The thing about being the only girl in the family is that I can get away with anything, short of murder, and everyone just chalks it up to me “being a girl”

Okay, to be fair, no one had mentioned Babby when they said the trip to Eretz Yisrael had been canceled. I picture my grandmother, and a deep sadness fills me. She must’ve been so scared, lying on the floor alone, hip broken. A tear makes its way down my cheek, I rub it off hastily. So now I look like so dumb for running out in middle of Mommy’s explanation. Sigh. But I am still super-upset about my trip. That’s normal, right? To feel, like, 200 different things at the same time? My stomach grumbles. Add “hungry” to the list.

I get dressed quickly, admire my new high school uniform for only five minutes instead of the usual ten, and amble downstairs.

The thing about being the only girl in the family is that I can get away with anything, short of murder, and everyone just chalks it up to me “being a girl.” It’s annoying at times, but it does have its perks. My brothers are tiptoeing around me as I fill a bowl with cereal, as if I might accidentally explode, and Daddy has checked in on me during the night a total of three times. The only one absent from my pity party is Ma, and I’m assuming that’s because she was hurt by my reaction. I can’t blame her, I was in full-on brat mode, but it was just a lot to handle.

It is a lot to handle.

I’m 14 years old, I just started high school, ballet is amazing, I have my own (tiny) room, and Shayna said I can pick the recital theme this year. But now, my long-awaited trip to Eretz Yisrael has been sidelined. And I earned this trip. Straight B’s in math last year. In math! Numbers make no sense to me. I listen in class, I really do, but before I know it, the formulas have all formed one giant numbers pyramid, and I’m doodling pointe slippers on my page with my mouth open in boredom.

And I’d gotten Bs! For me, that’s like climbing Everest. In ballet slippers.

***

Atara is waiting for me outside, the setting sun throwing shadows on her thick, wavy hair. I give her a hug and then abandon her so I can run back in and get a jacket, ‘cause it’s pretty brisk out there. I deliberate between a grey denim with quilted shoulders and a pink suede number. The debate is short, pink almost always wins.

I skip back out to Atara, pirouette once, and then come to a stop with a deep curtsy. She claps loudly and then we both crack up.

“Please feel free to dance in the streets,” she says, looking around. The girl has a point, that wasn’t so appropriate, but thankfully it’s dark, and the sidewalk is deserted.

We turn right automatically — evening milkshakes are a long-standing tradition — but then Atara stops so suddenly that I just keep on walking without her before I realize.

“Tar?”

I look around foolishly before retracing my steps. She’s standing still and staring across the street vacantly. I look across the street as well. We’re opposite our school, in all its brick and domed glory.

“Um, we’ll be there in like 12 hours. I don’t think you need to pine after it like that,” I say, glancing at her sideways.

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head; she seems to be coming out of some sort of reverie.

“Oh, Bella. Who says ‘pine’?”

And with that charming comment, she hurries off to Dolce without a backward glance.

Oh, okay. It’s “let’s act like a weirdo” night, apparently. Fun.