I drop it. My mother is wonderful, just a bit… old-fashioned.

Which I absolutely never mind unless I’m with a friend. Uch, I disgust myself sometimes.

“So did Naftoli ever explain why he did it?” Atara inquires suddenly, brushing a thick lock of hair out of her lashes.

“Sure,” I say. “To protect his friend. Which is totally messed up. If your friend’s a cheater, like, hi, maybe don’t be friends with him.”

Atara looks thoughtful. “Really? If I cheated on something, you wouldn’t be friends with me anymore? Nine years of friendship, gone, poof?”

I shrug. “Okay, no, probably not. Well, maybe?”

Atara laughs lightly, but her cheeks are red, and I suddenly feel very distant from her.

“Good to know,” she says, biting viciously into a Mike and Ike. “Good to know.”

I stare at her. “Good to know…. Do you plan on cheating? Something you wanna share with the class, hmm?”

Her face is set, her lips pressed together. “Um, no. But I get it. I understand that boy, and I understand Naftoli.”

I widen my eyes but say nothing. She’s such an enigma sometimes, it drives me nuts. I’m a total open book, and I appreciate that in others. Whatever. You can’t force someone to be open with you. They either are or aren’t and if Atara wants to act all mysterious, I can’t chase her down. In the meantime, I’m the one having surgery in two days and I don’t appreciate all this Naftoli talk.

“I hear you,” I say, standing up and brushing doughnut crumbs off my totally adorable glitter two-piece.

“Ready for bed?”

Atara stands also. “I’m bombed. Ballet yesterday was exh— I mean…”

I pat her shoulder. “It’s fine, you can mention ballet. I’m not going to collapse into tears.”

She rolls her eyes as she covers the candy platters. “I know, I know. ’Kay, let’s go shluff.”

She extends a shoulder and, leaning heavily on my best friend, we hobble off to sleep.

***

I wake up early Sunday morning. It’s still dark outside, my stomach feels like a thousand ants have gone marching off two by two and I’m having trouble breathing. Maybe that’s because my face is pressed against the giant teddy bear Atara gave me, the one that says Everything is going to be tutu-ally okay and is in full ballet gear. I rub my finger against the small tutu and can’t help smiling. Atara is the best. We had such a great Shabbos together.

I sit up and just stare out the window, mind numb, until my alarm clock goes off. The sun is now peeking through the dawn, and my big day is about to begin.

“Okay, Bella, time to go get cut open,” I murmur.

My phone starts to blow up as I hobble to my closet; I assume they’re good-luck text messages.

I click on the first one — from Pori, that’s surprising — and my jaw drops as I read it. No. No way.

Good luck today, Bells!

And did you hear that Atara is the new winter soloist??

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 793)