Michal, the girl with the sleek ponytail who was definitely the forceful personality of the group, stops adding tiny flowers to the grassy edge of the scenery. “But why do your parents live there? Like, are there any frum people there?”

I pause, critically survey what I’m doing — the complicated part, redoing the path that’s supposed to fade into the hillside. There, the shape looks a lot more realistic. “Hmm? Oh, the community. There actually are, but not exactly where we live. My family is there for kiruv, so we actually host a lot of backpackers, you know, people who come hiking in India. Mostly Israelis. And then there are a few people here and there who live nearby. Mostly elderly people who weren’t frum at all, but since my parents moved there, they started keeping a little, coming to daven on Shabbos… things like that.”

“Whoooaa, that’s amazing.” Esther shakes her head.

“So if you didn’t go to school there, what did you do all day? You were busy with the kiruv stuff?” Devorah asks me. “Wait — before you answer, just tell me what to paint next. I’m not risking messing this up again.”

“Hey, you’re doing fine,” I say, but the others are all nodding and chiming in their agreement, and somehow, I realize I’ve been promoted to scenery head. Ohhh-kay.

“We-eeelll. You see how I’ve redrawn the path into the hills? So we have to paint over all of this, make it into sky.”

“I’ll do that,” Devorah and Sari say together, then they laugh and both glob blue and white paint over the brown pathway. Those two are funny together.

“We have to add some more stalls behind the market, to give the impression of depth, make it stretch into the background,” I continue. There’s silence.

“Maybe give us something easier to do till you’re ready, and then you can sketch it for us?” Esther suggests.

I’m flattered, but wonder if I’m really worthy of the accolades. I’m far from the world’s best painter. I just helped Ima with some stuff a couple of years back, and I guess I enjoy it.

“You could work on the farm animals, we need to add more of those, too, maybe another house right here.” I point.

“And I’m painting more flowers,” Michal says firmly. She’s mixing shades of pink with utmost concentration, shading each petal like it’s a single piece of artwork to shine on its own. No one from the audience is even gonna notice the flowers, but they are pretty.

“So tell us more about India,” Sari says. “Entertainment while we paint.”

A few months ago — even a few weeks ago — I would have balked at that. I’m not free entertainment, thank you very much. But now I wonder if I’ve just been too oversensitive. They’re just bantering. And let’s face it; growing up in India was more exotic than the lives they’ve lived until now.

And I realize that I’m happy to share. Why not?

“So I went to online school, for a few hours a day, and my siblings still do that,” I explain. “And then there was always tons to do for the kiruv side of things. Making Shabbos meals for lots of guests. Preparing for Yom Tov. Or we did special events at different times of the year. Sometimes we had groups of backpackers stay nearby and hang out at our house every day… there was always stuff going on.”

“It just sounds so cool,” Esther says. “Hey, if we go to India, can we stay with your parents? Maybe we should go after graduation.”

I try to keep a straight face. “My parents will host you with pleasure, but it’s not really the kind of place that frum girls usually go touring.”

“Yeah, I was kinda joking.”

Devorah asks me about kosher food, and I start explaining how we cook in India. Surprisingly, they’re interested. For real, not just the omigosh that’s insane squealy kind of reaction I’d been wary of.

Even more surprisingly, I’m enjoying telling them about it.

“My sister’s in your class. Pessy. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me all this. You have such cooooooooool experiences,” Sari says.

I know Pessy; she’s cute and petite and I have absolutely zero to do with her or her tight-knit bunch of friends. They’re sisters?

“I haven’t really told my class. It’s like, I don’t know. I never thought it was interesting.”

“Are you kidding? It’s like a thriller.” Sari giggles.

Okay, so she’s exaggerating, but it’s also nice to be having a real conversation.

I wonder what my classmates would think of me now.

I wonder what they would have thought… had I shared some of my experiences, some of myself, with them earlier.

I think back to the questions they asked, huddling around my desk the first day, the first week. How I’d brushed them off… It’s not that interesting, it’s just a place.

Maybe I should have given them a chance.

Maybe… I still can?

I mull over that thought as we clean up, close up the paint bottles, and rinse the brushes. I feel like it’s too late with my classmates; they’ve all moved on. Like how random if I suddenly turned to Shevi or Miri and started telling them my life story.

Around me, the Year 11 girls are busy with coats and bags and plans. I shake off the thoughts; time enough to ruminate later.

“So you’ll be back next week to finish this one and work on the other scenery,” Michal says to me. It’s not a question.

“Yeah, sure,” I start to say, but Devorah cuts in. “No practice next week! It’s Chanukah. And then winter holidays. Have to get back to the scenery after all that.”

“Oh, right, okay,” Michal says. “Ashira, don’t forget about us before we’re back at school. Okay?”

I glance down at my hands and uniform skirt, all liberally paint-splattered with varying shades of brown, green, and dun. “I don’t think I’ll be able to forget this if I tried,” I quip.

“Ha, ha.” Michal fixes her ponytail. Her hands, I notice, are spotlessly clean. Oh, well, she spent the last two hours shading flower petals. I guess that makes a difference.

“Hey, it’s six thirty. My ride’s here. Happy Chanukah, Ashira. See you, all.” Devorah waves and disappears.

I trail after the others down the hallway. Chanukah. Early dismissal, lighting menorah at Bubby’s, the family party….

My stomach knots. Never mind that Bubby’s house is fast becoming as familiar as my own home, never mind that I’m getting to know all the cousins and that, thanks to scenery, even school’s been kind of fun. Chanukah is a time when you’re supposed to be home. And despite it all, London can’t claim to be mine.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 970)