“We have a slight problem,” she said frankly. She was always very matter-of-fact, void of expression, and yet this time, her downturned mouth showed otherwise.

“I’m afraid we’re in somewhat of a quandary. You didn’t apply anywhere else.”

A quandary. Which meant that the high school wasn’t going to let me in. Which meant I was stuck.

So, I answered with the first thing that came into my head. “Why don’t they want me?”

“It’s not that they don’t want you, Shira. It’s that they accepted other girls and have no more room.”

“Mrs. Frankel,” I said levelly. “I think that means they don’t want me. You see, if they did, they would have made room for me.”

She looked down at her folder. “Shira, it’s never pleasant when we don’t get the things we want. But luckily, we have other options, and those options, even though you may not see it now, are better for us.”

She was right; I didn’t see it — there was no way any other place could be better for me. But I also needed a high school.

“Yeah, okay,” I said, and she handed me three full envelopes, weighed down with applications.

Walking out of her office felt like a nightmare. The one you realize you’re having but can’t wake up from, until your heart dips to your toes and your eyes pop open with a snap. I had never dreamed of anything else, of going anywhere else. Who was I, if not the best student, if not the smartest girl in my class?

The envelopes I had shoved into my bag seemed to dig painfully into my back as I passed girls sharing where they were going for high school.

“Shira! Shira!” Nomee short stopped in front of me. “Where have you been?” She sucked in a breath. “I’m dying to tell you, dying!” She grabbed my arm and pulled me into an empty classroom.

“It came! It’s here! Our dreams have come true!” Her words tumbled together as she rummaged through her bag. “We’re going! I got in! I got in! I never would have believed it, but look!” she shoved her acceptance letter under my nose. “I never thought I’d go with you. You’ve always been smarter than me, but can you believe it?” her cheeks burned bright as her eyes gleamed. “If only our little kindergarten selves could see us now! You never cared what anyone else thought; you’ve always had such a strong vision, but me?” She took another gasping lungful of air. “This is so cool, huh?”

“Yeah…” I trailed off, trying to make the corners of my mouth lift, if only a centimeter. “It’s going to be great!”

That night, my parents and I sat silently around the supper table, as they stared at me with sympathetic eyes. When I finally made my way upstairs and stretched morosely onto my bed, I noticed a package on my desk. And, as illogical as it was, my heart skipped a beat. Had they realized their mistake? Was this what I thought it was?

“A letter came for you,” Mommy said, passing by my door, “I put it on your desk; I think you’re going to like it.”

Shira Stark, the label read.

202 Bellville Ave.

Rockaway, New York

The envelope felt heavier than I was expecting, and I tore it open, reading the words Dear Shira on the top of the page.

I smiled as bubble gum wrappers fell across my desk as I removed the letter, and an old pair of frilly Shabbos socks tumbled out. I’d forgotten about this time capsule I’d written on the last day of third grade with Mrs. Leibowitz. I’d forgotten that it’d be returned to me in eighth grade before I graduated, and I couldn’t help but laugh as I read:

Hi Shira, it’s me! Me! From the past! Isn’t that silly? Mrs. Leibowitz says this is called a time capsule. We’re learning about it in history. I’m not sure what it is exactly, but I have to put in the things I love, and then when I’m in eighth grade, I get it back. What’s it like being that old? Can I walk to school myself? Mrs. Leibowitz put a phrase on the board we have to write down, she said it’s the theme of the year.

Here’s the phrase, I hope you remember it.

“Sometimes the best things in life are the situations we never expected.”

I have no idea what that means.

Does old me?

Love, Shira

I laughed at the pencil smudges marking the page, and the crude heart after my name, before the weight of the phrase hit me. Because Old Shira didn’t know what the phrase meant, not yet anyway. But as I took out the application letters from my backpack and spread them out across my desk, I couldn’t help but turn the phrase over in my head. Maybe Mrs. Frankel had a point, and there was only one way to find out.

(Originally featured in Treeo, Issue 998)