“Y ou may do the book report in pairs.”

You would’ve thought our teacher had just announced a trip to Niagara Falls. All at once, the class erupts in shouts of glee, then a frantic babble of voices. Chairs scrape, girls whisper, and in three minutes, everyone has a pair. Bracha and I are a pair — of course. We don’t even have to discuss it. Our eyes meet and we both smile.

The bell rings and I walk out of the classroom, stuck in a tangle of chattering girls around me. I stifle a smirk as I listen to the high-pitched banter. My classmates are deliberating, discussing, and debating as they walk and laugh and stop and slap backs. I’m used to this kind of talk, and I absorb it like a thick towel without releasing a drop. Listening to it all is enough for me, and I have no need to be contributing too. I do have lots to say, actually, but luckily, I’m not desperate at all to express it.

Bracha shows up at six-thirty with her stash of papers and books. She provides the sources and reading material, of course. She is Bookish Brainy Bracha, after all. I serve some of my mother’s irresistible babka, as usual, and we get started. We finish part one after two intensive hours — well, to be fair, Bracha does three-quarters of the work. I’m there to cheer her on and provide my right-timed compliments, and oh, I do work a bit too. Bracha doesn’t mind that; the challenge is tailor-made for her.

We close our books, schmooze a little, and then Bracha leaves. I close the door after her and feel this sharp tightening in my chest. I want a friend.

I laugh at myself while I really feel like crying. I do have a friend, and she was just at my house. Why are my emotions playing funny tricks on me?

The feeling comes next when a field trip is announced. “Field trip” is synonymous with “friend day.” No one can go and actually enjoy the trip without a bona fide friend to hang out with.

On the day of the trip I awake with terrible stomach cramps. I stagger out of bed and pop a couple Tylenols. I must feel better! And soon. I cannot miss this trip!

The Tylenol masks my stomach pain, but I’m still aware that something is bothering me. I rush off to school, pushing away that annoying “something” from my consciousness.

On the bus, I kid myself by looking around for an empty seat. Really, what am I thinking? Of course I’ll sit near Bracha.

I am quiet, and so is Bracha, so that makes us… friends.

Or does it?

We talk and then enjoy some lapses of silence, as we always do. After all, two non-schmoozers don’t make for a lot of conversation.

As the class sits in a semi-circle in the huge, beautiful park, our spunky extra-curricular coordinator, Gila, announces a self-awareness activity.

“Write down three of your dominant traits, and the traits you think you need in a friend.”

Three of my traits — that’s easy: sensitive, quiet, introspective. The traits I need in a friend? I begin to write quiet, but then I stop. Is that what I need in a friend, or is that what I have, by default?

(Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 733)