“Baruch Hashem, but Tammy seems to be drifting in a different direction. I’m worried,” said Mom sadly

I detest the first day of school.

It’s ruined before it begins. Listen to the typical exchange between my new teacher and me.

“Tammy Sacks?” she says as she goes through the list of names.

“Here,” I say, as I raise my hand.

With an arched eyebrow she asks, “Are you the sister of Fraidy Sacks?”

“Yes,” I answer quietly.

“If you’re half as special as she is, I’m sure it’s going to be a super year.”

I make some acknowledgment, and then stew in anger. I mean, hello world, just because my older sister is a major genius in everything and possesses stellar middos, doesn’t mean I’m a carbon copy of her. I’m Tammy, and my grades range in the low 80s, I’m late about three to four times a week, and I’m highly disorganized. Therefore, when the teacher makes her “cute” comment, I’m ready to disprove her.

Needless to say, it’s a recipe for disaster.

My parents are mega-frustrated with me. One night, when they were sure I was asleep, I overheard their conversation.

“What’s going to be with Tammy?” asked my mother. “Her teacher has called me no less than six times, and the last one was threatening.”

“What, they’ll prevent her from going into eighth grade?” asked my father.

“I hope not. The crux of the problem is, how do we get Tammy to shape up? Bribes don’t work, not even an offer for an outfit from Zara.”

“Don’t worry, Fraidy seems to be sailing through high school without a problem.”

“Baruch Hashem, but Tammy seems to be drifting in a different direction. I’m worried,” said Mom sadly.