She perches on her bed and looks at me. “Bella Rena… Naftoli has, uh, been asked to leave yeshivah for a little while”

I’ve been unceremoniously banished from the kitchen. I stomp upstairs, grumbling.

Do they tell me anything? No. And then everyone gets mad at me for not knowing things. Totally not normal. I hear crying coming from the little boys’ room. Knowing there is no way Mommy can hear Shimshon from behind the closed kitchen door, I peek into the dark room.

“Shimmy-bim, what’s going on?” The little boy just continues to sob. I sigh, I know what this is, it’s one of those night terror thingies he gets now and then. Shoots, of course it happens when I’m the only one upstairs. I gather him up and settle into the rocking chair. He keeps sobbing without reprieve, so I just rub his back soothingly and stroke his sticky, sweaty curls. “I know, baby,” I murmur. “I know. Life can be so annoying sometimes. But everything’s gonna be okay, bubbeleh. Everything’s gonna be okay.” I whisper this over and over until I fall asleep to the comforting sounds of Shimshon’s sobs.

Mommy wakes me later by scooping Shimshon off my lap and tucking him back into his crib. I watch her through puffy eyes, only half-awake. It’s only when I spy the clock on the wall that I jump up. “Mommy!” I hiss. “It’s one-thirty? But I didn’t do my homework!”

Mommy ushers me out into the hallway; I blink in the bright light. The house is quiet, a floorboard creaks somewhere. “I’m so sorry, Bells,” she says. She looks tired, and there’s something else there. I stare at her for a moment before it clicks: She looks old. Well, not old, per se, but just older than usual. Her face is very pale, her eyes seem huge in the fluorescent lighting, and the spiderweb of lines underneath them seem more pronounced.

“Thank you so much for taking care of Shimshon. Was it night terrors again?”

I nod, brushing it away. “Mommy, what happened with Naftoli? Did you only finish talking to him now?”

She hesitates only a moment and then nods, wearily. “Come, I don’t want to wake up the kids.”

I follow her into her room, Daddy’s not there, he must still be with Naftoli. “So, what happened?” I ask, suddenly apprehensive.

She perches on her bed and looks at me. “Bella Rena… Naftoli has, uh, been asked to leave yeshivah for a little while.”

My jaw drops. “Kicked out? He’s been KICKED OUT?”

Mommy shushes me. “No, not kicked out, exactly. Just, uh, excused from attendance.”

Sinking onto the bed next to her, I twist my hair up into a bun. It’s a comfort thing. I reach for my ever present scrunchie, but it’s not there. Uch. I let my hair fall back down around my shoulders and ask the question that needs to be asked.

“Why?”