Chemia’s raises his left eyebrow. Cool, I didn’t know he could do that.

“Oh really. More tragic then your older brother getting to go to a traveling camp in Eretz Yisrael for three weeks while we’re stuck in hot, muggy Brooklyn?”

Oh. No way. Nuh-uh.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

And then all I can think to do is shout “it’s not fair” and stomp out of the room.

*****

Ma is putting her best linen on the guest room beds, so I’m guessing Babby and Zeidy are coming for Shabbos.

I grab the quilt cover and help her maneuver the blanket in.

“Ma, is it true?”

Ma’s quiet but she nods slightly without asking me what I’m talking about.

“But why? I’m the one who really wanted to go to Israel, and you said you couldn’t afford it when Babby broke her hip.”

Ma nods again.

I try not to cry, but the tears are welling up, and my throat is closing.

“That’s… just unfair.”

Ma sighs and sinks onto the bed.

“Bella Rena, you know, half a year ago, you would’ve burst in here screaming and shouting. You’ve really changed so much and I’m so proud of you.”

Hmm, distracting me with compliments. Transparent but still appreciated.

“Naftoli had a hard year. I know you did too, but your hardships, baruch Hashem, made you stronger, while Naftoli’s seemed to have shook him.”

I open my mouth to protest, to try to verbalize what it’s been like to lose the thing I love the most, to feel like a bird with its wings clipped, to describe the pain of hearing Atara tell me that I make her miserable, but the words don’t come. Ma’s right, Naftoli has had it so hard. And not just that, Super Naftoli never complains.

He gets down sometimes, but not once has he said that he regrets sticking up for Boruch or taking the rap for him.

He’s really special, Naftoli. If anyone deserves a trip to the Holy Land, it’s him.

That doesn’t mean I’m not going to milk this for all it’s worth, obviously.

“So, can I go to Pori’s bungalow this year?”

Pori invites me to her bungalow every year and every year Ma says I’m too young.

She blinks and then grins. “We’ll discuss it.”

Yes! We finish the beds and then I say, “I’m happy for Naftoli. Really.”

Ma leans over and touches my cheek. “And I’m proud of you, Bella Rena. Really.”

I’m not crying, all this linen flapping blew dust into my eyes.

****

I’m back on the couch, this time with a smoothie and a book, when the doorbell rings.

Hm, to get it or not to get it.

I laugh to myself. Yeah, right, there’s no way I’m getting up now.

Chemia pokes his head in. “Door for you.” He pokes his head back out.

Sigh. I shuffle to the door and blink in shock.

“Uh, hi, Pearlie.”

“Hey, Bella Rena. Do you guys have a frisbee? My brothers shot theirs into the street and it got flattened by a cement truck.”

I wipe my hands on my skirt. Okay, brothers and sports, I got this.

“Only around two hundred. Size or color preferences?”

Pearlie laughs, a happy twinkly sound that is at odds with her sharp personality.

“If you have a pink, sparkly one, I’d love to see the look on their faces.”

I laugh too. “Brothers,” I say.

“Totally,” Pearlie agrees.

Nuff said.

(Originally featured in Teen Pages, Issue 825)