to be a bit dreamy. “No. Sorry.”

“I said, we’re going away this Succos!” Malky’s cheeks are pink with the cool air, her green eyes sparkling. “To Toronto! All my cousins are going to be there!”

“Oh yeah?” My step loses a bit of its bounce. We used to go away for Succos too, all the time. Sometimes we went to those Yom Tov programs in hotels, and once we’d even gone to Eretz Yisrael. But since Tatty lost his job, things are pretty tight. We’re staying in town for Succos. Again.

Malky’s still talking about her upcoming trip. “… and so we’ll probably stay in a hotel with my whole family over Chol Hamoed, or maybe rent one of those mansions, ‘cuz everyone’s coming this year, even my cousins from California —”

Something unpleasant is knotting in my stomach — jealousy? Anger? — and I just can’t muster up the willpower to smile and nod. I cast my gaze across the street, looking for something else to focus on, when a girl hurries into view. The knots in my stomach tighten.

Sara Leah Steinberg. My neighbor. But never my friend. Her designer bag swings casually from her shoulder, diamond-encrusted ring flashing into view as she taps on her phone, eyes fixed on the screen. Her $300 shoes thump against the sidewalk.

My lips curl at the sight. She’s pathetic. Who spends three hundred dollars on shoes? I conveniently forget that not so long ago, I might have had the same pair. But not anymore.