“Who cares about Avi Shine?” Shua Muller wanted to know. “No one likes him anyway. He’s such a know-it-all.”

“Lashon hara,” Elchanan said automatically. But he knew the answer to Shua’s question: Most people liked Avi Shine. The kid was rich, smart, talented —  even if he had no clue how to hold a basketball.

Despite his earlier bravado, Meir’s words echoed in his ears all the way until the recess bell signaled the end of a disastrous attempt at a game.

Three perfect place settings, complete with buffed napkin rings, lay in their usual spots around the table in the Shines’ majestic dining room, silver cutlery glinting under the lights. Avi slid into one of the huge upholstered chairs that made him feel even shorter than he was.

“Avi, sweetheart.” His mother smiled, simultaneously passing the platter of lamb chops to his father and nudging a crystal salad bowl in Avi’s direction. “How was your day? You’ve been quiet up there.”

“Nah, just busy,” he told his mother, carefully arranging a few leaves of arugula so it would look like he’d taken a generous portion. “Just finishing up my book report, you know how it goes.” He smiled back, hoping he looked convincing. Daddy was finished with the lamb chops, and Avi helped himself to a few, wondering how on earth the silver serving things were actually supposed to work.

“Here, I’ll do that,” Ma offered. “And take more salad than that, please, Avi. It’s good for you.”

“Would you like me to look over your book report?” Daddy asked. “When is it due?”

“Tomorrow.” Avi flushed. His book report wasn’t really done. He’d planned to work on it before supper, but the image of Elchanan Stark challenging him on the basketball court, the way most of the class were ganging up on him and his friends, made him too angry to focus.

Just because he’s the best at sports and too popular for his own good, Avi thought in disgust. You’d think the kid owned the place.

And now the eighth grade was firmly split into two camps. With graduation trip coming up, too! It was supposed to be fun, an exciting last few weeks of boring old elementary school.

Why did Stark have to ruin it all with his stupid basketball? It was one recess, big deal.

“How was school today?” Daddy asked, looking meaningfully in Avi’s direction. “I walked past your classroom during Gemara shiur, it sounds like you’ve moved onto the next daf? How about we chazzer together over Shabbos?”

“Sure.” Avi kept his eyes on his plate. It wasn’t like it was a problem. He knew the Gemara, he always did. It was just… annoying, sometimes, the way Daddy’s position as chairman of the school board gave him regular access to Avi’s school building. And a fancy office in the main wing, double the size of Rabbi Mandel’s, where Daddy liked to work “because my other office is far too distracting.” He’d wink at Avi when he said that.

Sometimes, Avi wondered guiltily if his father realized that he’d learned to skirt the corridor with the heavy oak door and gilded name-plate reading MR. SHINE, CHAIRMAN.

The next day, though, there was no time to think about which route to take out to the schoolyard. The atmosphere in class was exploding with tension — and he didn’t have to play guessing games to figure out who was behind it.

Stark. Who else?

“Get over yourselves, already,” he told Elchanan, when the class faced off again at the edge of the basketball court. “You can play your stupid game today, okay? You just can’t expect to always have the court you want, when you want it. It’s just not right.”

“Oh, yeah?” Elchanan leaned in, too closely. His face was very red. “But it’s right to get someone else to sneak an iPod into school, so you can listen to your precious album? Tuvy would have been suspended if he was caught, you know that?”

“It wasn’t him, it was all of us!” Yitz Elberg protested. “And you guys have seriously got the worst middos out there, if you were planning to snitch on a classmate just to get the court.”

The class erupted in shouts. Avi and Elchanan stood in the center, their respective supporters fanning out around them.

“And Elchanan said —”

“—ruin things for the rest of the class—”

“—how would you like it if—”

And then, cutting through the noise, a deep voice: “What is going on here?”

Avi’s head whipped around. Heading straight toward the group of boys, with rapid strides, was Rebbi. And right behind him — Avi’s heart lurched — was a familiar figure.

Avi’s father.

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 864)