It wasn’t hard to guess where the anti-Danny vibes were coming from, but Danny said Tefillas Haderech and tried not to mind

The flight from London to Gibraltar was pretty ordinary, according to the frequent fliers — boys who flew twice a year to Eretz Yisrael for Yom Tov or to Switzerland for skiing. Danny was not among these, nor was Yanky, whose parents’ joint salaries (his father was a rebbi in a cheder, and his mother taught in a girls’ school) didn’t stretch far enough even to visit family in Eretz Yisrael. But he’d be going to yeshivah in Eretz Yisrael after learning in Gateshead.

“And then I’ll probably never come back home, because I won’t be able to afford the ticket!” he said with his trademark nonchalance. Everyone laughed; Yanky managed to make everything sound cool, even not having money.

But Danny was a different matter altogether; he was distinctly uncool. Strapping into his seatbelt as soon as he sat down, he listened with concentration to the flight attendant’s instructions before carefully studying the plastic card with further safety details. What a bore he was, and the fact that he didn’t know all this stuff about planes was another sign that he just didn’t belong.

It wasn’t hard to guess where the anti-Danny vibes were coming from, but Danny said Tefillas Haderech and tried not to mind. The only sign of his embarrassment was the redness that crept up his neck right to the tips of his ears.